A.N. As one of the reviewers pointed out, I have been pretty cruel in leaving you people with cliff hangers at the end of each chapter. I find this rather amusing, because I personally dislike to read stories that are constantly ending in cliff hangers... and yet I've written one that's just like that! Well, this one is still cliff hangerish, but after this chapter I think it settles down.
Thank you all for sticking with this story!
As always, I do not own Flashpoint and am only borrowing the characters.
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Two shots rang out in rapid succession, perforating Wordy's jacket. Ed lunged around the concrete corner, grabbing Sam's arm as he swung into reach and jerking him around the side. He winced as Sam hit the building, but he was more concerned with getting him out of the line of fire. Seconds later, the concrete corner exploded as a bullet tried to hit the already injured SRU officer, but Ed's plan had worked and they were both already safely tucked behind the concrete.
"Team status!" Greg yelled through the coms.
"No harm," Spike replied.
"No harm, except to my jacket," Wordy informed ruefully, though relieved that their ruse had worked.
"No harm to me," Ed replied quickly, "I can't say no harm about Sam, but he hasn't been hit a second time. Wordy, Spike! Let's see about pulling us up!"
Just at that moment, the concrete protecting him and Sam exploded as another bullet was fired at them. He turned quickly, so that his back was to the corner, shielding Sam as best he could. Through the coms, he learned that the sniper was also firing at the open window above and to the right, probably hoping to hit one of the SRU by accident. His team was talking rapid fire: Wordy and Spike had been forced to move back from the edge and were unable to get to Ed and Sam without risking being hit, and the uniforms were on the correct floor of the Jackson Corporation building, but were having trouble locating the woman; Jules was trying to help by looking from her Sierra perch, and thought she may have found the correct room.
"Ed!" Spike called over the noise of the mini explosions taking place each time a bullet hit. "Just give them a minute to find her! The moment they've secured her we will be pulling you up okay?"
"We don't have a minute!" Ed bellowed, taking in Sam's pale face, blue lips, and the fact that though he'd hissed when he'd hit the building, he still hadn't opened his eyes. "Hey, Sam," Ed said quietly, tapping the other man on the cheek and transferring his harness from his safety line to Ed's main line. "Hey Sam, you with me?"
One eye cracked a fraction, slowly followed by the other, until they were both open slightly.
"Hey, there are those beautiful blues!" Ed smiled, never so happy to see another man's eyes in his entire life. "You're gonna be okay, Sam, you got that?" he assured, pulling the other man closer, and putting pressure, as best he could, on the still bleeding wounds.
"… I… got it," Sam managed, just loud enough for Ed to hear.
A surge of happiness spread through Ed as he heard his injured teammate speak, but he quickly kept it in check, reminding himself that Sam wasn't out of the woods yet. "That's right Samo. You're Samtastic and a little thing like being shot is not going to bring you down. Man, you gave me one hell of a scare, I'll tell you what. I've never felt like I did when I turned around and you weren't there…" He shuddered, recalling the disbelief and horror that had coursed through him. "Don't ever do that to me again, okay? As I said earlier, I'm not as young as I used to be and I don't think my heart could take it!" he joked, trying to keep the conversation light. He was watching Sam carefully, noticing his struggle to breathe and the tension that radiated throughout his body.
"You could… take it," Sam mumbled. "You're Ed. You can… do… anything." He said with finality, as if that explained everything.
Ed's heart warmed at the younger man's solid trust and praise, before his thoughts blackened and turned to his inability to do something. "Anything except rescue my teammate when he needs it the most."
"Nonsense," Sam closed his eyes for a moment, before snapping them back open, "I would be Swiss Cheese without you." His gaze slid pointedly towards the bullets still hitting the other side of the concrete, sporadically.
Ed was about to reply when all of a sudden, the impacts stopped. He paused for a moment, listening to the coms, but he heard nothing. "Spike? Boss? What's the status? Is the shooter in custody?"
There was a moment of silence before Greg's voice came through the coms. "That's an affirmative, Ed. Alive and well, in custody."
"Which is more than she deserves," Ed muttered vehemently under his breath, causing Sam to raise an eyebrow before his eyelids slid shut again. "Whoa their Samo." He frantically tapped the blond man's face, none too lightly, "No going to sleep on me now!"
"M'not sleeping," he retorted, though with only a tenth of his usual spirit.
"Well then open those gorgeous eyes of yours and keep looking into my equally gorgeous eyes."
Sam snorted—momentarily forgetting about his broken ribs—and regretted it immediately. He felt bone grate against bone, and it was all he could do to keep from screaming, but it had the desired effect of making his eyes open quickly. "I've… ne'er… heard anyone… call your eyes… gorgeous!" he gasped for air.
"Well you've just never been around when the topic's come up," Ed said smugly, before he turned his attention to his right and grinned. "I think you're going to have to eat your words about this 'terrible artistic concrete protrusion,' Sam, because it pretty much saved your life."
The ghost of a smile appeared at the corners of Sam's mouth, and his eyes started to slide shut just as they both began to rise, pulled towards the window by Wordy and Spike.
"Hey, no Sam! You gotta stay with me! What? No come back about how you weren't wrong and that this lump of concrete is actually terrible? Or are you just gonna admit that you, the great Sam Braddock, were wrong for once?" Ed teased, trying to antagonize the ex-soldier in order to keep him awake.
He was rewarded by a soft, "Wasn't… wrong. 'Is—not at all… artistic. Still havin'… words." With that, the last of Sam's energy was used up and his head fell limply onto Ed's shoulder.
"Sam! We need EMTs here now!" he yelled frantically, just as they reached the window and Spike reached down to pull Sam in.
"They're already on their way Ed. They're in the elevator," Greg informed him calmly.
As Ed, too, was pulled into the room, he immediately moved to put pressure on Sam's still bleeding wounds, leaning on them with all of his might. Wordy quickly handed the Team Leader his hole filled jacket to try and help stop the precious liquid from leaving Sam's body.
"Custody's too good for her," Ed growled, seeing that Wordy's jacket was already soaked in red. Spike gave his team leader a questioning glance, so Ed elaborated. "Harrison. She should see how she'd like to get thrown out of a window."
"Ed…" Greg started to chastise, but was interrupted by the arrival of the EMTs.
"I've got this, now, sir," one of the EMTs told Ed, gently moving him out of the way and taking over putting pressure on the wounds. "What can you tell us?"
"Uh," Ed tried to collect himself. "Two gunshot wounds to the chest. He was conscious a minute ago but not anymore. Pretty sure I felt a couple broken ribs, and he was hanging outside in the wind and cold for about ten minutes."
"Understood," the EMT nodded before ordering his partner to start an IV, and hand him pressure bandages immediately. "We need to take his vest off," he said, meeting Ed's gaze. "While it's probably been helping to keep the blood loss down, we'll be more effective if we can put the bandages directly on his chest."
Ed nodded, moving to undo the Velcro.
"Just open it—we'll worry about getting it off of him later—in three, two, one!"
Acting quickly, the EMT quickly pressed down on the now exposed wounds as Ed opened the vest.
"All right, we need to move him onto the backboard and get him out of here now! You two," he motioned towards Spike and Wordy who'd been standing on the sidelines, unable to do anything but watch, "Lift his torso. You," he motioned to Ed, "Move his legs. Ready? Three, two, one!"
In one fluid movement Sam was swiftly placed on the backboard where he was quickly strapped on.
"Sir," the head EMT addressed Ed again, "Can you lift one end while my partner lifts the other? I need to keep this pressure on his gunshot wounds."
Ed nodded numbly, quickly moving to Sam's head and hoisting the backboard with the other EMT. They moved as swiftly as they could towards the elevator (thank God they were working again, Ed thought) and began to descend to the first floor. When the doors opened, they were greeted by another team of paramedics who had a rolling gurney that they swiftly transferred Sam onto before whisking him away to a waiting ambulance. Ed stood in shock for a moment, numb to the fact that everything was now out of his hands, before he started to move rapidly towards the ambulance. When he got within ten feet, he heard a raised shout from inside, "Blood pressure's dropping! We gotta go now!" before the door slammed shut and the ambulance squealed onto the road and raced away.