AN: Here it is! I know that it has been ages, and I fell a bit guilty for leaving you guys hanging. I have moved twice since the last chapter and work has been busy, new bruises everyday. But today I've been home with a fever so I thought, what the hell. So chapter ten is written on caffeine and painkillers. Also not beta read since I wanted to get it out to you.

A special little thanks to jneill7677 for the English pointers, I do my best to keep them in mind. And to maya for leaving words of encouragement to every chapter.

And to everyone else following, adding my story to their favorites and leaving comments, once again, a heartfelt thank you for your support.

And finally, there's a Spotify link to my Firefly playlist on my profile. Fell free :)

Please enjoy!

Firefly – Chapter ten

"If something creepy crawly sneaks up and bite me in here, you guys better hope it gives me superpowers." I'm lying with my body awkwardly twisted in an air shaft trying to get a small camera through the angled grate. In the room below me the discussion is getting more heated and I can hear Sarges calming voice almost desperately trying to soothe the subject over the phone. We're in a bad spot. From what we know there's five people in the old store, and one of them, probably the owner, have had a really bad day and is currently weaving a shotgun around. We need to get in there, but we can't go in blind.

And that's why I'm here, in a dark went with nothing but a torch between my teeth and the damned camera that's for some unfathomable reason too big to fit between the bars.

"I hope it turns you into a white fluffy kitten, that'd be hilarious…" Sam's tight voice cuts in over Spikes calm instructions and there's a moment of silence with the whole team obviously picturing the whole scenario before barley contained snickers can be heard over the line. I curse something illegible around the flashlight, not really angry as my disgruntled mutters seem to cause further cheerfulness among my colleagues. With the tension momentarily broken I twist the device just so, it slips through the bars with ease and I grin in triumph. "We've got eyes, get me out of here." As I carefully move backwards, mindful of the safety line that'll bring me back up, I listen to the new information as Spike monitors the store. "We've got three hostages in the right corner, subject two meters to the left of the front door and the last hostage is standing by the register. No one seems injured, check your phones, I'm sending an image."

I feel the light buzz of my phone a second later just as I reach up and, grabbing Wordys offered hand I'm hauled up and over the edge into the bright afternoon light. I finally allow myself to relax just a fraction, rolling stiff shoulders, getting the world back on track after what felt like ages in the dark airshaft. The gravel crunch under my boots as I move to assist Wordy with the safety cables, the wind is cool against my warm face and everything is just a tad bit too bright. We work quickly, efficiently, moving around each other with ease and within minutes we are jogging back down the stairs with the gear slung over our shoulders. I jump the last three steps, allowing the momentum to carry me forward and past Wordy in a few quick strides, grabbing his gear as I pass and moving towards our truck without ever breaking the pace. Wordy gives a swift tap to my shoulder, continuing left to rejoin Ed at one of the shop windows.

I've just put away the climbing gear as Gregs voice sound in my ear. "Terrano, Mr. Moyers wife is on her way. Make sure she can get through and take her to Jules." I turn, spinning around and start to jog down the street, weaving through the assembled crowd towards the cab that just pulled to a halting stop. "Copy that Boss, I see her." The middle aged woman is smoothing out her stylish gray skirt and matching cotton blouse as I reach her. "Mrs. Moyer?" She looks at me then, and I'm taken back by the detached look etched over her face. It's an empty, flat expression with just a hint of contained irritation.

She doesn't really care, does she. Like looking in a bloody mirror.

"Yes." Her voice, just like her face, does not belong to a distressed and worried wife but more like someone royally tired of this shit. "My name's Christina Terrano, I'm with the strategic response unit. Could you follow me please." She gives a slight nod, falling into step next to me as we move back down the street. I give the communication device at my ear a slight tap. "Jules, Scarlatti. Mrs. Moyer is here. I'm bringing her to you."

"Copy that." I shift my head to the side, lowering my voice to a murmur, allowing the buzz of the crowd to drown it out. "And Jules…something's not right." There's a moment of silence and for a second I'm unsure if she heard me. "Copy that."

I leave Mrs. Moyer in the capable hands of Jules and Scarlatti in the communication truck, before moving back towards the store to join Sam at the corner, pointing a few officers towards a bit too enthusiastic journalist as I go. "Care to clarify that, kid?" Eds question comes just as I reach Sam. I give the soldier a light pat on his shoulder to alert him of my presence, that I'm there to watch his back should the shit hit the fan. Sam answers with a slight nod, not once taking his eyes of the silhouettes moving behind the closed curtains.

"Let's just say, that I, personally, is more upset over the prospect of her husband blowing someones brains out and getting himself killed in the process, than she is." A blunt response maybe, but true all the same.

"He is escalating guys, give me something." Parkers voice is clam and steady over the line, but the underlying tension is clear. "Jules?"

"It's like Chris said Boss, something is going on, but the wife's not talking. But the man at gunpoint is their neighbor, a Mark Simons. They've known each other for nine years according to Marks mother."

"Any previous tension? "

"They've always been good friends, but it seems like they stopped talking a few weeks ago. Moyer's under the impression that Simons was having an affair with his wife."

Oh, this could get ugly.

"Boss?" And there it was, the voice of our guardian angel.

"Yes Winnie?"

"I've got a Tim Moyer on the line. He seems to have a good idea of what's going on"

"Father?"

"Brother."

"That's great Winnie, patch him through."

"Copy that Boss."

"Mr. Moyer, I'm Sergeant Greg Pa-"

The rest is cut of as the world seems to explode over my head, sending Sam and me sprawling to the ground as we're showered in shattered glass and splintered wood. With my heart in my throat I force myself to breath, sucking in air through clenched teeth and the exploding rush of adrenaline makes my hand shake as I reach for Sam. Even though we're practically on top of each other he seems so heart-wrenchingly far away as the instinct, the sudden raw need to assure myself of my teammates safety is all I can focus on until a strong, but equally shaky hand wraps itself around my arm and we drag each other down close against the brick wall.

The chaos erupting over the radio is deafening, the resounding crack of a broken door and the hiss of the smoke bomb telling us that the time for negotiation is over. We look at each other, both making a quick assessment of damage before assuring our team. "No harm! No Harm!" Our voices sounding as one before we rise and move through the broken window to back up Ed and Wordy as they break through the door. Moving through the now smoke filled room I follow Parkers directions to assist Wordy in getting the other hostages out, leaving Mr. Moyer and his neighbor still fighting over the now dropped shotgun to Ed and Sam.

I move next to Wordy, keeping my body in between the civilians and the fight in the middle of the store. My heart's still racing, my grip on the stock of my weapon to tight but my own panic will have to wait as we usher the three civilians out into the hands of the waiting officers and paramedics.

"The hell happened!?" My voice is a bit too high, too tight, but I can't help it. I'm still forcing myself to breath.

God damnit!

"Good Mr. Simons made a jump for the gun when Moyer wasn't looking. You good?" I nod, giving Wordy a light smile. "Yeah, I'm good. Let's get this mess cleaned up."

The chaos is over almost faster than it started, both Moyer and Simons lead out in cuffs and whiskered of in two police cars, Mrs. Moyer too, for preventing the investigation or something like that. We pack up while Sam gets a quick once over by a paramedic, a few small shards of the broken glass picked from the palm of his hand and he's good to go.

"Okay kids, wrap it up and let's get back to the station."

I make my way over to Sam, pulse back to normal and hands steady. "Hey…you good?"

"Yeah, it'll heal. But you can drive if you want." I grin, fishing the keys from my pocket to dangle them in front of him. "Already done, order from the Boss." He laughs as we walk towards the cars. "Figures. Are you okay? Looked a bit pale back there."

"Well, in my defense I was being shot at. I think it validates being a bit pale."

Yes, let's pretend your sudden tendency to ignore survival instinct in favor of fear never happened shall we.

Shut up, not now.

Just saying, making sure no one was gonna shoot at you again would have been the more logical choice for the situation.

He is my teammate, we were being shot at.

And since when do you care?

I shrug, putting a grin on my face as we reach the rest of the team.

"And Braddock…just for the record, I'd be the most badass white fluffy kitten this side of Toronto."

¨So, she was having an affair, not with the neighbor, but her husband's brother?" I stare, wide eyed, at Jules as we make our way towards the changing room. "The neighbor knew, but couldn't keep his mouth shut and Moyer refused to sign the divorce papers his wife wanted so she could marry his brother because he thought it was the neighbor. God my head hurts!"

Jules laugh as I throw my hands up over my head.

"Brokenhearted people sometimes do stupid things." I snort. "No, having a broken heart has nothing to do with it. People are stupid by nature and will always do stupid things." Jules gives me a stern look, though it's somewhat ruined by the spark in her eyes and twitch of her lips. "So you're saying I'm stupid." I shrug. "I'm an idiot; you're an idiot, everybody's happy."

She snickers, placing a light slap at the back of my head. "Right, whatever you say. Coffee?" I feel myself perk up like a dog presented with a meaty treat, or maybe a fresh mailman. "God yes!"

"Terrano." I stop mid-step, turning to see both Greg and Ed standing in the end of the corridor. "Do you have a moment?" Jules give me a nod before disappearing into the locker-room. "I'll wait."

"Of course Sir." I answer with a smile, but as I follow them back down the corridor I can feel the blood drain from my face with each step. By the time we reach the debriefing room I feel ready to faint. Greg sits, both me and Ed remain standing, I mostly cause my feet decided to glue themselves to the bloody floor. In the suddenly panicked chaos of my mind I try to filter out anything from the days hotcall that would give me a clue to if I'm about to be fired or not. I don't find anything, but I'm still sure that this is it, for whatever reason.

A soft chuckle snaps me from my panicked searching. My eyes snap up, taking in Gregs relaxed pose and friendly smile. At least none of them look like they're about to fire me, that's good.

Right?

"I understand you and Jules have made a habit of eating breakfast together."

Okay…what?

"Huh?"

Oh, yes, very eloquent, very intelligent. Good job.

Ever gone from snowman to traffic light in two seconds? No? Well, Greg obviously found it very amusing. It was a good-natured laugh though and I found myself grinning even as my cheeks burned. "I imagine you had a very different conversation in your head, but there's no need to worry. I, we, am just a bit curious as to how Jules managed to drag you out from that armor you've constructed around yourself." I chuckle, mind still going overdrive to catch up to the fact that we're discussing my breakfast habits and not, say, firing the rookie. Yes, I'm very hung up on that firing part.

"To be honest with you Boss…"

"We're counting on it."

"I'm not really sure how it became an everyday thing but, it actually started with me trying to be…friendly, I guess…the rest just kina happened. Jules is a very sneaky woman." They both regard me quietly for a second, as if contemplating the answer. I twist under their sharp gazes, the kind of all-seeing-eye thing the whole team seem to have going on for them. Ed is the first to speak. "Is it difficult? Being friendly?" No point in lying. "Yes." He leans forward against the table, calm, collected.

"Can you tell us what happened today." I give him a look. "We were shot at."

"How did you react…no, what did you feel?" I regard them both silently, the feeling still as clear in my mind as the dust on my clothes.

"It's not the first time I've been shot at."

"That's not relevant, what did you feel."

I swallow, crossing my hands behind my back to stop the sudden shaking. I can see all of it in the back of my mind, every lead bullet as they smash against the opposite brick wall, every shard of glass and wood flying through the air. Sam, so close but I can't reach him and the surge of panic is suffocating. He had been closest to the window, straight in the firing streak. He could be hurt. He could be…

"Terrano."

"Fear…I…I felt fear."

"A natural, and healthy reaction. But that fear was not for you was it." Ed finally sits, resting his hands on the table. "We just had a talk with Sam, he told us you were reaching for him before the glass even had stopped falling around you." I stare at him, about to object, only to find that I can't. I don't know. "You reacted on instinct, and that instinct was to assure the safety of your teammate before your own, and I, we, am impressed."

"Especially since these three files we received on you were almost nothing but red lines. Impulsive, undisciplined, aggressive, unsympathetic, off-putting, truculent, defiant, hostile, reckless, indifferent." He's counting on his fingers. "Distrustful, cold, unable to take orders and has a severe lack of respect for anything or anyone. The list goes on and on, we almost threw you out the second you arrived for you first day." I regard him silently well aware that they both are expecting me to protest.

All true, every single word.

Is it?

"But then." Ed continues. "Then we have this file here with papers from an Officer Kyle Sheely, who were mentoring you for three years. Papers from a Sergeant Morgan, who was your overseeing officer during training, and…this." He holds up a handwritten paper.

"From a Cody Burman, who you were in training camp with. He writes, and I quote."

'her physical strength is nothing compared to the strength of her heart and, though deeply buried and heavily fortified it is a heart warm enough to rival the sun. Or maybe the fires of Hell, I have yet to decide on that part.'

There's a very amused smirk plastered over Eds face and Greg looks like his professionalism alone is keeping him composed. "He has a way with words, your friend."

"He's not…"

Pnk elepants?

"…That he has."

"From what I have seen you are, above all, willing to change. Willing to work for that change. You are hardworking and determined, you are making an honest effort to make friends with the team even when you obviously want to turn and run from all the terrible social friendliness…is there anything you'd like to add?"

"Well, there are the trust issues, the attachment issues and a whole lot of issues I'm sure is written in minute detail in my fancy files…like handling stress with anger and snarky remarks."

Greg makes a noise that sounds very much like a snicker, that fatherly smile I've started to associate with him firmly in place. "Don't forget the honesty Ed."

"And confused." I add. "Don't forget confused."

And all the things from the years before people started to make files on everything you did.

Not bringing that up just yet.

"I think what Ed is trying to say is, that these three weeks have been a good start. Whatever troubles there has been in the past, whatever kind of person you were before the SRU doesn't matter, as long as you meet us half way." With the smile still in place Parker makes a small motion with his hand, indicating that I'm free to leave. I respectfully take a step back before turning and all but running all the way back to the locker-room, throwing myself inside.

"Jules! I need a translation on what the fuck just happened cause I'm not sure if I just got a three weeks late 'Welcome to the team' talk or 'Stay in line or be fired' talk and I need a drink!"