Chapter One: What Could Have Been

106 hours earlier (5 days earlier, 10:46 PM Toronto time)

Sam Braddock trudged up the path to his apartment, wrung out after the day's disastrous call. He knew, in his head, that Ed had had no choice but to take the shot…by putting Spike's life at risk, Darren Kovacs had forced Ed's hand, forced the Scorpio shot. His heart, though, wasn't quite so sure and the situation had dredged up the parts of his own past that were still razor sharp with guilt, regret, and loss.

He did appreciate his team going out of their way to make it clear he wasn't going anywhere, bad call or not. He should have known better, Sam mused to himself. After everything they'd gone through, there was no way Team One was going to let him fall on his sword over a misjudgment any of them could have made. He looked up at his building, dreading the night ahead – nightmares were inevitable, but he couldn't stay awake forever. He considered the quiet offer Wordy had made of his guest room, seriously debating whether or not it was worth it to show up on the man's doorstep at eleven at night.

As he entered his building, he'd just about decided it was worth the effort and risk to trek over to Wordy's place when a sound made him turn…right into a textbook perfect takedown. He fought, bucking wildly in an attempt to get free, but his exhaustion and stress worked against him and he ended up on his knees, arms locked behind his back, looking up at a man he'd hoped to never see again.

Ryan was hardly recognizable to the young sniper; his formerly sleek, lean frame was now thin and emaciated, his dark brown eyes manic with a hidden obsession. Formerly distinguished robes, styled to look as military as possible, were little more than rags, worn for so long that Sam was sharply reminded of a homeless man. Though Ryan was actually a little shorter than Sam himself, he loomed over the kneeling man with a glint in his eyes that made the blond constable pull back a little in his captors' grasp. "Hello, Samuel," Ryan purred.

"Ryan," Sam returned, his voice flat. "I would have thought you'd be back in Afghanistan, making sure all those little Afghan wizards play nice."

Ryan's smile widened. "Oh, I was," he replied, casually pulling his wand. "Wasn't the same with you gone…with my brother gone, but, well, you know how it is."

Sam didn't bother to hide his sneer. "You're not military, Ryan; you have no idea how it is for us."

A pause, then Ryan arched a brow. " 'Not military'? Perhaps you meant to say, I'm not a Squib, yes?"

Sam stiffened. "I said what I meant, Ryan. And don't even pretend you don't know about my new team…I bet you're the one who told the General."

"So it's true?" came from behind Sam, a high, angry female voice. Sam cringed, well aware of who it was. Alicia, former teammate and a woman with a grudge against him for killing her crush. She'd wanted Matt for her own; the entire unit had known, but Matt, understanding the regs and wary of her behavior, had kept her at arm's length.

Now she stalked into Sam's line of sight, as puffed up and indignant as an angry cat. "Your new team works with wizards?" Unlike Ryan, she hadn't changed at all: long blonde hair hung down her back, done up in a braid with her trademark spiked strap, and her slender, muscular frame was taunt with her anger and rage. In the dim light of the atrium, her light blue eyes snapped sparks at Sam; she was taller than Jules, though not by much, but possessed none of Jules' warmth and compassion.

"Oh, you bring the whole gang along, Ryan?" Sam asked, shoving as much nonchalance and sarcasm in his voice as possible. "Hi, Alicia, how've you been?"

She slapped him, hard, throwing his head to the side, making him see stars as his cheek stung and throbbed from her hit. "How dare you pretend this is just a reunion, how dare you act like everything is the same as it was before you…did that to Matt."

"Well," Sam drawled, as insincere as he could manage, "You certainly have an odd definition of 'reunion', seeing as it involves me kneeling on a concrete floor at eleven o'clock at night, with you and Ryan ranting at me, and the rest of the gang enjoying the show."

"And what about you?" Alicia sneered. "Still working with wizards, bowing and scraping to their ilk; your father must be so proud of you."

Sam struggled without thinking, furious at her insult to his team. Then he regained his insolent air. "Yep, same Alicia as I remember. Jumping to conclusions and making enough assumptions to sink the Titanic." He refused to back down; she'd eat him alive if he did. "So, tell me, Alicia…you move onto Ryan now that Matt's dead?"

She sneered at him, disgust plain on her face, then looked up at a man who still stood in shadows; the adoring look on her face made dread crawl up Sam's spine.

Then the man stepped into the light and Sam's world ground to a screeching halt. Matt, in his uniform, looking as if he'd never had a bullet through his heart, never fallen on that Afghan field, never come home in a casket. He was just like Sam remembered: tall, on par with Ed's height and more broad-shouldered than Wordy, with muscles standing out under his uniform and his brown hair in the military cut that Sam had left behind almost two years earlier. His eyes looked black, instead of the brown Sam remembered, but the blond sniper dismissed that as a trick of the light. Sam gaped at him, jaw hanging open, breathing almost forgotten.

"Hello, old friend," Matt murmured, a look in his eyes and an edge to his voice that instantly put Sam on high alert. Uncharacteristically, he stretched out an arm, wrapping it around Alicia's shoulders. She nestled into him, looking satisfied and content.

"Matt," Sam breathed, so stunned he almost forgot all the magical training he'd had since becoming an Auror. Then he stiffened, realization slamming into him like a sledgehammer and his eyes went icy and cold. He swung his gaze to Ryan and spat, "So, what, you into necromancy now, Ryan? You really that desperate?"

Ryan's laugh was chilling, sending shivers down Sam's spine. And the look in his eyes…Sam finally identified it. Insane, Ryan was utterly insane…and completely obsessed with his brother. Alicia shrieked her displeasure at Sam's presumption and might have landed another slap if Matt hadn't caught her wrist, giving her such a tender look that it made Sam squirm in outrage at how undeath had changed his best friend.

"No, Sam," Matt replied, shifting back towards the sniper, "You gave me this chance yourself." Sam froze in shock and horror. "And you betrayed me."

It had taken a long, long time for Sam to get past that particular self-accusation, but he straightened as much as possible and retorted, "You shouldn't have been there, I was cleared to fire. I didn't know you were there, so I didn't betray you."

Solemn, Matt inclined his head in agreement. "All true, Sam. But that's not what I was talking about." Another curl of dread unfurled in Sam's stomach. "You betrayed me when you chose to save a pureblood bigot instead of doing your job, Master Corporal Braddock!"

Sam reeled as the pieces clicked into place and his actions in the Netherworld stabbed at him anew. But he forced himself to straighten again and hurled back words he'd never dreamed he'd say to his best friend. "You're dead, Matt. You were dead for close to two years before what you're talking about even happened; I didn't betray you, I chose reality over fantasy. And I don't regret it," he added, putting as much defiance in his voice as possible.

"You don't regret it?" Matt asked, deadly soft.

"No," Sam spat, ignoring the lethal glares from Ryan and Alicia.

"I hope it was worth it," Ryan snapped from the side, "Because you're never going to see those Muggles again, Braddock!"

Sam smirked back at Ryan, putting as much bravado into his voice as possible. "Come on, Ryan, you talk big, but you never had the guts to back it up." He tilted his chin up, giving Ryan as clear a shot as possible. Ryan snarled, starting forward, but, again, Matt stopped him.

Then Matt gestured to another member of his gang, his hand moving in the signals Sam knew oh-so-well from his stint in JTF2. Sam struggled, fighting back as much as he could, trying to get at least one of them to hit him, injure him enough to set his phone off, but to no avail. His phone and keys were removed without his captors leaving so much as a scratch on him; the phone's alert silent and untriggered.

Finally less cocky, Sam looked up at the manic Ryan, a clear question in his eyes.

Ryan's sneer at him was wide and smug. "You want to know what's going to happen, Braddock?" he inquired, his tone almost reasonable. Sam held as still as possible, watching Ryan warily. Ryan's smile was right out of a horror movie, his eyes, if it were possible, even more insane than before.

"You're going to pay for the life you took, Samuel Braddock."