Faith

Not sure where this one came from. I'm working on my longer story but I knew that tonight is kind of a weird off night and I didn't want to start writing it and then have no time to continue for days. So here's a one-shot, I might develop the idea further later depending on if we get any more information this season. I can go crazy with my imagination, sure, but I need something to work on, this isn't really backed up by the show though...I'm just going to write it and you'll tell me what you think, okay? I still don't own Flashpoint.

His team. His family. His gun. Those were the things that he had faith in. Those were the things that had come through for him time and time again in crisis and in calm, those were the things and people he could always rely on. Always. He took comfort in the fact that he had a support system that was actually real; real people and things that could do something, step in and do something. None of this surrendering fate to a higher power stuff. He thought as he watched the negotiations continue from his perch high above the scene.

Greg was talking to the subject, just another desperate guy who was trying, in a misguided way, to fix things. Just another one of the lost and broken, the forgotten. He thought bitterly. Where's God now? He thought as he saw the subject begin to escalate slightly.

"I have the solution." He said clearly into his microphone.

"Copy Sierra One, hold." Greg said quietly before turning his attention back to the subject. Ed bit his lip slightly. Greg was the best negotiator on the force. He had great understanding and skills when it came to reading people and empathizing with them. Sometimes though, Ed thought as he looked down the barrel of his sniper rifle again and kept the subject in his sights. Sometimes he just has too much faith in people. Ed shivered ever so slightly as a cool breeze picked up. He laid, exposed to the cruel winter, on the rooftop of a high building. He'd tried to find an inside perch but none of them would afford this angle, he would sacrifice his comfort for the shot.

He laid on the rooftop, his fingers aching slightly from the steady grip they held on his gun, the exposed metal made even colder by the relentless winds. He adjusted his angle to account for the increasingly steady breeze.

"I know it doesn't seem like it now, I know it's hard to see it from where you're standing, but you've got to believe that things will get better." Ed listened to his earpiece and smirked a bit at Greg's strong words. There he goes again, take a leap of faith. Ed shook his head ever so slightly, still keeping his eyes trained on the subject.

He knew that faith had gotten Greg through a lot of things. His life had not been easy and one of the first steps to the Alcohol recovery programs he was in all those years ago was to surrender yourself to a higher power. It didn't specify God per say, and Greg didn't really get religious, but he did change. It wasn't a bad change for him, gaining faith in something was really a life-changing thing, but Ed had been down the other side of the road.

He had grown up, been raised to be a good Catholic. He went to church every Sunday with his parents, he knew his Bible well, and he had tried to maintain his religion all through high school and college when most people abandoned their beliefs. He had lived his entire life with the idea that a benevolent God would always be there for him; it only took a day on the police force to lose that faith though. He tried to see God's plan and the altruistic motives behind the things that he experienced everyday but after seeing so many beaten women and children, so many lives destroyed by gangs, so many people die, he couldn't believe that there was a master purpose; he couldn't keep faith in a God that seemed to enjoy punishing the innocent.

Everyday since he joined the SRU he saw more and more bloodshed, and even more of it seemed unnecessary. He heard the stories: the parents just trying to protect their children, the kids bullied to a point that they wanted to kill themselves or others, the men and women who lost all they had and were resorting to the extreme measures they felt necessary; he'd seen it all and more. The stories only got sadder, more complicated, less defined as he realized that he was not only the witness to these people's suffering; he was the last resort to the worst twenty minutes of these people's lives, he was the executioner.

He'd never wanted to kill. Being a sniper was not his choice, he had good aim. That was the long and short of how he had been bred as a sniper, he had a near perfect shot in the academy, he retained it over the years and his scores reflected it and when a spot opened up on SRU and he was suggested for it he nearly jumped with joy. SRU was far from the gang murders and fights he'd seen during his time on the police force, they were the guys that talked their bad guys down and, when that didn't work, used SWAT style tactics that often ended in an arrest with no bloodshed. He had wanted that, he needed that, but instead, he was the sniper.

He didn't complain, the job had grown on him and now he found himself longing for the rooftops on some calls. His first lethal shots were difficult, more difficult than he'd ever admit. It had never gotten easy to hear that command, to pull the trigger and know that in a few seconds someone was no longer going to be alive because of you, but he did his job and he tried to compartmentalize the best he could.

He no longer believed faith was possible for himself. Clark had once asked him what he thought happened after people died. He had been young and Ed knew that he would forget what was said, but he nearly froze as he tried to figure out what to say. He didn't know what he believed anymore and he definitely didn't want his cynicism to rub off on his son. Clark had been called away before he could answer the question, but it was a narrow escape.

He confronted death every day, but nothing prepared him for Lew's death. He liked to think that Lew had found some kind of peace, he was another one who was able to maintain his faith even with what they say everyday; Ed envied him at times. He hoped that Lew was okay somewhere but the bigger part of him, the part that he called rationality, said that there was nothing pleasant to be had after this life. He hoped he was wrong for Lew's sake and for the sake of the people he saw die everyday. What's it matter? I'm already going to Hell anyway. He thought to himself bitterly as he paid attention to Greg's voice again in his ear.

"That's it, just put the gun down now." He said softly as the subject bent towards the ground and placed his gun on the street. Wordy moved in and put handcuffs around the subject's wrists and, once he heard the conformation that he was secure, he began to pack up his gear. The wind had not died down and it was only upon standing that he realized his body was nearly frozen. The entire left side of his body, the side that took the direct hit of the wind, felt numb as he tried to recirculate his blood into his pale white fingers. He packed up quickly and ran down the stairs as quickly as his numb left leg would allow. As he approached the trucks, Greg threw Ed a heavy jacket and took his rifle.

"Wow Ed," Greg said with a smile as he looked to the sky. "guess someone up there's on your side." Ed gave Greg a questioning look before he felt a drop of water on his head. He looked up and saw that snow had started falling and he wrapped the jacket around himself tighter. Sure they are. He thought bitterly to himself before giving another glance to the sky and closing the door of the SUV.

Wow, that came out really really angsty, sorry. I really didn't intend for it to get that bitter. I saw the word on one of my papers and I thought about Flashpoint and then I just went with it. I'm trying to get better at incorporating thoughts into my stories and maintaining third person, I've always had a lot of trouble with third person narrative, so I'm working on it. Sorry again this came out kind of bitter and angsty...I guess it kind of coincides with my own bitterness, no, that's not the right word...I don't know what it is, just kind of mistrust of religion. I'm working on it...kinda...it's a long story. Let's just leave this at, please review and please don't hate me for being mean to religion.