Disclaimer: I don't own flashpoint. If I did I wouldn't be spending mad chedda getting a degree in art history. Just sayin'.

AN: I wasn't going to post this until after I'd had a chance to plan where it was going and get a few more chapters down on my other fic. But, lets be brutally honest, I don't have the patience.

Two thing. Firstly I'm making up a base. I know Toronto doesn't an army base. Closest is Kingston (which is where Hugh Dillon - luff - is from). So I took some liberties and made one up. Secondly the first couple chapters are going to be set throughout the third season. Just to avoid some confusion. Chapter One is set the night before "Coming to You Live." Yeah. Jules' may think Sam's blonde, brunette and redhead were svelte little brainless bimbos, but I'm casting them as a half-blind army tech, a troubled soldier and an jovial ginger teammate.

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Sam sauntered into the dive bar, heading straight for the counter. He ordered a beer, on tap. He turned to survey the bar. It was the very definition of skeezy, which must have been why they chose it.

"Braddock!" A voice exclaimed, clapping him heartily on the back.

He grinned enormously. "Bear, you bastard. Where the hell have you been." He grabbed the towering man in a gruff bear hug. "You made it back from the sands all right then?"

"Yeah, yeah. Zeb's here – he's staking a claim on the pool table. Specs too." Daniel Hartford, alias Bear, nodded to the dimly lit corner of the bar where two men lay arguring over pool cues.

"You left them alone together? Jesus. Good thing you chose Filthy McNasty's here. When they destroy something at least it won't be expensive to replace. This has to be the worst dive I've been to since that joint in Calgary."

"What?" Bear asked absently, scratching a hand over his closely cropped red hair. At the pool table the two men had resorted to a pushing match, their similarly buzzed heads gleaming brown under the shady lighting. "Oh yeah. The place with the stripper. Candy? I think it's name Candy."

"Only the stripper had a second pole, if you catch my drift." Sam laughed at the memory. "That must've been Zeb's bachelor party."

"Sure was." Bear sighed wistfully. "About that though." His voice trailed off.

Sam glanced over sharply. "What? Something wrong?"

"Yes. No. Sort of. Not exactly. He and Katherine. They didn't make it. I wouldn't bring her up, that's all." Bear lifted a hand to order another round.

"No? Really? I thought she'd be the type to stick. You get to learn the type pretty quickly. She seemed pretty solid." Sam was surprised. And a little saddened.

"I know. She grew up military. She understands. But it wasn't her. It was him. He came back and … he hadsn't been the same. After Dave did himself in … we lost Knuckles in a roadside and Jonesy isn't ever going to be the same."

"Yeah I saw him." Sam swallowed dryly. Jones had come back two limbs short, mentally broken from his loss. He was struggling. Every day was a struggle for him. He was coming around though, making progress with his prosthetic. He was starting to work with, instead of against, himself.

"Anyway. We got back and Zeb just cracked. I just know that something bad happened between them. I saw them just a few days after he came back. They couldn't even look at each other. He went a little crazy. I don't really know all the details."

"He hurt her?" Sam asked. He hoped not. Zeb was like his brother. He couldn't imagine him hurting Kate – they'd been so in love. But war did crazy things to people. And Zeb had never been good at holding his alcohol. He and Specs were currently swinging at one another, scuffling and cursing.

"I don't think so. Not in the way you're thinking. I think he hurt her heart, but he didn't hit her or anything. Whatever. Lets not get into it." Bear shrugged it off. Zeb and Specs broke apart howling with laughter. "We're back from the sands all together – we should just raise some hell for the good ol' times, eh?"

"Yeah. For the good old days." Sam raised his glass.