Hey all. Been working on this story for a few weeks - just a few words at a time. School's eating my life and I have a very lot to do this week and a half so it'll probably be the last thing for a little while. Sadness! Oh, and I hope all the Americans enjoyed tonights premier!

It's inspired by the potted plant that Sam says he gave Jules at the beginning of Business as Usual.

Disclaimer: FPnotmine.

Jules didn't consider herself extraordinarily vain. She'd grown up the only daughter of a farmer, surrounded by her admittedly rough-and-tumble older brothers. She'd baled hay, she'd been kicked off of horses, she'd ridden tractors and she'd herded cattle. She'd been raised tough – her fathers' favourite saying was 'Alberta Strong'. There simply hadn't been room for her to squabble over the shower in the morning, nor was their much patience for any diva attitudes.

And the SRU certainly wasn't precisely made for soft woman or female wiles. The bruises and scars were badges she wore with pride. But she knew that others would consider them mars, something to be smothered with vitamin e and hidden from sight.

She was hardly a gorgon – she didn't think anyway. She had a weakness for high-heel shoes and sparkly jewelry. Tucked safely into the medicine cabinet of her upstairs bathroom, she had a collection of pots and tubes of makeup that would make a teenage girl squeal with delight. Each morning and night she slathered on anti-aging moisturizer.

But she'd never been the kind of woman that attracted men in droves. They didn't' fall over themselves in her presence. She didn't have the kind of seductive airs that had them jockeying for a place in her life or her heart. She was practical, safe Julianna.

And she was sick of it.

She was thirty-freaking –six years old. She'd never been married. She had no children. She was pitifully and terrifyingly alone.

Which is why, she gritted her teeth, she'd accepted this date in the first place. It was long past time that she threw herself back into the dating pool headfirst. She'd either start sinkin' or start swimming. If the nerves jumping in her belly were any indication, it would be the latter.

Steve Morgan was the first man that had appealed. He was, in essence, a perfect choice He was kind and cute, in the rugged farmboy kind of way. She'd know him since they were kids. And, best of all, he had his own hectic job to contend with – no judgment from him on last-minute cancellations. He could slip handily into the life she'd built with not so much as a ripple.

The doorbell rang and she rand a hand, shakily, over her hair. She heaved in a huge breath, sucking in oxygen. She exhaled.

Calm. She told herself. Be calm.

She swung open the door and smiled brightly.

"Hey Jules." His grinned crookedly – something she'd found outrageously sexy and endearing at fourteen. She remembered the leap her stomach would take when she'd see him strutting through the hallways of their highschool, varsity jacket opened over the unofficial school uniform of plaid and denim. Today – nothing. No leap, no heart jumping to her throat. No flutter of lust. Not even a stirring. She hated herself for it.

"Are those for me?" She asked, gesturing the bouquet of flowers tucked beneath his arm.

"Yeah. I, uhm, thought you might like them." He said, stepping closer. He lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers in a friendly kiss.

No fireworks, no spark. Nothing. Goddamned it.

"I'll just take them inside. Put them in some water." Jules forced herself to smile. She carried them into the kitchen, laying them carefully on the counter. She pulled her tall glass vase out from its cupboard and filled it halfway with water.

Steve chattered as she methodically snipped of each flowers' stem down to clean, fresh green before slipping them into the mouth of the vase.

You've got a beautiful home – it suits you.

Thank you.

Have you been to Cuba?

No – oh that. I found that in my parents attic when I was younger – they bought in on their honeymoon. Dad let me keep it.

Right. How is your Dad?

Oh you know. Same old, same old. He's getting older and wishes he wasn't. Your folks?

Good. They winter down in Arizona now – can't deal with the cold like they used to. They wish Andy and I had settled closer to home. Alberta Forever, and all.

The flowers were violent shades of red and orange, a swirling mix of fiery colour. She was nearly satisfied, trimming down the last flower when:

"Is this an African violet?"

She didn't need to turn to know precisely what he was asking about.

Stupid Waldo.

It was the dumbass, idiot plant Sam had brought her when she'd been in the hospital.

She didn't remember much of that first week. The drugs they'd given her had been strong. They'd wrapped through her system like a haze, coating those nerves and numbing the murderous ache in her chest.

But she remembered that he'd been there – the entire way through. He'd been there when she'd woken up. He'd held her hand when she'd been scared. He'd told her stories – dumb, silly, funny, sad – when she got restless. He propped her up when she tried to walk. He was there the whole time.

She'd never wanted to depend on anybody. But there she was. Leaning on his arm as she struggled to walk through the halls, feet unsteady beneath her. Days were spent waiting for him to come – and he did. Every single day. He'd never let her down.

That's why I got you the plant. I'm thinking long-term.

Yeah? How long term, you thinking?

As long as it takes, I'll be here.

Even though he hadn't uttered the words, she knew it was a promise.

In the end she had been the one to back away. She told herself it was for them both – to protect their jobs. Team One was everything – it was her life, her family. Now that Sarge knew there could be no going back to the way things were. No stolen moments or secret rendezvous. No nights in her bed looking up at the rafters and listening to his sleepy breaths beside her.

She'd already been under the microscope as the SRU's only female officer. If they found out she was having an affair with another member of the team, her reputation would be destroyed.

Sam would lose his job. But he'd be the guy who bagged the only female sniper in the SRU. She'd be just another stupid female who let her heart rule her head. Incapable of controlling her emotions. Just another easy, stupid and manipulated woman. Her whole life would be yanked out from underneath her. She couldn't afford it.

Being shot – being replaced – had made her realize exactly how tenuous that was. She'd come so close to losing everything that was important to her.

So she'd told herself it had been for the best – for both of them.

But that was only half the truth.

She could still vividly recall the rolling storm of emotions after the airport standoff. He'd come home nearly two hours late – no warning, no call. She knew he couldn't. But still the panic had been nearly intangible.

Eight o'clock had come and gone with no sign of him. She'd laid restless in bed for a long time, waiting to her the soft click of Sam easing the lock open, the padding of steps across the floors. But there was no sounds in her silent house.

She'd waited. No sighing of the mattress beneath his weight as he crawled into bed. No arm slinging around her waist, drawing her back against him.

Her stomach had churned and clenched painfully. She'd listened to the clock radio and its news announcements, eyes pressed tightly shut in anticipation of bad news. But they never said enough.

This must have been what her mother felt, she'd thought, watching the window for his car to pull into the driveway. It was that lurking, nagging thought that maybe he wouldn't come back to you. It was too much. She didn't want to feel like that.

The hiss of tires on pavement heralded his return. She caught a glimmer of blonde in the morning light and heard the scrape of a key in the door. She'd lain in bed heart furiously pounding.

He finally lurched into her bedroom, looking exhausted. A five oclock growth shadowed his jaw but beneath it he was deathly pale. He reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his chest.

Shit, Sam. She hadn't been able to stifle the gasp. What did you do?

It's nothing. He'd insisted. Doesn't even hurt that much anymore.

Purple and blue discolouration lashed across his chest from collarbone to hips. The dark epicenter, the worst of the bruising, rode high, just over his heart. It rioted against his white skin, a motley mix of nasty hues. No doubt it ached like a bitch.

Her hand had reached up, grazing it softly across his skin. His recoiled, sucking in a breath, as her fingers slid across the bruises.

He couldn't meet her eyes.

It was a concussive grenade. He finally muttered. He wouldn't say more.

She'd found out later, months down the road, during a training session, that he'd leapt on the bomb. They'd thought it was a live grenade and without hesitation he'd fallen on it to save the life of the other agent.

She wasn't sure how she would have coped, if they hadn't been wrong. Kevlar could offer no protection against a grenade, that was for damned certain. What would she have done if he'd been killed? There was no simple answer.

She was terrified of the piece of herself she'd discovered that day. She couldn't possible need somebody this much. She was strong, she was smart, she was Jules freaking Callaghan. She shouldn't have that emptying need. That feeling that scraped you raw and left you hollow inside. That fear that eroded away at you, making you feel helpless.

It was the scariest thing in the world, standing at the edge of that precipe, looking over and not knowing. One step in the wrong direction and you'd lose your step and plummet off into that unchartered territory.

Stepping back was the only way Jules knew how to protect herself from the one thing that scared her more than anything else: love.

The breakup had given her bad moments. Coming back to her empty house after telling him it was over. Having to lie in the bed that smelled of him the rest of the night. The awkward hug that he'd given her headquarters that made it painfully clear that he didn't want to have to touch her any more than strictly necessary. He'd hared off for the men's room in a hurry – like her mere presence was vile. Maybe the worst part was knowing that things just couldn't be the same.

You could have a person in your life every day and still miss them. The two years since had taught her that.

She hadn't meant to keep Waldo. She'd never meant to bring him home from the hospital at all. But, alas, when the time had come that they'd release her she found herself buckled into the back seat of her Jeep with Sam at the helm and Waldo resting on her thighs.

Something to do, she guessed. Something to keep her company.

Sam had jokingly named it Waldo after he'd walked in on her talking to it one day. She tried to explain that she'd read that talking to them made them grow faster and stronger - but he hadn't bought it.

She asked him: why Waldo.

"Ralph Waldo Emerson." He'd replied.

She stared at him blankly.

"He said, uhm, 'Earth Laughs in Flowers'. Mom loves him. She made us read his essays when she was homeschooling us."

"You were homeschooled?" She found it hard to imagine.

"Sure." He had smiled - one of his true, genuine grins that had shot all the way to those eyes. "When I was fourteen my father was sent to Poland for a year to help the new government. It was English with Ma or Polish with soviet-hardened teachers of the local highschool. Ma won out. Strictest teacher I ever had too. Nat and I read a lot of dear ol' Waldo that year."

They'd hardly ever shared this much about their families.

"Earth laughs in flowers?" She repeated.

"Yep. She's got it painted on the backyard gate."

So Waldo it had been

She'd tried to give him away once. Her former RCMP partner had given birth to a stunning baby girl that spring. Jules had tried to ignore the clutch of envy when she'd found out Liz had been pregnant. Liz was nearly six years younger than her, and there she was, a brand new mother.

Jules had settled Waldo on the floor of her car. It would be a lovely gift, she thought. A plant that would grow with the baby, symbolic of the promise of a new life. New mothers' loved flowers. It was time to let go of the past. Time to move on. Now Waldo would bring new joy to somebody else.

She managed to get as far as the elevator doors but simply couldn't hit the button for maternity. Instead, Liz had received a beautiful bouquet of roses that day, courtesy of the gift shop downstairs and Waldo had ridden comfortably home in Jules' lap.

Some things were just hard to shake free of.

"It's actually, uhm, Ember Lace." Jules finally responded.

"It's nice." Steve offered vaguely.

"A friend of mine brought it for me when I was in the hospital last year. Copped a bullet on the job." She replied. The word friend left a biter taste in her mouth. It could never really describe their relationship.

She looked over at Steve. He was leaning casually against the counter, still studying Waldo curiously. Why couldn't he be the one that made her heart jump to her throat – why couldn't it be him she wanted? Why couldn't her life just be easy for once?

Jules slipped the last flower into the vase. They were lovely, of course, and charming and sweet but, she glanced over at the pink-speckled leaves of that hateful plant, she knew they wouldn't last. They just weren't Waldo. And Steve just wasn't Sam.