Author's Note: Okay so I haven't gotten to season five yet therefore this is just happening at some point near the start of season 3 after Jules and Sam reconnect. Hope you guys enjoy it.

With every punch thrown and every shot landed he hoped to be just a little more at ease. He smashed his fists into the bag, throwing all his weight behind each haymaker. They were not precise, well-practiced strikes, but the attacks of a man burdened by rage. Sweat pooled upon his brow before it ran freely down his cheeks. It dripped from his nose and chin, leaving droplets on the floor below. His feet shuffled over each fallen bit as he bobbed and weaved around his imaginary opponent, continuously unloading with heavy blows. He grunted with every attack and the bag swung back and forth wildly from his violent assault.

He could feel an aching sensation overcoming his muscles. His shoulders felt increasingly numb from the exertion and his lungs burned from the lack of oxygen. But he continued, undaunted. He had to expel this anger—the immense disappointment that welled up inside him. On and on he went punching, shuffling, snorting and rasping for air. It seemed like hours since he began yet his energy waned only slightly and the fury was there—it would not leave him. This had always worked in the past, whether it had been stress over a mission in Afghanistan or a rough call since he'd joined the SRU, the heavy bag always sorted out his emotions. But not now.

"You doing all right, Sam?" the paternal voice of Sergeant Parker chimed in, intruding upon his berserker tirade. Sam Braddock set agitated blue eyes on Team One's Sergeant and chief negotiator. He must have been watching the display for some time, an expression of disquiet was etched upon his face.

Sam's chest was still heaving as his lungs tried to catch up to his heart. "Yeah… yeah I'm good, boss," he assured Parker.

Parker, ever the profiler, didn't buy it. "Are you sure?" It was a fine line to walk; Sam was obviously distressed and Sergeant Gregory Parker knew why, but he couldn't force the issue with his subordinate. Sam had his own way of dealing with the stresses of the job and God knows he'd had plenty of practice, but this time was different and everyone in Team One knew it. Parker had a responsibility to Sam—to everyone in his team.

"I'm good, Sarge. I promise," Sam reiterated unconvincingly.

It was obvious that Sam was not open to talking with his boss just yet. Reluctantly Parker relented. He nodded and acknowledged Sam's emotional affirmation that he was fine. Worried eyes traced Sam's exodus from the gym toward the locker room, a sweat-stained white towel thrown over one equally sweaty shoulder. Every step was labored and his stature was burdened by an invisible weight. It was clear to Parker that the afternoon's events weighed heavily upon the young Afghan veteran.

"How's he doing?" Team One's tactical leader Ed Lane appeared suddenly beside his old friend. He joined the Sergeant's studious gaze just long enough to notice Sam's strained gait before he disappeared in the locker room.

"Not well. He was beating on that bag for a while. I thought he was going to bring the roof down," Parker admitted with a sniff.

"Can't blame him. Terrible what happened today," Ed expressed in an even tone. They had all experienced their own bad situations and had been forced to endure the emotional fallout that followed. Ed was particularly talented in that department, at least outwardly. He was the consummate professional and a veteran of the Strategic Response Unit. The other team members cued off his demeanor and more often than not the only one astute enough to notice something was amiss with the salty veteran was his friend and colleague Sergeant Parker.

"Well, he's not talking to me," Parker said. "Keep an eye on him for me, would you?"

"Of course."

"All right, I'll see you tomorrow," Parker asserted with a nod and one last glance at the locker room door.

"Boss," Lane affirmed simply and watched as Parker headed for the front door. He disappeared in the late night air beyond and Ed glanced at his own watch to confirm just how late it was. Ten o'clock. He missed dinner again; the unfortunate reality of his occupation.

Sam's eyes locked on pictures taped on his locker door. Most of them were from Afghanistan and consisted of the men he'd shared the dangers of direct action with in a country so miserable it was hard to understand if you had never been. He'd experienced an entire gamut of emotions while serving with Joint Task Force 2; there had been overwhelming joy, excitement, fear, apprehension, sadness from tragedy and loss and more. Yet none of it prepared him for today and how he felt now. He didn't know how to confront the feelings that were manifesting inside him—burning into his entire being. He just wished he could turn back time or wake up from what had to be a horrible nightmare.

He pulled a fresh t-shirt on and shut the door, but remained in place for a moment gazing at the bare steel exterior of his locker as if lost in the day's events. He never had flashbacks or nightmares. In every transition class he'd ever gotten when he was leaving the Army they told him all the signs and symptoms of post-traumatic stress. Nightmares and flashbacks were two of many, but he learned very early that such things never set upon him. He was a natural soldier, the kind of guy that could rationalize any bad event and make sense out of the chaos of war. There was only one other time he'd felt so shaken and lost… another mistake that he had made that cost him his best friend. That was a terrible burden, one he still carried today. Now, however, he had something wholly different to contend with and he didn't know how.

"Sam…" Ed's voice broke his reverie and he was half-startled by the sudden appearance of his team leader. Ed was looking at him with hard features trying desperately to look passive. Ed Lane was a good man, the stern sort of man that treated you with firmness and fairness. He could open up with someone, whether it was a teammate or a subject when he had to, but he was always better at playing the tough team leader. "How are you holding up buddy?"

Sam's bleary blue eyes fixated on an obviously concerned team leader. Ed seemed uncomfortable as if he recognized the mixed emotions stirring inside Sam and was concerned with how they would manifest in him. "Not so good," Sam admitted.

"You want to talk about it?" Ed offered congenially. He was in no hurry to abandon his younger comrade. A man's greatest enemy could be the thoughts stirring around in his own head.

Sam lifted his kit bag and slung it over his shoulder. "I don't think so."

"Sam you can't keep this stuff inside you," Ed persisted. The serious expression upon his face betrayed his unease. Sam was always rock solid. He'd had his share of stumbles here and there, but they all did.

"I screwed up today," Sam offered simply. A frown crossed his young face; a faint sheen of perspiration still remained from his workout.

"You did what you had to do. It was the right call… just a bad outcome. We don't always get perfect scores out there, Sam. You know that," Ed insisted in a soft tone.

Sam bit his lower lip and remained silent for a time as he thought. "It shouldn't have happened. I'm trained for this. I've got more time behind the scope than anyone on this team," he grunted unhappily. "You guys rely on me; the people of this city rely on me to be my very best every time I pick up a rifle. But I screwed up."

"We're not superheroes, Sam. We make mistakes. It's part of being human."

"After assessment and selection… during all the training they put us through to make the team they told us how they'd push us beyond human limits, train us to be more precise and more skilled than the average person so we could accomplish the impossible," Sam explained. He sniffed the stale locker room air as he struggled inwardly to arrange his thoughts. "This would not be a suitable outcome. Not for my old unit, not for the SRU."

"Sam…" Ed muttered as the young man began to leave.

"I'm going home," was his only reply.

"If you need anything… you don't hesitate to call me. Okay?" Ed expressed seriously. His blue eyes locked on Sam's and there was a pleading evident there deep within. It was rarely seen with Ed Lane, the stoic sentinel, but Sam could see it now as plain as day. The old veteran reached out and clapped a firm hand on Sam's shoulder. "I'm serious."

"I know," Sam agreed. "I'll be okay. Promise."