A.N. And on we go. Thank you thank you thank you for your reviews!

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The hospital was quieter than the last time Ed had set foot inside of it. Then again, maybe it was just that he himself was quieter, without as much inner fear and worry screaming inside to be let out. Or maybe it was that it was a little before six in the morning, the sun just peeking up from the horizon, casting a faint yellow glow off in the east. Or maybe it was just a slow morning.

Whatever it was, he encountered only a handful of nurses as he walked the halls of the ICU to the private rooms. They ignored him for the most part, not yet recognizing him as a frequent flyer, though he was certain they would in the coming weeks.

He didn't mind the anonymity for right now, though; it let him slip into Sam's room without trouble.

Sam's room was also quiet, the lights turned down low, though not off, no doubt allowing personnel to come in every so often to check on things. The automatic breathing of the ventilator and the beeping of the far too many monitors was all that interrupted the peace of the room's two occupants. One of them likely didn't even hear the few noises that disturbed the otherwise silent room, too heavily sedated, and the other probably didn't hear them either, too intent was his stare on the regular up and down movement of the heart rate monitor. So intent was he that he didn't seem to register the noise of the door opening and closing.

Ed stepped farther into the room and moved towards the occupant in the chair, finally reaching down to clasp his shoulder in order to alert him of his presence.

Spike jerked in surprise. "Jimminey Christmas!" he hissed, keeping his voice low as he glared at Ed. "Stop sneaking around! Warn a guy!"

Ed rolled his eyes. "I wasn't sneaking, Spike."

The other man only grumbled and settled back into his uncomfortable chair.

Ed glanced at the clock, then tapped Spike's shoulder again and pointed at it. "Your shift's up."

"I know, I just… I'll leave in a bit."

Ed wasn't going to persuade him otherwise—it had taken all his self-control to prevent himself from coming earlier—only warned, "Just don't let the Boss catch you. He was pretty clear on how he didn't want any of us here outside of our shifts. Sleep and our own well-being being important factors and all."

Spike nodded, eyes resuming their vigil on the heart monitor.

Ed shrugged and settled down in the unoccupied chair beside Spike.

Instead of watching Sam, who he could do nothing for right now, Ed watched Spike. The other man still stared intensely at the monitor, but every once and a while he'd open his mouth ever so slightly, as if about to say something, but then never did. Which is how Ed knew something was weighing on the other man's mind.

After the fifth instance, Ed finally lost patience. "Oh, would you just spit it out already?"

Spike turned to look at him, confused.

"Whatever it is you've been trying to figure out how to say for the last ten minutes, just go ahead and say it," Ed clarified.

Spike let out a long breath. "Guilt is a truly terrible and powerful thing."

Ed narrowed his eyes, unsure where Spike was going with this. "You know you don't have anything to be guilty about—"

"I know," Spike cut him off quickly. "I know, but that doesn't mean I don't feel it."

"All right, what are you feeling guilty about?"

"I can't help but feel I could have prevented this."

Ed raised his eyebrows. "Seriously, Spike? You could have predicted two gunmen would target the square Sam happened to be in and stop it before it started? You know that's absurd. You couldn't—"

"I know," Spike cut him off again. "That's not what I meant. I couldn't have stopped it, but I feel like I could have prevented Sam from being there in the first place."

Ed sat back in surprise. "Okay, how?"

"Did you know that Sam never came to the hospital to check on me yesterday or the night before?" he asked quietly, before glancing at the clock and correcting himself. "I mean, two days ago or three nights ago. God time is all blurring together, you know what I mean. He didn't come by the night after I was shot nor the following morning."

Ah shit.

"I thought it was a little odd when he didn't come that night," Spike continued, "but decided to give him time. I didn't call him until 10 the next morning, and when I couldn't get a hold of him, that's when I checked myself out, to go find him. I just can't help thinking that if I had called sooner, convinced him to come to the hospital either the night before, or hell even that morning, he wouldn't have been in that square."

Ed put his head in his hands. Shit shit shit shit shit. God damn I wish I could go back 72 hours and do everything, everything differently. But you can't change the past. Right now you've got to own up and deal with the present. And first thing's first, you've gotta say what Sam would if he could.

"Okay Spike, maybe if Sam had come visit you, he wouldn't have been in that square, but it's more than likely he still would have been. But just to entertain the idea, you need to recognize that if he hadn't been there, then Libby would be dead, and who knows how many others would have lost patience and made a break for it and lost their lives, because you know we found the shooters more quickly because of Sam's help. I know it's awful to think about, that some good might have come of Sam being there, but I think that's what he would tell you. And I know I have no right to speak for him right now, but you know him. He wouldn't trade his own health if it meant others lost their lives, if it meant Libby lost her life."

"Yeah, I know, but… still. I still feel guilty. Like maybe…"

Tell me about it. And I actually have cause to feel guilty. "Spike, nothing you could have done would have gotten Sam to the hospital. So, let it go. You have no reason to feel guilty."

Spike met his gaze. "You don't know that. He might have come if I asked him to. If he actually knew I wanted him to come."

"No, no he wouldn't have," Ed said firmly.

Spike narrowed his eyes, catching onto the fact that Ed knew something he didn't. "Why?" he finally asked.

Ed sighed. Hiding it isn't making you feel any better, and even though Sam will never reveal what you did—he's too loyal for that, even when that loyalty is undeserved—it will eat away at you until you blurt it out yourself. Might as well just admit it now. Finally, aloud, he murmured softly, "Because I ordered him not to."

Silence.

Then.

"You did what?" Spike demanded quietly in disbelief.

"Right after the briefing—if you could even call it that—I ordered him not to go see you."

"Why?" Spike demanded again, drawing the word out as if he couldn't believe he had to ask it.

"Because I was pissed off and felt like he'd pulled his whole shoot first ask questions later persona out and used it and you got hurt because of it and a man was dead because of it, and I knew he wanted to go see you to make sure you were okay, but also to relieve some of his own guilt and I didn't think he deserved that. I thought he shouldn't go see you for himself, because he deserved to have that guilt weighing on him. And yeah, now I know how much of an asshole I was and how stupid I was, but it doesn't change what I did. I'd do it all differently if I had the chance."

Spike said nothing for the longest time. And really, there was nothing he could say that would make Ed feel any worse than he already did. This time, it was he himself who did not deserve any comfort, who did not deserve to have his guilt relieved.

Minutes passed, and Ed had come to the conclusion that that was the end of it. Spike's silent condemnation was all he would get.

But then, Spike sighed and shifted. "Did you know?" he started, speaking so softly that Ed had to strain to hear him.

Ed waited a breath, then was about to respond and ask what did he know, but was saved from having to when Spike continued unprompted, "Did you know that it was Sam who figured out Brad Grayes' motive was suicide by cop?"

Ed paused, momentarily confused by the apparent change of subject for the conversation, then he registered Spike's words. "No, no I didn't. I thought it was you?"

Spike nodded. "It was Sam. He suspected it, had me look into it, and then asked me to be the one to share it."

He didn't have to explain why Sam had wanted that. Because if it came from Sam, I probably wouldn't have listened.

Ed wasn't sure what to say, where this conversation was going, but he didn't have to. Apparently Spike was content to carry it by himself. The other man turned to Sam, eyes fixed on his face now and not the heart monitor, but body language still open and turned towards Ed, clearly not shutting him down.

"You know, we always think of Sam as the tactical person. The one who doesn't do negotiations much, the one who has the best long range shooting skills—yeah you and Jules argue that, but we both know it's true—the one who isn't afraid to jump into a hairbrained tactical idea if it has a chance of working, the one who came onto the team thinking shooting is the best option. And yeah, he used to think that, he used to be like that, but he's changed, Ed. He sees things we don't, he contributes to our team. He doesn't shoot first and ask questions later anymore, and we keep treating him like he does. And not just two days ago—three, whenever the hell it was—that was bad, that was really bad, but I think we've been doing small things all along, second guessing his ideas because we think they're too tactical, too physical, when they aren't. And that wears someone down. And we can't keep doing that, not if we want to give Sam a reason to stay, because whether or not he was considering leaving a few days ago, I bet you all the money in the world that it's crossing his mind now." Spike's eyes swung back to meet Ed's. "So, I get it, I get why you did what you did, because we're all guilty of that, of thinking that of Sam when it isn't true. Add to that the fact that I'd been injured, that you connected so deeply to Grayes and then watched Sam shoot him in front of your eyes, it's a lot for anyone to take. So, while I'm not saying what you did was okay, if you're looking for condemnation, it's not going to come from me. I guess you and me, we are both going to carry this guilt around, whether we should or not, probably at least until Sam is better, but probably even longer than that, and we can either wallow in it, or use it to fuel us and give us a reason to change. To make sure this, our team breaking down like this, tearing into Sam like this, never happens again."

Spike rose and stepped between their chairs, on his way to the door, but before be passed through, he placed his hand on Ed's shoulder and squeezed. "We all make mistakes, Ed. God knows I've made more than my fair share. In fact, all of us made mistakes that day. All of us contributed to it. And we all wish we could go back and change them. But we can't. The good news is that Sam's going to be okay, physically, which means we—all of us—have the chance to fix our mistakes." He dropped his hand from Ed's shoulder and left, leaving Ed sitting there, thinking.

Fix things. Right. Of course that's what I want to do, but how? I can't do anything until Sam's conscious and can hear me.

Well he's not conscious, but who says he can't hear you?

Maybe it was just a coincidence, but maybe not… earlier, when the medical staff had been unable to stabilize Sam and Dr. Clarke had informed them of this, Ed had been terrified that this was it. That they'd never get the chance to fix things with Sam, that he'd never get the chance to say he was sorry. And a small part of him had convinced himself to pursue the doctor out into the hall, though the rest of him was saying it was ridiculous, impossible, and ask the doctor to please pass along a message to Sam, on the off chance that he would actually be able to hear it, that it would make its way through the layers of sedative and to his unconscious brain.

Well then first step first, it was time for Ed to say it himself.

He leaned forward and placed a hand carefully on Sam's forearm, careful not to disturb the lines. "Sam," his voice came out rough so he stopped to clear it. "Sam," he started again, voice clear but soft—it was 6 o'clock in the morning after all. "Hey Sam, you did your job. You did so good. Everyone's okay because of you, so you just take the time you need to rest and recover. And, I want you to know that I'm sorry and that I—we—would all really appreciate it if you keep fighting, if you don't give up. I don't think I have a lot of right to ask anything of you right now, but I'm asking. Because we don't want to lose you. I don't want to lose you. Please, hang in there. I think the doctor told you that earlier, but I know it has to come from me, too."

He sat back and rubbed his face. "God, I'm so sorry for everything, Sam. I don't know why…" he trailed off. "If you decide to leave, I'm going to be pissed—not at you, but at myself, because I know that what we did helped push you that direction. But I know that I need to respect your decision, whatever it is. I'm sorry I only realized that too late. That even if you were thinking or planning on leaving, that that is your decision to make. But god I hope you don't leave. Do you hear me? You bring so much to our team, and you're an incredible friend. A better one to me than I have been to you. But I will do better. And I'll tell you this again, and again until you hear it and believe it. And then I'll say sorry one more time, at least."

(…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…)

Ed was alone with Sam—except for the fantastic hospital staff who were in and out of the room periodically to check on them—until around noon the following day, when Libby walked in. She met eyes with Ed and halted, which caused him immediately to start to rise, prepared to leave so she wouldn't have to deal with him, when she probably only wanted to be with Sam.

But she held out a hand and stopped his movements before he could finish rising, pausing him awkwardly halfway out of the chair, bent over. "You don't have to leave," she murmured. "I don't have the energy to be mad anymore, and I know you care just as much about Sam as I do, even though you forgot that for a little bit a few days ago. You can stay, just… just promise to fix it. Please," she begged, her words unknowingly echoing Ed and Spike's earlier conversation.

Ed straightened, moving fully out of the chair and walked towards her, stopping just in front of her. "I will, I promise."

She blinked, looking away. "Thank you. But," she looked back at him, "but if Sam decides to walk away, you have to let him. If he decides he needs to leave, you can't stop him."

Ed pursed his lips but nodded. "Of course, I understand that now. I will do what I can to change his mind, but if he makes that decision, no matter how much it will hurt, he's earned the right to walk away, I won't stop him."

She gave him a relieved smile and moved to sit in one of the chairs by Sam's bedside.

"Thank you, Libby," Ed told her, causing her to glance back over her shoulder. He didn't specify what the thanks was for—there was too much: her forgiveness, her kicking them in the ass, her taking care of Sam—but she seemed to understand, as her gaze softened and she gestured to the chair next to her. "No," he shook his head, "I'll give you some time alone with him. I've got to go get some coffee in my veins anyway."

He pushed his way out of the door and down the hall in search of sustenance, and having obtained it, returned to Sam's room, but rather than entering, he instead sat on one of the benches out in the hallway, not directly across from Sam's door, but close enough that he'd be there should anything happen.

His placement out in the hall meant he had a clear view of when Greg came storming down the hallway awhile later, phone jammed up against one ear, gesticulating wildly. When he got into earshot, Ed could hear him yelling at someone about the situation being ridiculous and that he needed to speak with someone immediately, but Ed couldn't understand all of it without context. When Greg reached him in the hall, he reiterated, "Have him call me as soon as he gets this message!" before he hung up the phone and sat down heavily.

Neither of them said a word for a moment, until Ed finally broke the silence. "You know, you're breaking your own rule. None of us are supposed to be here unless it's our shift on watch. That's what you said, so that we'd all go home and stop looking like Zombies. And," he checked his watch, "your shift doesn't start for another 9 hours."

Greg gave him a rueful look. "Ah, you know me, I'm better at giving orders than taking them. Besides, my shift actually starts in an hour—Wordy had a slight family transportation emergency come up last minute and switched shifts with me. Everything's okay, don't worry. And," he hesitated, before admitting, "I wasn't there for Sam two days ago. I wasn't there for any of you, so I'm trying to make up for it now."

"Well I guess I can let an hour slide."

Greg smiled. "Much obliged. Just don't tell anyone else or they'll get the idea in their heads that they can do it too."

Ed nodded. "What was that all about?" he queried, gesturing towards Greg's phone which now sat in his lap.

The other man's smile disappeared. "That, was about trying to get a hold of Sam's family."

"You still haven't been able to?" he asked in surprise. It's been days!

"Not for lack of trying!" Greg burst out, immediately receiving a glare from a passing nurse. He dropped his decibel level back down, but his frustration was still clear. "The number on Sam's medical file has been disconnected so I've had to go through the military channels because civilian channels have given me no luck in tracking them down. I've been calling the military for two days, getting bounced around because no one believes me because why wouldn't I just have direct contact info of emergency contacts or parents for a person under my command, and someone finally directed me to General Braddock's office yesterday afternoon, but now I'm getting stonewalled. I left a message of who I was, saying I wanted to speak with him and that it was urgent, and he hasn't called me back! I've left more messages than I can count!"

Ed winced. "That sounds rough."

"You have no idea. At this point, even if he calls back now, I will have nothing civil to say to him. In fact, here," he thrust his phone into Ed's unwilling hands. "It's not going to ring, but on the off chance that it does, I don't want to give the bastard the excuse that he tried to call and couldn't get a hold of anyone. And if I answer it, not only am I not going to be able to explain the situation, I'll probably make an enemy of a very powerful man for the rest of my life. So, I'm going to go blow off some steam, possibly find a doctor to get a non-update from, and if you wouldn't mind holding onto that and answering on the off chance that it does ring, I will count myself in your debt."

Greg got up and walked away without waiting for a response from Ed.

So of course, as soon as Greg was out of sight, the phone rang.