A.N. I promise we are so close to seeing Sam again, but just a little longer... Thanks for your patience ;)
Also, in answer to a Guest review, I have no plans for another installment in this series, mostly because I do not currently have any inspiration for more Sam and Libby and Team One. I would love, love to write more for them, but have no ideas currently, therefore if you all have any ideas, desires or prompts, please feel free to send them my way! I would love that.
As for this story, we've got five or six more chapters to go, all of which are written and are currently going through final edits.
Happy reading!
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Ed picked up immediately. "Sergeant Parker's phone."
A rough, clearly disgruntled voice echoed over the phone, "Yes, I'm looking for Sergeant Parker, as he's clearly very keen to get in touch with me. Can I speak with him?"
"He's not available at the moment. May I ask who is calling?" He felt he should start with the typical phone pleasantries, though he knew the answer already. He'd never had the pleasure—or the affliction, perhaps—of speaking with Sam's father, but no one else would be calling him with such an arrogant air about him.
"This is General Braddock, I was hoping to speak directly with Sergeant Parker so that he would no longer feel the need to call, however regretfully it appears that will not be possible." The General's voice was anything but regretful. "I suppose I will have to call back at another time." Which Ed surmised would be never. He was honestly amazed he'd called back this time, but it was probably in the name of saving face and being able to say he'd tried. "Thank you for your time, and I'm sorry to have bothered you," he spoke, clearly trying to get off the phone as quickly as possible, therefore Ed immediately cut him off.
"Sir, my name is Ed Lane, I work with Sergeant Parker and am aware of what he wished to speak with you about and am prepared to discuss it with you. It's of the utmost importance and if we talk now, then you won't have to worry about trying to get in touch a second time."
There was a pause, an angry pause, because the General was essentially trapped into remaining on the phone, as there was no good way for him to refuse.
In that angry silence, Ed's skin crawled. He'd gathered that Sam did not have a great relationship with his father, but he'd never imagined the man would be this callous and uncaring. True, he did not know his son was currently lying in a hospital having narrowly escaped with his life, but he had to have an inkling of why the person who was his son's boss was insistently calling him and not leaving details, and he didn't care enough to put in the effort to spare five minutes to connect and check on his son's well-being.
Finally, the General acquiesced. "Very well, but my time is limited, please be quick about it."
"Sir, I'm afraid that there's no easy way to say this, but your son, Sam, was shot twice two days ago and is in the hospital."
Silence.
"He was severely injured and we were uncertain as to whether he would pull through and have been trying to contact you ever since. He made it through surgery but has yet to regain consciousness."
Ed paused again to give the man a moment to process and ask questions.
Still nothing.
"One of the shots grazed his head and the doctors are not certain as to the full extent of the damage the resulting swelling of his brain caused. They're optimistic, but won't know more until they can assess him further. We're waiting now to see if—unfortunately not when—he will wake up."
Ed couldn't believe the man still had said nothing. He'd deliberately been a little more blunt with the fact that Sam might not wake up than he normally would have been, trying to elicit a response. Still nothing. He had to pull the phone away from his ear and ensure the call was still connected.
"Sir, did you hear me?" he finally asked.
"Yes, I heard you, Mr. Lane. I was waiting for you to finish. Is that all?"
"Is that…" Ed trailed off, unable to comprehend the lack of concern or emotion in the father's voice. "Sir I just told you that your son is in the hospital and they aren't certain he will wake up."
"Yes, I'm aware, however I have very little sympathy for the boy, because if he had listened to me and left that stupid line of work and taken my offer to be a training officer in the military where he'd make a difference, this wouldn't have happened."
Ed's mouth actually dropped open. The General not only didn't appear to care, but was blaming Sam? Ed bit his lip to try to keep a civil tongue in his head. "All due respect, sir, but this did not happen while Sam was on duty; even without a uniform, it is in Sam's nature to protect others." He left out the, which you should know, in an effort to retain a modicum of civility.
"Oh? Then he managed to get himself shot as a civilian? Some random person managed to get the drop on my son? He's slipping. Even so, though, if he had taken the army training position, he would not have been in the city in the first place."
"He was not shot by some random person," Ed bit out through gritted teeth, civility slipping, "he was shot when two highly trained individuals happened to target the public square he was in, and he was shot saving two other peoples' lives and was instrumental in bringing the situation to a rapid close without further loss of life, despite being trapped and bleeding out!" he snapped, unable to keep his voice from rising.
Silence.
Ed pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes, trying to rein himself back in. "He might not have been in the particular situation he was caught in this week if he'd transferred jobs," he allowed, "but as I said, wherever Sam goes he will protect others, even at wherever it is you had in mind for him to go. And if he hadn't been here, the situation would have been a lot worse."
Suddenly what the General had said a few moments ago sank in, and his eyes snapped open. "And I was under the impression that you had succeeded in convincing Sam to transfer jobs."
The sharp laughter that rang over the line spoke nothing of humor and everything of derision. "No, that boy is too damn stubborn. I tried to talk sense into him, told him to come where he could make a real difference, train the next generation and all, teach them how to be safe, and then he'd be closer to family, but he wouldn't listen. Said he was making a difference where he was and that he had a family of sorts right there. I even tried to get some of the superior officers involved, talking and stirring things up," he admitted unashamedly, "but the boy flat out refused. Therefore, this is a mess of his own making and I will have no part in it."
"He's your son and he was a hero, he saved lives!" Ed yelled. "And he might not make it!"
"That's what Braddock's do. Only, the good ones do it for their country and not in some back alley."
Ed fumed, but could see he would get nowhere with this piece of work. "Can I speak with Mrs. Braddock, please, in order to inform her?"
"I'm afraid not, she's currently on a trip with friends and won't be back for several weeks."
"Surely you have some way to reach her—"
"I might, depending on where she is currently, but I know she will feel the same way that I do."
Ed doubted it very much.
"Would you please pass along the information?"
"I will."
Ed knew he wouldn't. Maybe he would once she returned from the trip, but even then… Ed wasn't so sure.
"If that is all, Mr. Lane, I'm quite busy and need to get back to my work."
Without even waiting for a response, the call ended.
Ed sat staring at the phone in his hands, still reeling. How do I tell Sam? How do I tell him his own father thinks this is his fault and won't come see him? He couldn't fathom the idea that he would ever turn his back on Clarke like that. Not even if they were at odds. But then he realized the answers to his questions. It doesn't matter how I tell Sam, because this won't come as a surprise to him, he recognized bitterly. He thought back on all of the times that family came up in Team One's day to day lives, and of how Sam rarely contributed anything to those conversations. Maybe once or twice, when he'd come back from a family reunion on vacation and they'd prodded, but he'd mostly laughed and redirected their attention.
As for the General's deliberate meddling at the SRU, trying to get Sam to leave by stirring things up, Ed was ashamed to realize that he and Greg had walked right into that trap and may have given the horrible man exactly what he wanted: Sam might leave.
He looked up when the scuff of a shoe caught his attention. Libby stood in the doorway to Sam's room, leaning against it.
"They're not coming, are they." It was phrased as a question, but there was no uncertainty.
He shook his head slowly.
She nodded, as unsurprised as Ed was surprised. "I figured."
"You figured?" he asked. He'd known Sam wasn't particularly close with his family, but for his parents to flat out refuse to come see their son?
She nodded again. "I wasn't sure, but little things over the years in the few times we've talked gave it away; he never spoke of them. And how he reacted to being at my family's house, like it was just so… foreign. The family he grew up with aren't his family anymore; he has a new one."
Ed looked down, knowing she meant her own.
"Which still includes, you, you dummy," she clarified, seeing his reaction.
He looked up at her, eyebrow raised.
"You and all of the rest of your team members. There was nothing made clearer to me in all our phone calls; he never talked about his parents, but he wouldn't stop talking about you all. You are the family Sam chose. And yeah, you all screwed up, but that's what family does. Sure, they support each other, they love each other, and they do anything for each other, sometimes at the cost of their own health, like throwing a shoe to save a life when it causes you literal physical pain. But they also make mistakes, they yell, they get mad, and they hurt each other—sometimes unintentionally, sometimes intentionally. But close families can move past that. I speak from personal experience," she grinned ruefully. "And a family that's a family by choice is one worth fighting for. You may not be able to fix it, but don't give up just yet."
"Thanks Libby," he told her for the second time that day.
"Yeah well, thank me by fixing it."
Ed frowned. "I think I got most of what you just said, but what was the shoe metaphor? That one went over my head."
Libby raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Oh, I thought you saw that, or at least knew about it."
He shook his head, confused.
"In the square, we realized we needed a phone so that Sam could get in touch with you all to let you know where he thought the shooters were, but his was broken and mine was in my bag which was out in the open, a little ways away from our hiding spot. So, someone needed to grab that bag, and there was no way Sam could do it—there was no way I was going to let Sam do it—so I did."
A memory surfaced from that day, of a shot ringing out from the square, leading everyone to believe they'd just lost another hostage, only to have a voice deny it and tell them in disbelief that a young woman had just darted out and grabbed a bag, then darted back to her hiding place. That while the shooter had gotten a shot off, it went wide, because the person she was hiding with threw a shoe of all things into the air as a distraction. The voice on the radio had called whoever the shoe thrower was an idiot, stating that there was no way the shoe made a difference.
And now Ed realized who the young woman was. "That was you. You were the one who didn't make a break for the square's edge, but to grab a bag," he murmured, a little awe and appreciation seeping into his voice. It had been no small thing to throw herself out there like that, with the high likelihood of getting shot, all for a chance of being able to contact them.
She nodded.
"And Sam was the 'idiot,'" he continued almost to himself, smiling at how wrong the person on the radio had been. Genius, is more like it.
"Excuse me?" she demanded sharply.
"No no," he backpedaled quickly. "I'm not calling Sam an idiot, what he did, what you both did was incredible and incredibly brave. It's just the person who told us what happened in the square thought what Sam did was pretty stupid. And that person was very wrong, because it probably saved your life."
Libby relaxed, understanding. "Well it was stupid," she disagreed, "but not for the reason that the person was probably thinking. It was stupid because it undid all of the clotting that had happened up to that point and shifted what we now know were broken ribs. But I can't complain too much as it did save my life," she allowed.
Ed shook his head in wonder. "Why'd you do it, though? I mean, you had to know we were working on finding the shooter, that there was a very good chance your phone was also broken, so you were probably risking your life for no reason. And if Sam hadn't thought to throw that shoe, you almost certainly would have been dead and then it would have been a pointless try in the first place. So why not just wait?" he asked curiously.
"Because Sam didn't have time," she stated matter-of-factly. "Because Sam wasn't going to last much longer, and I wasn't going to sit and watch my friend die when there was a chance that I could do something about it, no matter how slim that chance was."
Ed stared at her, at this amazing young woman who stood before him, who's loyalty to Sam had been forged in the fleeting fire of life-threatening danger, but had clearly only grown stronger over the years. And he added yet another thing to the list of things to thank her for, because he knew she was right. Sam would not have made it if he'd been trapped in that square much longer.
Eventually, Libby went back in Sam's room, and when Greg returned shortly after that, Ed recounted his conversation with Sam's father to him. The other man sat in silence, but his thoughts were painted clearly across his face. Disbelief. Disgust. Despair.
When 2 o'clock rolled around, however, and his shift ended, Ed left the two of them due to Greg's strict orders—even though he himself had broken his own rules.
On his way out of the door of the hospital, lost in thought, he heard a voice yell loudly, "Ed!" and realized it was not the first time that voice had been calling him, right before a hand landed on his shoulder.
He flinched in surprise and turned to find himself looking at Jack Rivers.
"Hey," Jack greeted him, a small smile on his face. "Sorry about that, I was calling you since I saw you across the room, but I guess you didn't hear me."
Ed shook his head. "Yeah, just guess I have a lot on my mind."
"I can only imagine. I came to see Sam, but they wouldn't let me up since he's still in the ICU. Guess I'm not an authorized visitor."
Ed frowned. "Oh, well you can come with me and we can go back to the nurse's station and get that sorted out."
"No no, don't worry about it. It looks like you need to get out of here, and I can wait to see him, if you wouldn't mind telling me how he's doing?"
Ed opened his mouth, then closed it. Unsure at first what to say. That he's doing well? Was that really the truth? That he'd had a hell of a fight to make it this far and still had a hell of a fight to go? Finally, he settled for, "He's doing okay, considering. He made it through surgery, probably only by the force of his stubbornness," because god, it had been that close, "and they're optimistic, but he still hasn't woken up."
"And his head…?" Jack asked cautiously, clearly wary of bringing up a difficult subject.
Ed grimaced. "We won't know the extent of the damage until he wakes up," if he wakes up, "but the bullet grazed and didn't fully penetrate."
The other man sighed in relief, body losing tension Ed hadn't even noticed. He frowned. As far as he was aware, Jack and Sam were not particularly close; in fact, they barely knew each other. While Jack had spent several months with Team One while Sam was recovering from his injuries several years ago, and Ed respected the man, he hadn't thought the two themselves had struck up a friendship. And of course, while all of SRU felt the loss of a teammate or showed concern when one was injured, this seemed like more than just friendly, detached, work related concern.
"Good, that's good," Jack murmured, running his hands through his hair, trying to settle himself. "You have no idea how good it is to hear that. I'm really hoping Sam pulls through.
Ed wanted to ask more, but couldn't figure out a way to do it without it coming across as rude, but Jack answered his unasked question without even realizing it.
"Jeeze, I have no idea how you've managed all these years. I barely know the guy, have maybe had a handful of conversations with him outside of this week, but it's been… it's been rough these past few days worrying about him. And you all, I can't even imagine. You've had the pleasure of knowing and working with him for years."
Ed smiled softly. Isn't that the truth. "Yeah, it can be pretty rough, especially since he has this nasty tendency to be all heroic and self-sacrificial."
Jack nodded. "Well, I hope to get the chance to get to know him better. And I really hope I get the chance to learn from him. You know he was dead on the other day?"
Ed frowned in confusion.
"With his estimate of where the shooter was," Jack clarified. "He gave us a range of floors in two buildings, wasn't sure which, but that something felt off. And he was right. There was a shooter in each building, exactly where he thought they were." He shook his head in disbelief. "Incredible. You know, you and your team have on hell of a team member there, Ed." He clapped Ed on the back and started to walk away, towards a different exit, missing Ed's quiet reply.
"Yes, yes we do."