Hey hey fellow Flashpoint fans! Got into the show over summer, finally up to speed and figured I'd try my hand at a fic - LOVE the bromance between Greg and Ed to pieces and am gonna be devastated when the show ends :( There's nowhere near enough stories on FF that focus on these two, so if you have an idea get writing!
I hope you enjoy, feedback would be lovely even though this chapter is primarily abuse, haa. Thanks for readingggg =D
Haylz
An emergency alarm suddenly blared in warning. Ed Lane whipped around, gun raised, only to watch the heavy-duty security door slide closed behind him, the clunking sound of locks bolts indicating that he was sealed in.
"Boss, the doors just sealed, I'm locked in the secure room. Suspect's whereabouts are still unknown." His voice was clipped, authoritative, as he scanned the room warily.
Over the comms system he heard Sergeant Greg Parker sigh in worry and frustration. "Okay, Eddie. Raf: get down there and see if you can override the door from the outside. Spike: check the company system, see if this was done from the outside. Sam and Jules: finish clearing the building." Parker waited for acknowledgement from each officer before continuing, "We'll bust you out, buddy, just hang tight and stay sharp."
"Copy that, Boss. Sam and Jules, either of you – "
A loud snap of a sound, and Ed was on his hands and knees on the ground. His firearm was torn from his grasp. Dazed and confused, his mind put the pieces together in the two seconds it took for his vision to swim into focus and see the threatening two-foot length of metal pipe dangling in front of his face. The blow had been hard and sudden, dropping him in one strike. A snarl escaped Ed and he lunged for his attacker's legs, intent on bringing him down but his body refused to cooperate – he just couldn't move fast enough and his pitiful retaliation was easily side-stepped, a vicious uppercut sending him down once more.
The attacker took some steps back from Ed and smiled, showing off a set of yellowed teeth. His face was lopsided, angular, lumpy and twisted; covered with pockmarks and scar tissue. He was bloody huge too.
"Ed? Eddie? Status, now!"
"I'm okay. Suspect is here, he's in here with me." Ed paused to spit out the blood collecting in his mouth. "I'm unarmed, you need – "
"Take the radio off."
Ed looked up at the large man defiantly.
The attacker calmly took one hand from behind his back, showcasing off the metal pipe which now glistened with blood. Now Ed's vision was clear, he could see that the end was swollen with washers – nuts and bolts stuck out at random angles. The modern day equivalent of hammering a couple of nails into a baseball bat: a plumber's mace.
"Take the radio off," he repeated.
Ed complied and watched as the man stamped on it with a hint of glee. "You got a name?" Ed asked.
He smiled again. "Ye can call us, 'Mr Pain'."
Seriously? Mr Pain?
The corners of Ed's mouth barely twitched, but apparently it was enough of a reaction as the length of pipe flashed through the air, spines quivering.
Ed dropped to one knee, pitching sideways. Something tugged at his shoulder, and then an ornamental vase exploded into ceramic shrapnel. He snapped his foot out, but Mr Pain wasn't there.
He hit the table and kept going, rolling right over it as the mace thundered down into the wood, splinters shooting everywhere like darts. Ed dropped into the floor on the other side, looked up –
The pipe whistled towards his face.
Ed flinched, the back of his head slamming into a filing cabinet as the mace swept past, its spines rippling the air less than an inch front of his nose.
Jesus, the bastard was fast.
A backhand swing. Chunks of plaster flew as the mace carved straight through the inner wall where Ed's head would've been if he hadn't moved.
Fast and strong.
Another swing and a collection of paperback record books burst into flight, paper wings fluttering as they spiralled to the floor.
Ed dived left, grabbed a handful of important-looking papers and hurled them at Mr Pain, followed by a drinking glass. Not exactly deadly weapons, but if they distracted the big bastard even for a couple of seconds…
A couple of sheets snagged on the mace's spines, the paper rattling and crackling like a fire as the thing smashed down on the table leg.
Ed was on his feet like a sprinter, charging straight into Mr Pain's stomach, sending him battering back against the wall. The pipe would be useless at this distance. Ha, not so clever now, was he? Dancing about at arm's length from the bastard was going to get Ed's head caved in, but up close? Different matter.
That was where experience in a fight trumped a big dod of metal.
Ed grabbed Mr Pain by the throat and slammed him back into the cracked plaster. He stank of garlic and raw onions, breath like curdled shite. Left fist – uppercut to the floating ribs, putting his shoulder into it, driving hard, ignoring the broken-glass scream of his swollen knuckles. Once, twice, three times. The sickening soggy-feeling as his ribs cracked and bucked. A sharp end threatening to puncture Mr Pain's lung.
A knee slammed into Ed's thigh – probably going for the balls, but this wasn't exactly Ed's first bare-knuckle fight.
Mr Pain jerked his head back, then forwards. Crap. Ed ducked his chin to his chest and a dull thunk reverberated around his skull, a harsh ringing in his ears. The floor lurched and buckled like the deck of a ship.
Ed let go of his throat, staggered back a couple of steps.
Blood bubbled from the flattened mess of Mr Pain's nose, little scarlet droplets flying from swollen lips. "Fucker!" The mace flashed up for another blow.
What the hell was he made of?
Sod this. Ed turned and ran, abruptly realising that there was nowhere to run to, trapped in the safe room. He quickly amended his strategy and ducked behind a filing cabinet. Okay, think, think, think, think –
BANG. The jagged end of the pipe carved through the thin metal. On impulse, Ed grabbed the pipe, below the nut-and-bolt spines, and yanked.
Something large and ugly slammed into the other side of the filing cabinet before it gave way, Mr Pain toppling over. Eyes wide. Blood dripping from his chin. Hands grabbing at thin air as he kept on going.
He blundered straight into Ed, shoving him back into a display case of art. The glass shattered, shards raining everywhere and biting his skin.
The two wrestled and clattered down the short steps into the back end of the room, a second of freefall and then THUD. It was like being kicked between the shoulder blades by an angry horse. All the breath rushed out of Ed's lungs, taking a groan with it. Then he was tumbling down the final steps, arms and legs tangled with the big smelly bastard. Grunting and swearing.
CRUNCH.
The floor slammed into Ed's chest. As if it wasn't already hard enough to breathe…
Jesus, that hurt.
Get up. Get up before he starts swinging that bloody pipe again.
GET UP!
Ed dragged in a breath, coughed, gritted his teeth and shoved until he was on his knees.
The room was a mess, the floor littered with bits of furniture and shreds of paper, smears of blood on the fractured walls. Mr Pain was lying on his back, groaning, his left arm twisted and bent the wrong way at the elbow.
Looked sore.
Good.
Ed dragged himself up the wall, swayed on the seasick carpet for two deep breaths, then staggered over and stamped on the joint.
The big man didn't scream. He lay there, eyes wide, mouth working up and down, then grabbed the arm and clutched it to his chest. "Agghghhhh…"
Served him right. He could –
The kick came from nowhere, pistoning up into Ed's stomach, lifting him off his feet and sending him smashing back into the wall. The plasterboard completely cracked, a faint dusting of powdery white drifting out into the air.
Ed's knees buckled, fire blazing through his guts as he scrabbled to stay upright.
Mr Pain grunted his way to his feet and stood there, swaying back and forwards, blood and spittle dripping from his open mouth. And then he started to laugh.
Ed grabbed what was left of a nearby table for support. "What… what the hell… do you… do you want?"
The big man cricked his neck from side to side, voice all bunged up and soggy. "You cops. Yer all the same." The left arm dangled limp at his side, but the right ended in a huge fist.
He lowered his head and charged.