DOMINO THEORY

A/N: Well it's finally here. The final chapter. I've adopted a shorter writing style, which not only speeds up the process, but saves what little is left of my sanity. A special thanks to those of you who reviewed every chapter. Thanks very much, it means a lot to have such loyal readers. That being said, thanks to everyone who read. I'm glad to have entertained you for a short while. Let me know what your favorite parts were, or what you would love to see happen. Please enjoy.

Domino Theory

Chapter 6

What's Important

The Boss slides a piece of paper across the debriefing table towards him. The table wobbles precariously at the slight movement and both men reach out to grab an edge and straighten it. "You need to sign the bottom," the Boss reminds and slides a pen across the unstable surface.

Sam catches it with a single hand movement. Then hurriedly rushes the tip of the pen over the thick black line at the bottom of the page. Just where Sarge promised it would be. He shoves both pen and paper back. They've already gone over protocols and procedures and how he broke them to get his girlfriend out of the wreck of a rig and to a hospital. Sarge was nice enough to leave out the 'girlfriend' bit though. He did, after all, promise them a week to break up without any ramifications.

Sam left out the 'pregnant' part. He covers his eyes with a hand and tries not to feel as scared, and as nervous, and as furious as he does. It's exhausting because he's almost past the initial rage and now he's thinking of the millions of things that could have gone wrong with Jules inside that wreck. His mind keeps rewinding to her touching her stomach and crying. He thought she was in pain, when she must have been terrified the baby was hurt. Couldn't she have just told him? If she did, he probably would have had her from the wreck and to the hospital in less than five minutes, even if he had to run her there himself.

"Is everything okay Sam?" When he looks up Sarge has placed the disciplinary action sheet in a folder and is staring at him. Even if Sam didn't just find out that his girlfriend was pregnant a little less than two hours ago, he was basically told to break up with her or find a new job.

He doesn't mind transferring teams. He's actually been mulling the idea over for a while now. But he wouldn't be there to protect Jules now when she needs it more than ever. And oh God, what if she stays on duty. Are they just going to let her keep going out in the field? He's not going to be able to handle that. Every morning at seven he'll have a small heart attack.

"I'm fine." He exhales and rubs his forehead. They're done here and he wants to go home. He wants to think about what he has to do. He wants to think about it without distractions. Without Natalie begging him for the car, or Jules not telling him more things he needs to know. He just wants a weekend alone.

"All right," Sarge nods, holding the folder loosely in his hand and letting it slap against the tabletop. "Well, go home and have a good weekend."

Sam stands, and tries not to groan or makes a beeline for the door. "You too."

"You made a good call during the negotiation, Sam," Sarge adds before he's left the room and he doesn't even say anything back. They all seem to think so now, but he knows that there was call for him to have another, stricter ramification brought against him. It was another direct order that he violated, but apparently not killing someone is not the same as saving someone.

He managed to find a vantage point on top of a mound of dirt machines unearthed. Thankfully there was so much of it that it hadn't become a total mudslide and he was able to find stability at the apex. It reminded him of Afghanistan. It reminded him of being young and having no worries or responsibilities. Of getting muddy and dirty and staying that way for weeks at a time. Of knowing his squad inside and out one day and then finding people missing the next day.

Of course they stopped the girl, Melissa Old, before she entered the actual construction site. So he had the torrential rains and the high winds which led to zero visibility to deal with. She was unarmed with a gun, but before they could stop her she lugged the bomb out of her car. It was only a single propane tank, but still a bomb. It could have been reinforced by something. None of them had a good angle. Aside from that she was still a girl, far enough in her pregnancy to be showing, holding a bomb. They went on the assumption that the bomb was set to go off at 10:30, which meant they had less than seven minutes.

Sarge tried to talk her down because she was apparently suicidal and would've rather died in the blast with her unborn baby than let them just have the bomb. Jules and Spike found out that she was a recovering addict who fell off the train. The whole thing was getting to Sam. Half an hour ago he nothing really accomplished. He was discharged from the army, he was had a stint as Team Leader that was over in the blink of an eye and his longest relationship was probably going to end that weekend.

Now he had a baby. Well not really a baby, but the beginnings of a baby. And no matter how pissed off at Jules he was right now, or how pissed he would remain at her for the next day, or week or month or nine months, no one was going to touch her or that baby. He grunted into the rain and closed an eye as he looked down the telescope.

Push came to shove and six minutes plus change became two. Sarge paced on the spot as Melissa escalated. He talked of her other child. A son apparently who had an affinity for drawing cows. But she kept talking about 'capitalists and dominos' and the propane tank clunked against her thigh while her fingers turned red, then white from the pressure of holding it.

Ed recommended taking the shot. It was a less lethal shot, but a shot to a pregnant woman nonetheless. With the crazy wind and rain, Sam didn't want to be the one to be off by a millimeter and not hit her in the forearm. He couldn't live with that. Wordy argued. Spiked argued. Jules, probably feeling he didn't know what, argued. And Sarge told him Scorpio.

So he shot.

Ed had his disciplinary meeting before Sam; Sarge probably planned it that way so Sam could give Jules a ride home in peace without prying eyes. Give them one last weekend or whatever. It's not going to be like what the Boss thinks it is.

Sam shuffles down the echoing hallways, they got back to headquarters at a little after eleven. Debriefing took five minutes, and since it's a little after twelve now, everyone is gone. He passes the door to the women's locker room and hears the shower going. Well almost everyone.

He kind of body checks the door to the men's locker room with his shoulder because he's so drained. Maybe he'll play hockey tomorrow. He hasn't been playing that much lately since he and Jules haven't spent a night apart in at least a month, probably more. He'll call up the guys for a game, they'll rag on him for being whipped and then he'll slam into them on the ice. It seems like a fair trade.

The locker room is deserted and he's grateful for that. He doesn't know if he could deal with everyone coming up to him and congratulating him on a 'job well done out there', or his 'nice shot'. Sometimes he wonders what he would've been if his dad didn't pressure him into the family business. Anna's a journalist, and his parents are full of disappointment. Natalie is homeless and unemployed and they're full of disappointment. He did two tours, and is an SRU officer and they're full of disappointment. He wonders if his child will be disappointed in him too.

He showers quickly and changes back into the clothes he was wearing when he came into work five hours ago. When his biggest problem was Jules taking too long in the bathroom in the mornings. When he wanted to define their relationship more. Well, now they're going to break up and he's going to be a father. How's that for some definition?

He's going to be a father. It still doesn't feel real. It doesn't feel concrete. It doesn't give him the feeling he thinks that it should. He should be excited, because it's Jules and him and a baby. But he doesn't feel anything. He doesn't feel anything negative, aside from the general displeasure and burning rage that accompanied being told of his impending fatherhood by Steve the freaking paramedic, who he doesn't like again. But he doesn't feel burdened, or like this baby is going to ruin their lives. Basically, their lives were as ruined as they could get.

The hallway is still empty and he thinks that the replacement team, probably Team Two, those cocky S.O.B.s, are on their way in. When he glances down to the debriefing room, Sarge is gone and he feels like the last person in the world. Except when he walks past the women's locker room the shower is still going. He checks his watch and five minutes sneak past, then ten and then finally the pipes groan as the shower turns off. She's still taking forever in the bathroom.

Something inside him snaps and he's not putting up with it anymore. He had to wait for this all day. From the moment Steve's stupid goofy lips started moving in slow motion. Sam uses a clenched fist and pounds on the door to give her a warning.

"Indecent." Her voice sounds hoarse and unamused.

He doesn't care. He rips the door open and walks into the humid vapors. They're having this talk. They're discussing their future. They're making a decision about next Friday. They're talking about her being pregnant and how long she's been that way because he's sure it's been more than just today. Hell, they can pick out baby names and nursery colors if that's what gets him a decent weekend alone.

Spike pulls at the handle to his locker, but the door doesn't budge. Cocking an eyebrow, he glances down to the lock in his palm then back at the jammed door. When he first started at the SRU six years ago he got the crap locker. He was the rookie then. But now Sam is still, technically, the rookie, so technically shouldn't he have the stupid locker that isn't cut properly? Shouldn't he have to deal with the eternal struggle of trying to open the damn locker everyday and the screeching of metal on metal?

On the other side of the locker room Ed and Wordy break out into low bickering and Spike wants to scream. Can't they let it go for a single second? Everything turned out fine, they all get to go home for an early weekend and- Jesus, he's even offered to fix the damn locker himself, but Sarge probably thought he was joking. He's not joking. If on average he wastes five minutes a day fooling around with this locker, that's twenty-five minutes a week, or thirty when he does overtime. That's roughly two hours a month. That's an entire day every single year he's wasted fighting with this freaking door.

He gives the handle a violent tug and it opens, still vibrating from the force he's used. All of the pictures on the inside of the door are mixed up from the movement and the stuff on his shelf threatens to fall kamikaze over the edge.

"You could at least thank me for not telling the Boss what you did today."

"Ed, I don't need you to do me any favors okay?"

Spike shakes his head. They should all be uniting after a day like today. So many things could have gone wrong, but they all managed to make it out alive and the Christian in him thinks that they should be grateful. The Roman in him thinks that they should all go out drinking. Every time someone suggests it, everyone makes up excuses. They haven't gone out since Lew's wake and that was God awful.

He picks up the pile of clothes he dropped at his feet before starting his struggle with Satan's door, and shoves them into his gym bag. His mom is going to have a stroke when she sees his leg injury and his face, which he'll downplay for her. He's seen the purple and red swelling underneath his nose and around his lips. It's Friday, a weekday, which means that it's probably lasagna for supper. He wonders if he can guilt her out of the lasagna for just one night.

Before closing the gym bag up, he reaches in and retrieve's Natalie's earring. For sentimental, or nostalgic, or maybe even masochistic reasons he places it in the back pocket of his jeans again. After everything that's happened today, it just feels right.

In the bottom of his bag, his cracked phone rings out the Ocho Rios song. Spike leans against the lockers with one arm and blindly fumbles about in the depths of the bag until he retrieves the phone. It has to be his mom, there's no way she hasn't see the explosion. She's probably cooking up a big feel better lasagna just for him.

"Hello," he sighs into the phone.

"Hey Spike." It's Natalie. Again.

His eyes dart around the locker room to instinctively look for Sam, but her brother must still be getting his disciplinary report done. "Hey—" But then he notices Ed and Wordy staring at him, all grins. "—You."

"I've been watching the news all day. I mean, they keep showing that explosion. Are you sure you're okay? I'm, like, I'm really worried and—"

"No, no." He watches Ed cross his arms with interest and lean against the opposite set of lockers. Waiting for some slice of information to escape so that for the next week, maybe even month they can make fun of Spike like this is middle school. "I'm fine. We get the afternoon off."

"I'm bugging you aren't I?" She must sense the change in his voice because her jovial and speedy tone take a sudden nosedive. "I swear I'm not trying to be clingy. I was just worried."

Spike examines the bemused expression on Ed's face, and the smirk that Wordy is hiding. He tries to think about the last time a girl genuinely cared about him that wasn't his mom, or Carmen, or some other female relative. He thinks of Nat's picture on his phone and the crack running through her face. If he wants an authentic relationship with her, Sam and the guys are eventually going to find out. He has to decide if she's worth the ridicule.

Family and love are what drove Melissa, their domestic bomber, to do what she did that day. He can't honestly say now that the day is over, that he blames her. He get's where she's coming from, what she had to face. Basically just one downfall after another.

He and Jules were still annexed in the truck doing research on Melissa Old, born December 24, 1987. Christmas Eve baby. She had a son. A five-year-old son. Has a baby on the way. She was raised in foster care and abused. She had a crack problem because of the past abuse but got over it. She has a crack problem now because of her current situation.

They watched over surveillance as Sarge got her calm, but she re-escalated close to the final two minutes on the bomb's timer. The propane tank kept hitting against her thigh and he grinded his teeth. If it hit hard enough, that might be all it needed to explode. They were running out of time, and options. They had no other options except negotiation. At least that's what he thought.

"Give the call," Ed said over the comm. link and he and Jules shared a glance.

"No." Wordy immediately answered.

Melissa was still screaming words that sounded more like the high-pitched remixes he'd heard in the club last night with Natalie. Her face was red with pain and tears. Her black hair whipped all around in the rain and wind. Spike knew they were at less than two minutes.

"Boss, maybe think about—" He began but was interrupted.

The Boss said, "Scorpio."

"No." Jules tried to push her chair away from the monitor, but forgot it was stuck in place. She covered her mouth and turned away.

A shot rang out and Spike had to put away his personal views on the situation. He could hold onto them for the debriefing that would never happen, but right now they needed someone to disarm the bomb.

While the gunshot still echoed in his ears he was out of his chair and hobbled out of the back of the truck. To his surprise, Wordy and Ed had Melissa in cuffs. Sarge told them to get her behind the truck and Sam ran to help disarm the bomb.

The bomb was overly simple. Two wires. One in, one out. Spike sat with his knees at awkward angles in the mud. He felt like a toddler in his Poppy's vegetable garden again. The rain fell down the open back of his coat and down his neck.

Sarge stood with them even though he couldn't help. The counter was just under a minute now. "Take your time."

At the end of Sarge's sentence, Spike had pulled out the wire and the clock stopped. It took three seconds.

"No it's not you, Nat." He grins when he speaks her name and wonders if Ed and Wordy even remembers who she is. "I'm just pretty tired right now. But I was thinking we could go out for dinner on Sunday. Somewhere nice."

There's actual silence on Natalie's end of the phone and he doesn't know if that's a good thing or not. "You want to take me out for dinner?" Her voice is high and genuinely touched. Maybe she thought he was done with her.

"Yeah, but I'll need a few days to get my face looking as good as it usually does."

She giggles, "All right. It's a date."

"All right. I'll call you Sunday." He ends the call and shuts off his phone. When he chances a glance up, Wordy and Ed are still watching him, all goofy grins and wiggling eyebrows.

"Well, well, well." Ed approaches him with his arms crossed and an entertained smile on his lips. "Who's this Nat?"

"Just someone that I hit it off with." Spike grabs his gym bag. The strap is still messed up and it slides down his arm again.

"Wait. Nat, like Natalie?" Wordy brings a finger to his chin in contemplation. "Don't we know someone named Natalie?"

"Nope." Spike shakes his head and manages to push past Ed. He's got at least three full nights to recover until the guys start haranguing him in the locker room about Natalie and Sam overhears and things breakdown. But he'll worry about that on Monday.

Spike limps out into the empty corridor and into the lobby. Winnie gives him a bright grin and he nods to her. He stands solitary before the elevator and scans left, then right for any sign of Jules. She has to let him use the elevator today. He disarmed the bomb and saved them all. Plus he has a leg injury. Plus if he says anything he'll casually mention Sam in passing.

The elevator dings and he hobbles inside and presses the 'G' button. Then he smashes his thumb into the 'close door button' several times because he may be a little nervous. The elevator dings three times in resistance. The doors close part way, then open again and a low buzz emits from inside. Spike sighs and looks up as the doors wait to decide if they want to close or remain open forever. He's definitely eating lasagna tonight.

"Ed, I got to say." The Boss removes his hat and shakes his head. His jaw is set and Ed already knows that he doesn't want to be doing this. That it's part of the job overly enforced by the omnipresence of Toth. "You really screwed up today."

Ed shrugs. Plays it nonchalant, because in the end no one died. It would be different if his actions resulted to Team One not getting to the bomb on time. If it blew up Runnymede Road, or half of Junction, or kids at the nursery school a few blocks over. Then he would feel guilty. Right now he did the job the way he knows how. "We got the girl and the bomb."

Greg lets out a rueful chuckle. "Yeah we got her, but the way you acted today didn't help that much."

Ed leans forward, hands clasped together on top of the wobbly table. He vaguely remembers the debriefing about the eighteen-year-old kid a few weeks ago. How things got out of hand. How the Boss's fist came down and destroyed the structural integrity of the table. "I was just doing my job Greg."

"You ignored the 'first to respond' protocol. You left Spike and Jules in that rig."

"And they ended up being fine."

"You abandoned Wordy, of all people, at a bomb site."

That wasn't his fault, but he thought of his friend and how maybe he hasn't been that easy to get along with lately. Going into this meeting he knew he was going to take the fall. He owes Wordy that much and maybe after a long weekend of teaching Clark how to parallel park and Izzy's 'Daddy and Me' class, maybe he'll be a better friend on Monday. "We were running out of time. We had half an hour and two sites to check. What if the bomber came back after we left?"

"Then we deal with it." The Boss answers, his voice is tense. There's silence in the room for a minute as he scribbles things onto the piece of paper before him. The table wobbles back and forth. "Wordy wouldn't have left you."

Wordy did leave him, but then came back for him. Wordy managed to do stealth, and slunk along the outskirts of the parking lot. Ed watched as his friend moved past the dirt mound Sam was perched upon. Ed wasn't worried about the subject identifying himself or Wordy. Visibility outside of a six foot radius was close to zero with the wind shield and the rain. He was worried about Wordy falling and giving away his position. In a sick way, that might give them the upper hand, the moment Ed needed to rush out and overtake the young girl.

Spike's voice over the link interrupted the Boss's negotiation attempts. The girl still hadn't given them a solid response. From the outline of her body language in the rain Ed was willing to bet it was drugs.

Spike said that her name was Melissa Old, and that she was twenty-three. The Boss said they needed more to go on then that. Spike said they were still searching through files.

Ed heard crunching as Wordy approached him, he hoped with an assault rifle. "Spike. Look into drug use."

Wordy stumbled into the passageway next to him; water cascaded off his coat and splattered onto the dusty ground. He gave Ed the only rifle he'd brought, "Please don't use this."

"I hope I don't have to." He answered and moved back to the mouth of the passageway. He had zero visibility, but if he was given the order, he could move out and find a vantage point, maybe from behind the girl. "Boss, I'm armed."

"That's a negative, Ed." The Boss replied in mid-negotiation, sensing what he wanted to do. "Stay where you are."

So they did his least favorite thing and waited. Five minutes bled to four, then to three and then two. He started to feel it, the pressure in his chest, the knowledge that something was going to happen in the next two minutes whether it was that girl going down or that bomb going off.

"He's got call it." He told Wordy.

His friend shook his head. "No, there's still time."

"There's no time to take down the girl and disarm the bomb." He activated his comm. link and told his boss what everyone knew, but were afraid to say. What he had to say because he was still Team Leader even if it meant putting a bullet in a pregnant girl. "You have to call it."

"No," Wordy shouted into the link.

"Boss, maybe think about—" Spike began, but never finished.

Another ten seconds wasted away while there was radio silence. He couldn't see the Boss's outline from where he stood and that made Ed more anxious. Finally there was the word of relief. "Scorpio."

A second of hesitation, maybe less. As a sniper he caught it. He doesn't know if anyone else did, but then the shot rang out. He and Wordy ran out, but the girl wasn't injured, just distracted. Sam had fired into the air. It was a dangerous move. Stray bullets in this weather usually don't go where you want them to. Either way the situation could've ended badly. They were lucky that day, not talented or professional. Just lucky.

"Look Greg." He relaxes in the chair and tries to explain it the way he understand it. "We're a team; we all have our strength and weaknesses. Part of being in a team is to cover other people's weaknesses. My strength is physical. I want to catch the guy. Sam's strength relies more on emotions. He'd rather make sure everyone's okay."

"Are you saying that's a bad thing?"

"No. In fact I think we should focus more on that."

"What do you mean?"

"Greg," he sighs, unsure of how to word his revelation so it doesn't sound weak or unappreciative. "I'm not cut out to be Team Leader anymore. With everything at home." he shakes his head and straightens in the chair. "I try to rush through things at work and it's dangerous to everyone."

"I see." Greg slides the piece of paper over to Ed. His face doesn't express any emotion, not even surprise at the disclosure. "You need to sign."

Ed grabs the black pen and quickly scribbles away at the bottom of the page without even reading what was written. If it's bad it will get back to him eventually anyway. He hands the page back and stands. "So you'll talk it over with Sam?"

"Well, I don't know if Sam is the ideal candidate. I do have to write him up after you."

"Don't take too long." He pauses in the doorframe and remembers that this is an important day for his friend. "You'll miss your flight."

Wordy grins at the faces of his daughters hanging inside his locker. Lilly's newest school picture is taped to the top beside Maggie's. He can't believe she started kindergarten this year. Ally can start junior kindergarten next year, but he'd rather her have another full year at home with Shelley. That might not be an option if he has to leave the SRU. His fingers, for now, remain still against the cool metal door.

It's been a long day, and he's ready to go home early and surprise Shelley and Ally. First he'll stop by the school, like he promised Lilly he would. Talk to her teacher, her principal, that Martin kid if he has to. No one should be touching any of his girls. He'll pop by Maggie's class too, just to make sure she's okay. The transition from being at home all day, to being in a classroom full of children she doesn't know has got to be shocking. He just wants her to know that he's still here for her.

Ed pushes through the locker room door, finished his write up and ready to go home. "Sam," he calls. "Boss wants to see you."

Sam's sort of hunched over on the bench. He hasn't changed out of his muddy uniform, hasn't showered, and hasn't really said a word since they got back from the hot call. It's been a long day and that day has only been four hours. They should all be grateful that they don't have to stay on for the full shift. Sam pushes himself up and walks slowly to the door. "Yeah, I know."

Wordy knows things have transpired off the comm. link today. That Sam has obviously done something to warrant a personal disciplinary report along the likes of the two Ed's placed under his belt a few minutes ago. There used to be a time when they could all go out for drinks and talk about it. But it's a little before noon and drinking right now is only apt to making him more depressed. Plus Spike and Jules are likely on pain medication.

"Sam," Wordy calls out before he's left the locker room. Instead of offering to buy him a drink for the misfortunes he's suffered today, Wordy offers, "You did really well out there."

"Yeah." He nods, his tone not really responding well to the compliment as he restlessly pulls open the door. "Thanks."

The door squeaks shut behind him. Wordy and Ed watch for a few seconds in a silent contemplation. Behind them, Spike returns from the showers, trying to juggle his clothes. What they've all been through today, what they're going to go through next week and the week after that. Are they really going to able to keep it together enough to remain a team?

Ed turns away from the door and moves to his locker to collect his bag. "That was a little cocky."

"I don't he's being cocky, I think something's wrong."

Ed chuckles. "There's something wrong with all of us. It doesn't mean we have to be assholes about it."

Wordy grins, a wide spread, all knowing grin. "Well if it isn't the pot calling the kettle black?"

He doesn't think Ed's an asshole. Even now, after many weeks of being tormented by his friend because of his illness. Ed's stubborn and adamant. Ed's way is the only way, which is why the man can't understand the feelings of his teammates so well anymore. It's why he's usually put in a Sierra position instead of a negotiation position.

When they stood in the passageway to the construction site and Ed eyed the rifle that Wordy carried, he reluctantly handed it over. It was Ed being adamant, and for safety reasons. It's not like they could see anything from their position anyway. It's not like Ed would actually shoot a pregnant woman.

"You have to call it." Ed demanded into the comm. link. Call it as in end two lives at once. There was still a way to avoid this. There's always a way.

"No." Wordy yelled. There was too many things wrong with this picture. You didn't shoot pregnant women. They couldn't even be around the sound of gunshots because it was disturbing to the baby. He'd read it somewhere when Shelley was pregnant with Ally. You didn't taser them. You helped them with their groceries or across the street. You gave up bus and subway seats for them. The whole thing gave him a brief, but vivid flashback to Shelley when she was married, but not to him.

"Scorpio."

The shot rang out and he ran. He hoped that the wind had taken the bullet somewhere else. That the rain had pushed it into the ground. But when he got to her, Melissa was standing fine. Just confused and crying. He took the bomb from her hand, talked to her calmly and by then Ed was there ready with cuffs. Wordy realized only after Spike disarmed the bomb, that Sam had fired into the air.

"Hey Boss," Wordy greets as he enters the empty debriefing room. The Boss is sitting with his elbows on the table that he broke a few weeks earlier at their last, true debriefing. No one on the team has mentioned anything about it, but the broken piece of furniture is like a constant reminder of their inability to work together.

The Boss's eyes dart over and his hands move up to cover his mouth. He looks tired. "What's on your mind Wordy?"

Wordy leans against the frame of the doorway over choosing to take a seat. He and the Boss both have other things to do; he wants to make this short and sweet. "I just wanted to let you know that it was my idea to leave Ed today at Jane Street. Not the other way around."

The Boss leans back his chair and sighs. "It's very nice of you to come forward. But Ed is still Team Leader. And as Team Leader he should have had enough morality to know not to leave you or any other person behind."

Wordy nods, understanding the importance of communication, of cooperation, of the basic skills his daughters are learning in school right now that they can't manage on Team One. "I just didn't want him to get blamed for something that wasn't his fault."

The Boss nods lethargically into his hand and a smile pulls at the corner of his lips. "You put up with a lot from him."

Wordy shrugs as he turns in the doorway to go home to Shelley and the girls. "It's what friends do."

Rain lightly taps against the bay windows as Greg sits in a row of empty chairs. In the last hour the weather has lightened and the forecast has called for clearer skies tonight. It's supposed to rain all weekend though. His fingers tap on the chair's arms and for the fifth time in the last minute and a half he checks his watch to make sure that he's not going to be late, even though he's exactly where he needs to be.

He's tired of thinking about what transpired today. About formally disciplining Sam, even though he knows that the kid's heart is probably going to be broken this weekend. About formally disciplining Ed, when the guy has so much piled on his plate that he can't see straight. Ed requested a reduced role, but who was going to step up as Team Leader. Sam was the only logical candidate, but he was purposely breaking probation and if Greg promoted him knowing this, it wouldn't look good.

Greg left without really saying a goodbye to anyone. Most of the team was gone by the time he was finished dealing with Sam. Wordy came to clear up what he'd already deduced, but he wasn't going to write Wordy up today as well. It had nothing to do with the Parkinson's. It had to do with the fact that Ed's been harder on the man than anyone else in the last few months, and yet Wordy manages to keep his clam and pleasant disposition.

Jules was still getting changed. By the end of the shift, she wasn't hiding her pain as well as she usually does, but he respected her enough not to ask about it. That would just upset her. He also didn't patronize her by asking how she would get home. He knows Sam will drive her. He doesn't want to know what's going on with her and Sam; he just wants it to end.

A plane ticket balances on his knee. It's not the same one that Dean sent him a few months ago; it's on a flight leaving an hour later. This one has no layovers so he should arrive just a few minutes later. He might miss the opening remarks, but he'll still manage to see his only son go up on stage and get a diploma. He wonders if he'll be under Parker, or his stepfather's last name.

A woman walks before him while holding the hand of her son who toddles beside her. She notices Greg and smiles. He smiles back and can't help but think about what happened earlier. Think about how lucky they all were. That hot call was a tightrope and they were all just one millimeter from teetering over the edge.

Melissa was agitated before they even started negotiations. Her fingers twitched with the corners of her mouth and when Ed suggested they look up drug use, as horrible as it sounded for someone as far along in her pregnancy to be using, it was the possible solution.

She held the bomb like high school girls hold their backpacks, like it was too heavy and if she dropped it, it might trigger. Rain poured over them and pasted her long dark hair to the side of her face. Her fingers wrapped around the ring on the top of the tank, turned white and twitched.

"Melissa," He called her attention back and she jerked inadvertently. Spike and Jules told him that she had past substance abuse. That she herself had been abused and her son was placed into foster care a few weeks earlier. "We found an interesting picture in with all your schematics. It was a cow. It looked like a child drew it."

She stopped twitching, stopped mumbling and glanced up at him through splits in her hair. "You got Alfie's drawing?"

"Yeah," he nodded and smiled at her. "Alfie's your son, right?"

"Yeah," she smiled too, dominant and nostalgic. The propane tank bumped against the top of her thigh as she seemed in a stupor. He thought about taking a step forward, about engaging her further but before he could, she stared at him through tear-filled eyes again. "Alfie's a good boy."

"Boss." Spike was in his ear again. "Four minutes."

"Would your son want you to be doing this, Melissa?"

His words set off a trigger, because she escalated just as quickly as he'd brought her down. "Alfie knows what they done isn't right. I tried to do good by him. I got a job; I was even doing night courses. But those capitalist pigs, they bought it all up. One by one. Falling dominos." She shook the hand holding the tank. "They don't care about me or him."

"Sarge, I got something." Jules interrupted. "Melissa filled out an application for low income housing in The Junction, but some of the land got bought out by corporations and she was denied."

"Melissa, I know that you're angry and that you made some bad choices." He took a cautious step forward and kept his ground when she didn't react. "But what about your baby? Are you willing to risk it's life and your own just to prove a point?"

"Two minutes, Boss."

"You need make the call." Ed pressured

"No." Wordy disagreed

"Boss, maybe think about—"

Melissa rested her free hand on top of her stomach and then looked back to him. "They're just going to take this one too."

He tried not to feel cold inside. Tried not to think about the billions of things that could go wrong as he uttered, "Scorpio" and waited for the shot. He and Melissa shared the same dazed expression, hers caused by drugs, by a broken mental state, by past turmoil. His caused by misunderstanding of why there was no injury until he realized that Sam had purposely misfired. A technique he would have never thought to use.

Simultaneously he watched as Ed and Wordy dealt with Melissa. He told them to take her to the truck, but Wordy was already heading in that direction. He also watched Sam and Spike disarm the bomb in three seconds by Spike merely tugging on a wire. He chuckled and slapped Spike on the back. "Good job, everyone."

The stewardess standing at the podium strikes up a microphone and announces over the P.A. system that flight 580 Toronto to Dallas is in the pre-boarding stage. Then announces it again in French. Greg nervously slaps the ticket against his knee. It's not the act of flying that makes him nervous, more the act of seeing his son and more over his ex-wife. Does she even know he's coming?

The woman with the small boy approaches the podium. The boy shoves a hand cautiously in his agape mouth as he stares outside the bay windows at the large plane. Greg smiles again. He never had a chance to take Dean on a plane. He wonders if he's afraid of flying? If he's been anywhere but Toronto? Does his son even know what he wants to do now that he's done high school?

Regular boarding is announced and he stands from the seat with a grunt from a long day's work compressed into only four hours. The stewardess grins at him with large white teeth as he hands her the ticket and his passport. He's going to have to make a list of questions to ask his son while he's on the plane.

"Indecent. Indecent." Jules shouts and hops back into the shower slamming the door behind her because whoever has just entered the woman's locker room is deaf or has a death wish.

She hears an all too familiar staccato exhalation, "It's just me, Jules." Of course it is.

"Are you insane?" She whispers harshly through the door. He might as well just given everything away to the team. Jesus, she wanted him to show a little more emotion, but talk about diving into the deep end.

"Everyone's gone home. We're fine."

"We talked about this, Sam." They did. They had a long and boring talk that involved her taking the side of no at work inter-locker room visitations. This is because one fateful time it resulted in some less than professional acts which almost exposed them in more than one way. After that she vetoed him stepping a foot through that door. "Winnie could have seen you. Or what if Ed did? Or Sarge?"

He sighs again, like her hypothetical situations make him tired. "Sarge knows."

Her heart stops. "No he doesn't."

"Yeah he does. He told me just before the explosion. I told you this already."

"When?"

"Before I took you to the hospital."

"I was a little preoccupied with a head injury, Sam." She opens the door a crack, just enough to hold out her arm. "Pass me my towel."

His running shoes, old ratty things not unlike hers, squeak across the floor and when he returns he places the blue towel in her hand. "Suddenly shy?"

"No, I'm wet, and I'm cold, and I really don't want to add anymore injuries to the list." It's a lie. She's mostly dry, but she's nine weeks pregnant and the light is good in here. Sam's got the sniper eyes and he might say something about her growing a cup size, which she thinks she hasn't yet, but he would know better than her. Or God forbid, he could say something about her weight. If he even mentions her weight she will punch him out right there and leave him for the weekend.

She moves out into the main area of the locker room wrapped in the towel and knows that he's watching her. The whole thing is eerily reminiscent of when she hit the side of the Eaton's Center, except they weren't together then. She catches him staring at her in the mirror and she grins; she thinks she likes it better this way. What was the name of that diner they went to for breakfast that day? It was good and she wants bacon.

Then she remembers what he said about Sarge. Again. She faces him, her back leaning against counter, her arms crossed over her stomach. "Sam, what are we going to do?"

Sam shrugs and sits down on the bench. He holds out the bag containing her clothing, a gesture telling her to hurry up. "He gave us an ultimatum. We have until next Friday to quit or break up so it's not really that important."

What? What? "How can you say it's not important?" How can he say that she's not important? Something feels broken in her chest and suddenly she doesn't want bacon anymore.

She felt this way when she heard the gunshot ring out, but she knew Sam. She knows him better than she knows anyone, and she knew there was no way that he would shoot a pregnant woman. After that Spike pressed past her and leapt out of the back of the truck like something from a carnival act and she didn't know what to do. She was annexed to the van, she apparently looked like the phantom of the opera, sans mask and there was nothing she could really do to help. Plus her fetus had already been in one explosion today.

She moved to the back doors of the truck because in his acrobatic prowess, Spike forgot to close them. Out of curiosity, she might have stuck her head out to see exactly what was going on. In the heavy rain, the cameras on the truck were rendered useless. Her head wasn't even out long enough for her bangs to get completely wet before Sam shouted into the headset, "Jules get back inside the truck." No wonder Sarge knew.

They rode back to headquarters in different rigs. Then automatically went to different changing rooms. She spent a good half an hour just staring at her face, which yes, did need a phantom of the opera mask and yes, did look like she went a round with Ali. It was puffy and sore and achy and whenever she made any expression it felt like she was being punched. But no one would ever know that.

"Jules, I think we have more important things to deal with right now"

"Really?" She barely comprehends him because she's so irritated. He's in her space, making her change in the darkest corner she could find, so he doesn't find out she's pregnant in the women's locker room at the SRU. "Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know." He shrugs and she knows he's up to something. Knows that it's going to be bad and knows that they're going to have a hug fight right in this room in less than a minute. He can't know she's pregnant can he? She bought the test. Hid it in an inside zipper in her purse. Threw it directly into the garbage chute. She tells herself to relax because unless he returned to the hospital to retrieve her and coincidentally met Sandra there's no way he can know.

"Oh, you know who I saw today?"

Her heart stops and she freezes on the spot. Her face does something weird akin to a deer caught in headlights and she to act inconspicuous. All she can manage is a single shake of her head.

"Steve."

Mother fuck it.

"You know, Steve the paramedic? You're ex-boyfriend?" Of course Sam would find out from Steve, the happiest guy in the world. Steve who's probably sent an email to everyone they went to school with in The Hat telling them she's pregnant. Her alcoholic father probably has a message on his goddamn answering machine from Steve saying 'Hey Jules is pregnant, congratulations'. She's going to punch Steve when she sees him again. "Man, he had some really interesting things to say."

She pushes the rest of her things out of the way and takes a seat next to him on the bench. "Sam, I'm so sorr—"

"God damn it, Jules." His face flushes and his hands clasp into fists in his lap. "I thought he was lying. I thought 'this guy doesn't know Jules like I do'. I thought 'Jules would tell me as soon as she thought she was'—" his voice cracks and he bows his head.

"Sam, I swear I only found out this morning."

"You did the test this morning? That's why you were late?"

Shit. "Yeah."

"Why didn't you just tell me?"

"We would have both been late and then everyone would have known—"

"Jules, we're going to have a goddamn baby. Everyone is going to know. Sarge knows now anyway." He pushes away from the bench, away from her and suddenly she feels so small. This all can't be her fault. "There has to be another reason you didn't tell me."

"I found out this morning." She reiterates through clenched teeth. Her voice is a little harsher and she's using all of her focus to keep the tears from shaking her voice.

Sam purses his lips and nods sternly three times. He crosses his arms and adapts the soldier stance and she knows that she's losing this fight. Whatever he wants, he's going to get because the side of her face is on fire and she just want to sleep. "How long did you think pregnancy was a possibility?"

She glances down. Fingers fidgeting against each other, against the hem of her top, against the lip of the bench. "Three weeks."

He nods some more and it's unnatural. She's never seen him this furious before. There have been times where Natalie does stupid things, like use his credit cards and he gets more of a disappointed than upset. Or times when his dad calls and Sam enters a moment of pure rage. But right now is like a mixture of all the different levels of angry she's ever seen Sam have, and the result is an eerie calm and a bobble head. "And in three weeks you couldn't say a damn thing to me?"

She puts a hand to her forehead and leans forward because the room is getting small, it's getting hot and her head feels tight. In a soft voice she doesn't even recognize as her own she begins, "It's not you, there's things that—"

"There are always things Jules. That's the great part about being in a relationship. I could help you with them, but you won't let me."

Her eyes close and she balances an elbow on her knee waiting for the fight to be over. She just wants to go home. Wants this day to be over.

He sighs. She hears the sound of water freefalling from the shower drain and of the fan in the far corner of the room whirring away. "I'm taking you to your apartment. And then I'm going home. I'll bring your car by Sunday night and maybe we can talk then. But I need to be alone this weekend to think."

She nods, but doesn't say a word. She doesn't know what Sam has to think about, but she wonders if he even wants to stay together. People have babies all the time and don't stay together. In a morbid way that would solve the ultimatum problem. Sunday night doesn't give them a lot of time to discuss anything before Monday.

Neither utters a single word as she gathers her remaining things. She puts her wet hair up into a loose bun and doesn't bother to reapply her makeup. With her face the way it is, it hardly matters anyway. She stuffs everything into her bag and when Sam isn't looking, slips something into his along with her Jeep keys. Maybe he'll find it this weekend and think about what's really important.

Her bag is heavier than usual, but she realizes she's lifting it with her right arm and the strap is pulling on her right shoulder, which took the brunt of the impact along with her face. She drops the bag to switch it to her left arm, but before she can hike it up, Sam's already got it paired with his. He stands at the door and beckons her with a stern nod of his head. It's going to be a long weekend.

What's going to happen with Sam and Jules?

Should Spike pursue Natalie or go for that other girl (Andy?)

Should Ed step down from being Team Leader?

Is Wordy thinking of leaving the SRU (do I really have to start writing Raf now?)

What is going to happen in Dallas?

What did Jules put in Sam's bag?

Let me know what you think!

Next story is entitled blank. It doesn't have a title yet, but will pick up shortly after where Domino Theory left off. It will concern factories, gay rights, and protests. These issues are deeply personal for one SRU agent (and myself). Of course it will concern the entire team again and will be no one centric. Because Shiggity loves the world.

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