A.N. I do not own Flashpoint, nor any of the characters therein. I have only borrowed them for a little while for entertainment purposes only.
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Four Hours Earlier...
The gray house on the corner was nothing to behold. Its snow covered lawn was tidy with no trace of a child's snow imaginations. Its windows were kept clean, and its driveway was shoveled. Inside the gray house the coffee pot beeped a protest as it finished its fifth brew that morning. A man in his late twenties rushed down the stairs of the house and into the kitchen to pour the steaming coffee into a large mug. He placed the mug on a tray already laden with toast and fruit and, carefully maneuvering around the treacherous countertop corners, went upstairs. He passed a child's bedroom on the way down the hall—a room filled with unused unicorns and forgotten fairies—which seemed odd because it was clear that no child lived in that house. The young man entered the master bedroom and, placing the tray on a stand next to the bed, bent to kiss his sleeping wife's forehead. He stroked her cheek a moment, propped a note against the coffee mug, made sure the covers were snug against her chin to keep out the chill, then slipped out of the room.
Downstairs, he put on his coat, grabbed his wallet and keys, and left the house quietly. As he walked to his car in the driveway, a careful observer might have noticed the tear that he quickly brushed away, or the fact that his hands were shaking (then again, it was very cold outside and he'd forgotten his gloves), but it would have taken a trained eye to notice the bulge beneath his jacket that gave away the presence of a small handgun tucked where no one could see. Alas there were no observers to be seen at six a.m. on a Saturday, they were all snuggled down in blankets, asleep, trying to keep the January cold at bay.
The woman upstairs awoke to the sound of his car starting, but she did not rush to say a goodbye, instead she stared at the wall for a long time. Finally, she mustered the energy to sit up and, turning, noticed the tray of food her husband had thoughtfully left for her. Sighing, she heaved herself up against the headboard and reached for the note. After reading it, she smiled for the first time in months: "My Dearest Trudy, It comes full circle today. At last Izzy gets her revenge."
Across town, a woman left the front door of a very similar house. She, too, started her car and drove away, but a careful observer would not have noticed any hint of danger about her. No shaking hands, no hidden guns. They would have been wrong.
(Flashpoint...Flashpoint...Flashpoint...Flashpoint)
SRU Headquarters
"Who put on Beauty and the Briefcase?! Exercising is hard enough without having to watch this mush!"
Sam was just finishing changing into his workout clothes when he heard Spike's outraged yell come from the weight room. He looked at Greg (also just finished changing) and grinned. "I win, it only took him ten seconds to notice."
Greg nodded ruefully. "Fourth time's the charm I guess." Sam had just won their third bet straight: the previous two being a bet on how long it would take Ed to find his "misplaced" hat (Spike was the responsible party) and how long Jules would need to change into a dress (Greg had guessed five minutes, Sam had correctly guessed two. Though Greg was pretty sure that Jules and Sam had ganged up on him for that one). At this point he was beginning to wonder if Sam was somehow pulling the wool over his eyes, because he thought he knew his team better than that.
His musings were cut short when Sam called out, "Spike, who lives with three daughters and a wife, hunh? Who is the one that always subjects us to these terrible movies?" He exited the locker room and was met with Spike's angry glare.
"It was a rhetorical question Sam." The Italian cast around the room searching for the person responsible for the horrendous movie choice. "Wordy, I swear man, you have got to stop bringing these things here! Just look up their synopses online or something!"
Wordy, who was currently having a battle with the weights, rolled his eyes. "I tried that already but this movie doesn't have one and the girls want to watch it tomorrow night so I need to know what I'm getting into. Besides, you were the one that wanted to watch Just Like Heaven."
"Hey, whoa, you cannot find fault with Just Like Heaven. That is the best chick flick ever, and the only one I like. It's got humor, it's got great acting, it's got a happy endin—"
"Guys," Jules cut in from the treadmill, "it's Wordy's day so he gets to put us through whatever horror he wants to, he will just have to deal with the consequences later." She winked at him. "Maybe some shaving cream stuffed in his boot, or some perfumed shampoo? I think you're pretty creative Spike."
"Now wait a minute," Wordy protested. "Don't go giving him any ideas Jules!"
Spike grinned evily before exclaiming, "Too late!"
Sam, who by this time had given up trying to start pull-ups due to the fact that laughter and lifting your full body weight do not mix, chuckled and slapped Wordy on the back. "Nice knowing you man. You may want to look into flights to the Philippines before the morning is up."
Ed had so far managed to avoid entering into the perilous debate brewing between his teammates, but at the opportunity Sam offered, he couldn't resist a few jabs at the Italian. "Oh come on Sam, Spike's wrath isn't any worse than a fly: a lot of annoyance but nothing to worry about."
Spike's mouth dropped open. "Oh Ed, you did not just say that. Are you forgetting the time I put glue on the inside of your boots? You couldn't get your socks out of them for weeks and you finally had to get a whole new pair because you couldn't stand the smell!"
Ed, who had forgotten about that particular ordeal, paled at remembering the stench that would waft from his favorite pair of boots for a two week period after he had made the mistake of criticizing Babycakes. He opened his mouth to defend himself but never got the chance.
"Team One, Hot Call!" Winnie's voice came over the intercom. "Andrew Bank downtown, thirty-fifth floor. Shots fired, multiple hostages."
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A.N. A little slow to start and short, I know, but there was some setup to do. Action to come in the next chapters! And I have never seen Beauty and the Briefcase-I have nothing against it-it was just the movie that seemed to fit the situation.
Also, I am not an expert in anything medical, geographical, or any other area. I have created a fictional building, as I have never been to Toronto, so please excuse anything that conflicts with the actual buildings and streets (etc) in Toronto.