ILLEGITIMATE

Chapter 7

Premature Sierra

He goes into work five hours after leaving the hospital. Acts like nothing is wrong but retreats. Withdraws in on himself and becomes absent from the social aspects of the job. Doesn't laugh at Spike's jokes which he never pays attention to anyway. Keeps a stern, pensive face while doing restock. Counts bullets. Fate puts him in a rig with Sarge and his boss disengages the comm. link. Asks what's wrong. He doesn't answer. Not directly. Just voices in a sleepless tone, tires over gravel, he wants a transfer immediately. Ignores the shocked expression. Doesn't respond to further questioning. Why? Why now? Sam, what's up? If there's something wrong you can talk to me about it. It's better not to make hasty decisions. I'll put in the request, but you should think about this. At the end of his shift he completes the appropriate paper work.

The hardest part is returning to an apartment that still smells like her. Vanilla, strawberries, and pizza from last night. Her toothbrush balancing on the edge of the sink. The three empty bottles of water she drank in the recycling bin. Her cell phone and clothing, which he took the liberty of washing, folded and put into a plastic bag. Abandoned on her porch. He didn't even knock. The baby books he bought all thrown down the garbage chute. The contents of the drawer he claimed in her dresser are returned to him in a stale cardboard box.

The fourth floor becomes an omen. Brings forth negative emotions and memories. He treats the button in the elevator like the void thirteenth floor. Goes from three to five. Then he strays away from the elevator completely. Starts taking the stairs in case he meets her by happenstance. Last week he heard Sarge tell Ed she finally took her maternity leave. The SRU preapproves active officers for six months leave while pregnant and a year afterwards. She left at eight months pregnant because she needed the extra money. Part of him thinks she just wanted to torture him.

It's the end of September, three weeks since he's asked for a transfer and hasn't heard a fucking thing. Sarge says transfers takes time. He's desperate. Needs out of Toronto. Possibly Canada. He wouldn't mind going back overseas. He's seven weeks away from calling the General and asking him to tweak the marionette strings within the army. Doesn't like relying on nepotism, but he'll beg for it this time.

The Team's in the briefing room, Sarge's going over the proper ways to file reports when the alarm goes off. Winnie announces the hot call. Shots previously fired. A disgruntled employee returned to his place of business and is holding three people hostage in a conference room.

"What's the location?" Ed's already figuring out schematics in his head. Trying to calculate Sierra shots. Waiting to see if they need to be on neighboring buildings or can have a viable view from the same floor.

"The fourth floor."

"The fourth floor?"

"Of this building."

"I told you it's dangerous to do paperwork all day long. It's a step above being a postal worker." Spike shakes his head, stuck somewhere between completely serious and standup comedian.

Wordy asks his question for him. "Jules is on leave, right?"

"Jules is the one who called it in." Winnie brings up the live audio feed from the hostage situation. Neon green waves fluctuate over the black background. There is only a slightly muffled male voice telling the people to 'stay on the ground'. "She hid her phone so you'd have ears in."

While the others give their reactions to the situation. Certain tactics can't be used because Jules is pregnant, more can't be used because she's so far along. Listening to the audio track he tries not to have any response. Not to care she's in some room with some guy with a gun. The subject could be perfectly normal, could just want some simple justice they can deliver fast and lock him up before she needs one of her bathroom breaks. It's not his responsibility. It never was. Except now it is. His face burns, probably flushes except for the part of it buried under a scar which he no longer feels.

"What the hell is she doing here?" Sarge leans closer to the audio as it falls static because no one is talking. Staring at it like it's visual, video, something other than a weak broadcast.

"Today was her surprise baby shower." Winnie points to a gift adorned with baby ducks playing in the rain on the wrapping paper. It sits neatly on the top shelf of her desk. "I'm just glad I didn't head down earlier."

Sarge and Spike remain at Winnie's station for visuals from the floor cameras while he and Ed work the Sierra positions. Wordy is on less lethal. He's Sierra Two and based around the west quadrant of the building. The conference room on the fourth floor is approximately fifty percent concrete, fifty percent glass. He has the shot immediately because the subject isn't moving. So he spends the majority of the call ducking behind a reinforced pillar, voyeuristic, observing her actions from a distance through the scope of his rifle. Finds the faults in her mannerisms denoting just how frightened she is.

Tries not to get upset, emotional, involved. Slows his breathing as the audio from her phone filters into his empty ears. It's distorted, probably from being tossed behind the thick, gray, teambuilding, exercise inducing, television on a dolly. Her voice is naturally untainted by the situation as she's offered a chair by the subject because apparently they know each other. She's wearing a light gray dress with t-shirt sleeves and a belt distinguishing the area between her breasts and her stomach. It runs tight, meaning this will probably be the last time she wears the dress for multiple reasons. After the tightness in the material around her stomach, it gives. Billows to her knees and sways when she stands to take the chair he offers. The other two hostages, including the venom-tongued blonde woman, remain face down on the floor.

The subject, Bryan, compliments her and actually apologizes for ruining her baby shower. She scoffs that she didn't want one anyways. Her hand runs over her stomach, fabric creating infinitesimal wrinkles, ripples. In his ears, Sarge explains they haven't been able to locate Bryan's ex-boss and reason for his termination, Jerry McKinnon. McKinnon was also Jules' boss during her brief four month stint pushing paperwork. Was constantly trying to force her maternity leave, which stopped when Team One paid him a visit.

"My sister just had a baby you know." The gun is almost nonexistent. The way he speaks to Jules it's like they met in a coffee shop and stopped to catch up. Not like he just shot the receptionist and another coworker point blank while passing them in the hall. Shots fired. Two casualties.

"I remember that." Grinning, her hand remains still on her stomach. She leans back in the chair and can no longer cross her legs. Emotions. He shouldn't feel emotions. Anything. Especially now. But he's missed it, her. So much. "She would have had it a few months back right?"

"Yeah, a boy in May." The gun dangles from his hands resting between jittering knees. Barrel down. "He weighed a little over ten pounds."

"Ouch."

"Well don't give her too much credit. She had as many drugs as the hospital would give her."

"I don't blame her."

"The thing is." There's almost a click in Bryan's voice. A vocal abnormality discerning the change in temperament. There are no obvious physical ticks in the subject, but his fingers grip the trigger on his sniper rifle anyway. Ready the moment something goes awry. "The father isn't doing anything to help her with Erik."

"I'm sorry."

The gun raises an inch or two, shakes in Bryan's lap as he gives details about the life his little sister is now trapped in. Simultaneously, Ed declares the weapon raising. Simultaneously Wordy declares they've traced McKinnon to a sixth floor board meeting with a few other bosses who were in a covert conference room when the building was evacuated. Wordy declares it clear when he enters.

"What about your baby?" Bryan paws at his eyes with the heel of his unmanned hand. When Spike talked to the just post-teenage sister, she promised Bryan didn't have mental problems. Promised he was a good brother just trying to take care of her and her son because no one else would.

"What about my baby?" The tiniest of flutters enters her voice in case the question is a threat she's misinterpreted.

"What about its father?"

"He, um—" she pauses swallows away the tears he knows are there and wishes weren't. "He died saving someone else's life."

"Oh. I'm very sorry."

She shakes her head and thumbs away the only tear brave enough to escape. "Not your fault."

"But this is." He gestures, limp gunned, to the room. To the blue and pink balloons tied in bundles with trailing ribbons. To the presents with tissue paper exploding out of them. To the white cake, the paper plates, the plastic utensils, the red party cups, the finger foods. "Those people out there are."

"It's not too late Bryan. You still have a chance to watch your nephew grow up."

He nods watching her, allowing her to place a comforting hand on his arm. It's amazing really. Negotiating is like riding a bike, do it once, know it for life. Except she would have to jump through fire laden hoops and run insane obstacle courses before being reinstated back to Team One. It's how things worked after she was shot. Day after day of strenuous activities, not only physical, but psychological. She would come home on the brink of tears and just slam the door to the bathroom and have the world's longest bath. Until one day he broke the lock, and got out of her what happened to her mom.

While Bryan is in the process of handing his gun to Jules, dominoes fall. Spike exclaims Mckinnon is on his way back to the fourth floor despite the whole building being evacuated. The elevator doors open to reveal the boss who took away Bryan's ability to care for his sister and nephew. Just shy of lying the gun in Jules hand he launches forward, aims the gun at the boss and fires.

The bullet hits in the middle of Mckinnon's forehead. Bryan's movement also causes both him and Ed to lose their shots as the subject who is now hostile is hidden behind the concrete walls. Jules talks to him calmly, telling him to give her the gun. The other two women in the room shout in disbelief. Cry in fear. In anger. In confusion. In misunderstanding. The whole time Jules is trying to get him back under control but it fails.

It fails miserably.

"No joy."

"No joy."

Fear. Just a blind fear as he runs up a random set of half stairs which plague the building. Still finds no joy. Balloons and streamers obscure the windows. He hates the women on this floor so much.

"I know how this works now." Bryan's voice is more authoritative. There's no emotion, more grunts and throaty sounds. "I need a hostage."

"Bryan, it's still not too—"

"It is too late."

"Where the hell are my Sierra shots?" Sarge yells into the comm. link.

"The rooms obscured Boss." Ed huffs, probably copying his movements, trying to find some visual into the room.

"McKinnon is dead." Wordy informs. He can vaguely see his teammate at the end of the hallway over the crumpled body of the former ex-boss. His presence only upsets Bryan more.

Then it shimmers, one of the balloons, slowly rotating downwards in the commotion of the room. Gives him a view maybe if—he falls flat on his stomach and sets up his rifle. Bryan's head is just in view. The movement of his arm, the glimmer of the gun slightly distracting as he thrashes around, hand clamped down hard on Jules' bicep.

He licks his lips, ignoring the equal amounts of rage in him. She's pregnant. She's so pregnant. Different levels of anger. Jules being manhandle is pretty up there. Jules being manhandled while pregnant, he's surprised he hasn't shot yet.

"I have the shot."

"I have to get out of here."

"Bryan there are other—"

Then it happens. Doesn't know why, maybe a scare tactic. Probably just to silence her need to change his mind. The subject presses his gun directly into the side her stomach. Barrel creating depressions on the surface of tight fabric. It shuts her right up, stills her, the color leaves her face. Dominates her.

He furrows his brows. Concentrates his vision. Inhales and pulls the trigger. Two seconds after he releases the trigger Sarge calls Scorpio. He knows he's in deep shit. But he honestly doesn't care. He'd do it again, in a single heartbeat. Would always rest his career on her safety. Did before.

For some form of fucked up penance, Sarge sends him to the hospital as his proxy to check on her. His boss is preoccupied with the SIU, fighting for him. There's definitely going to be a punishment.

At a normal gait he steps lightly by the mouth of the room so she doesn't pick him out of the regular hallway travelers. She's facing away from the door. The light gray dress marred with wrinkles, evidence of her quickly redressing after abandoning her clothes for a hospital gown. The tie settling above her stomach twisted and off center. When she turns at her hips, a splatter of dried blood highlights the short sleeve on her right arm and side of her breast.

"Sam?"

He's half hidden by the supported door frame. Told her he wouldn't run after her again. Enforced the statement with a stable voice drained of solid decision generating methods from lack of sleep. Warned should she direct him away for a second time, he wouldn't return like a lost dog. But then she was there before his eyes. Stuck with Bryan, a guy who without a shudder murdered three people. Stuck frozen with a gun barrel against her baby. Circumstances brought up in the SIU interview. Previous relationships. Emotions he should not have. He gets it. He's not supposed to be with her. Not supposed to be happy. But for the love of God, can't something just protect her so he doesn't have to? Care for her so he doesn't have to? Love her so he doesn't have to? Do all this and not get shot in a restaurant downtown and buried in a family plot in The Hat. Do all this and not give a fuck about the repercussions of a late Scorpio.

"It was you? Wasn't it?"

She didn't get to see the glamorous aftermath of the hot call. Probably thought went like clockwork. It didn't. Gears and springs were everywhere. The cuckoo flew the coop. SIU screamed drills at him. Army continually leeching. Breathing out after the shot he stabilized his vision. Felt unwanted while watching Sarge comfort her. She wasn't crying. Never cried. This was normal for them. That's what's fucked up. SIU cornered him before he could approach her, informed him how deep of shit he was in for firing early.

"What was me?"

The gurney squeaks under her weight when she perches on the edge of it. Fingers hooking over the mattress, knuckles pulsing and white like washed pebbles; she's still a little shocked. Sarge probably already made her talk to someone. Maybe he's the someone. "I kept calm because I knew you guys were out there. I knew you guys wouldn't let anything happen to me. Then he started talking faster and the gun was against my stomach. I just kept thinking it was okay because you wouldn't let anything happen to me. To us."

He doesn't answer because she honestly doesn't deserve an answer. He can't count on his fingers and toes the things he's sacrificed for her, but she's still not willing to allow him to be with her. So he's stuck in purgatory. He can't have what he wants; he can't go back to living his life without her in it. His shoe scuffs against the floor with his intent to leave.

"The last three weeks have been hell." She admits to her knocking knees. The hem of her dress shrinking around pale thighs in the darkened room.

"Because it's been easy for me." He runs a hand over his forehead and didn't realize he was sweating, well knew it, just not sweating this much. Without his knowledge he's creeping around the door frame, reclines against it with a little less outward malice.

"I never loved him Sam." The revelation almost sends him physically stumbling. Expecting some snide remark tainted with sarcasm, instead actually gets her to open up. Jules has always been the superior one in their relationship because she was never in jeopardy of constantly losing him. Now she's becoming more humanized, sharing emotions cryptic to him because before she refused to. "We only slept together once, on Valentine's Day sort of out of obligation. It was—" She pauses and laughs with a mixture of bitterness and embarrassment. Hides her slightly blushing face in the palm of her hand. "It was really awkward. After that we didn't see each other until the day he died. We were going to mutually break up I think."

"You didn't know?"

She grins, but it's empty, not truthful. Purses her lips, than plumps them while rubbing her stomach. "I found out in Medicine Hat, the day before the funeral. I bought a home pregnancy test in a pharmacy and ran into my dad. He only had the nicest things to say as you can imagine."

"If he was still alive, would you have tried to make it work with him?" He doesn't want to know the answer. Really doesn't want to know the answer because he doesn't want to give that reality any more validity than he has to. Any more respect than he has to. But he needs her to hear these answers to gain closure.

"I couldn't because I didn't—I don't love him. I don't love him because he's not you, Sam." He steps forward until he's almost standing beside her, but reserves himself. Still cautious, well aware of the hurt she can so easily inflict with what she thinks are good intentions. "I do love you, you know. It's not just something I say when I want you to leave. And I think about everything I've done, and you deserve so much better."

He sits on the bed next to her, notices her body doesn't edge towards his with the addition of his weight. Notices she won't look at him. Gently, he nudges her knee with his. "Jules, when are you going to realize that you're all I'll ever want? You and this baby, there is no 'better than this' for me."

"I've been around guys all my life and none of them talk to me the way you do."

"Sounds like you've been around the wrong guys then."

"But I blew my chance didn't I?"

"I shot him. Before Sarge called Scorpio, I shot him. What does that say?" He sighs heavily through his nostrils. When they broke up two years ago, if she came to his apartment the next day he wouldn't have refused her, no matter how unamicable the situation. She loves him and wants him, it's enough. Her wanting a family with him sets off fireworks in his body.

One of his arms encircles her shoulders, gathers her against his chest as much as he can. Her stomach has grown in his absence. She's finally popped. His hand rubs down the curve and is greeted by a mediocre thump directly in the center of his palm. He kisses her forehead, feels her cool skin on the side of his neck and closes his eyes. "I'm still here. I'll always be here."

The ride back to headquarters is silent, but not awkward. They're both tired, but both relieved. They're both nervous about the third reboot of their relationship. The city lights flash, reflected in mirrors, on her skin, and in her hair. She's still as gorgeous as ever and he wonders if there's a single thing in the world she could do to make him hate her.

She falls asleep momentarily in the passenger's seat. Eyes flickering under just slightly closed lids. Before their brief displacement she was having bad nightmares. He only assumes the trauma of being a hostage at gunpoint will worsen them. Would think something's wrong with her if it didn't. Knows she needs to talk to a therapist about today. If he doesn't persuade her too, Sarge will. Knows it's exactly the kind of information that's going to be used against her in court.

Things are still. Surreal. The shock of today holding strong, building up barriers in his brain. But she's fine, healthy, glowing, and waddling at a slow pace beside him which he adopts. His fingers braiding with hers. Pulse evening to hers.

At her Jeep, she opens the door and pauses, staring down at the black asphalt hidden by the starless sky. "Do you want to come over? You don't have to—"

His lips cover hers lightly, soothingly. He feels her smile against him and it's contagious. "I'll be there a little later. I have a few things to go over with Sarge."

Shuts the door once she's in the car. She has to adjust the seat; rolling her eyes she tells him it's the third time. He kisses her again through the window and tells her to drive careful. Waves to her as she squeals out of the parking lot just to spite him. Slightly upsets him but actually works to relax him. It's exactly what he expected her to do.

He finds Sarge reclining in the briefing room. All papers except one reverted back into a manila file folder for safe keeping. "There you are. I called you twice; SIU negotiations have been done for almost half an hour."

"Sorry, I was just—"

"How is she?" Though he interrupts, Sarge's voice is calm. His hands clasp together against the tabletop.

"She's a little in shock still, but fine. The baby's fine too."

"Good news." Sarge stands from the chair, rubbing the back of his hand across his hatless forehead. Stretching out his arms, teeth mashing. "SIU is stressing a two week suspension."

"Two weeks?" He wants to scoff. If he had any more energy he would scoff but in a messed up way it makes complete sense. A week for a second. Glad he didn't just fire the moment that guy's hand clamped around her arm. It still causes his hands to clasp in an unseen anger, still makes his skin tingle.

"I'm sorry Sam." The formal disciplinary report states he shot two seconds early to save his girlfriend and her unborn baby's life. Well not exactly in those words. He trusts Sarge though, accepts the pen from him without presenting his normally arrogant attitude and signs on the coarse black line. "Seems like a vacation might be what you need. Maybe take the time and visit your family?"

Caps the pen and releases what he wants to be a dry laugh, it turns out to be a tired exhalation. "I don't think they'd want me under these circumstances."

"I wasn't talking about your parents, Sam."

Sarge knows. Probably saw them in the parking lot. Probably knew from his premature Sierra shot. From his insistence of a transfer. From his teenage mood swings. From his frequent excuses to go to the fourth floor. From his bad acting when they would meet up for Team dinners and he would glance at her and say 'haven't seen you in a while'. Then he realizes he's breaking a rule by dating her. His palms immediately sweat. He can't lose her again. Not like this. Again. "Sarge I—"

"Relax Sam," his boss almost laughs. An unusual expression, almost indifference with a little bit superiority. "Jules isn't actively on Team One anymore. You're not breaking any official rules."

Tired mind reads between the lines quickly. "What about unofficial ones?"

Sarge sighs, twitches his lips and rubs at the back of his head. "Unofficially? I didn't see it before, but I do now." Adds a slight smile to break the tension. "But she's been through a lot and if you add to that, you'll have the Team to deal with."

And nothing more is said on the matter. Sarge goes through disciplinary reprimand protocol. Gets him to sign a few more pages and explains starting Monday he'll have two weeks suspension. Part of him thinks this was orchestrated by their boss. Not him shooting the rifle early, but the punishment. He could have been fired, he could have been transferred, but instead he got two weeks off to spend with his pregnant girlfriend who needs help.

Then he remembers his constant pestering the last three weeks about getting the hell out of the SRU. "About my transfer?"

Without glancing up from the newly signed papers Sarge answers, "I never filed your request."

Next Chapter - I still have a bit to finish up. But shit, yes you guessed it, goes down. More family based, and something BIG happens. It's totally another break up. Seriously.

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