Flashpoint: Burn

By The Chronicler

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The splash of gasoline had a rainbow effect as it ran down the pearl colored wall. Every little light shimmered as it reflected off the slickened surfaces, dripping to the dark, hard wood floor. The air was thick with the harsh fumes from, not just the gasoline, but leaking natural gas, spilt kerosene from the once romantic lamps shattered about the house, smashed expensive liquor bottles… Anything and everything flammable had been found, smashed, destroyed, and, otherwise, made ready.

"Andy, buddy, what are you doing?" Greg called out to the man from behind Ed's protective shield.

"Get out of here, man!" the man shouted back. "This place is about to become the hottest zone in town!" In preparation of such, he poured what was left in the right handed can all over the black leather sofa, splashing more on the long, elegant drapes.

"Andy, you don't want to do this. There's been enough loss for one day, hasn't there?"

"No!" Andy screamed back. "Enough? Enough? Have you ever heard the one you love the most in the world scream in agony… agony, begging you to make them stop, screaming when it hurts so much he can't even form words… as they scrape and wash away the burned skin? Oh, they know he won't live, but they still put him through that hell… and you let them!... because there is some hope, some breath of a chance that you cling to… something will make it all better again… bring him back to me!"

Greg shook his head, sadly. "Buddy, I can't imagine what you must have gone through. But, I can't imagine that this is what Tony would have wanted. Do you really think he would have wanted you to do this? That he would want others to suffer what he had? Want you to? Andy, Tony was a good man who wanted…"

"To live!" Andy snapped. He snatched up his last can.

"I've got the solution." came Sam's call.

"No." Greg hissed into the com. "Fumes in here, we'd all go up like a Roman candle."

"Spike… tell me you got that door open." Ed growled into the com, pressing his back against Greg, making sure his boss didn't slip pass him and into the danger zone.

"This thing's built to keep a damn bazooka at bay!" Spike complained, slamming his hand against a steel door he paced in front of, his laptop plugged into its computer lock.

"Isn't there a chance…" Jules tried from where she was ushering the staff out the back door.

"This place goes up, and this thing is gonna turn into an easy bake oven." Spike shot her down.

"Andy…" Greg called out again.

"Greg." came the suddenly calm response. Andy looked at the SRU officer. "Greg, you're good people and I appreciate what you all are trying to do. But it's time for you to get out now. Go!... and hurry!" He raised his hand…

A silver lighter with a fireman's crossed axes in bright red on the side…

….with a flick of the thumb, a long flame shot out of the top.

The flame whipped about with sudden life, breathing in all the delicious fumes, purring at all the fuel…

"Get out! Get out! Get out!" Greg yelled into his com as Ed spun about and dived for him.

Then, with a roar of freedom, the flame ignited...

… and the one time expensively lavished, elegant sitting room became hell's own inferno.

0o0o0o0o0

Twelve hours earlier…

He was only twenty-two years old.

Prime of his life.

Young, strong, energetic, cocky, full of life, full of the right here and now…

He laid cocooned in bandages, what skin was visible was blackened and unrecognizable as human. The few fingers exposed more resembled burnt hotdogs than digits. So many tubes and wires ran into and through the prone figure, one might think to tug on one just to see if he would dance.

Andreas Lenardo squeezed his hands in tight fists, feeling his nails cut into the palms of his hands. He could hear the doctor as he spoke, his voice a buzz in the back of his skull, as he told him about his brother's condition. He knew what the man was saying, could even appreciate how gentle he was trying to be. He already knew it all, knew for days now, knew from the moment they had first pulled his little brother from that burning rubble.

Only four days earlier, Fire Inspector Andreas Lenardo had stood in that very night club, clip board in hand, his brother bouncing around him like an eager puppy.

"This place…. Didn't I tell you, Andy? Didn't I?"

Andy was frowning as he looked at his clipboard. "It's something alright. A fire trap." He looked at his brother. "Tony, I told you I would do the inspection for you, but… man, I can't okay this! Bars on the emergency exits? Those curtains over the lights practically don't need a flame to go up in smoke. And that's with candles on every table and ancient wiring…"

Tony shook his head. "I can fix that… all of that! Just give us the sign off. And a list! I can have everything fixed before our grand opening."

Andy rolled his eyes. "Tony, you know how many times I hear that?"

"From me? Man, I'm your brother! I need this!" Tony pleaded.

"How are we doing, fellas?" asked a tall man in a slick, black tailored suit as he walked across the dance floor, the silver heals on his leather loafers clicking on the shiny floor. "All set to open?" Even his voice was slick and smooth.

Tony skipped away to meet the man. "Sure thing, boss. What'd I say? Andy's the best. Got a few fix-its, but…" Tony looked over his shoulder at his brother, a plea in his green eyes, begging his hero to save him one more time.

"But?" Mr. Windell Roselin repeated, one black eyebrow raised as he eyed his employee and then the fireman brother. "You told me there would be no buts, Tony." Despite his sweet tone, there was no missing the silent growl in his words. "You know I do not like buts."

Two rather large men, dressed in equally neat, slick, black suits pushed away from the bar.

Andy stiffened. He resisted the urge to reach out and pull his little brother behind him.

Why or how did Tony ever get involved with people like this….

He could have worked his way up to owning his own place someday. Andy would have helped! But the kid was offered a spot at what he thought was the top of a brand new club.

Brand new club owned by The Rose Corporation, in turn owned by one Windell Roselin, also known as the Mr. Big of Canada.

And not the good Mr. Big.

The bad Mr. Big that Daredevil and Spider Man were always duking it out with.

Man had his thumb in so many illegal pies, bets were he wasn't in jail yet was because agencies were too busy arguing over who got him first.

Tony flashed his best smile. "No buts, Mr. Rose. I just have to do some quick fix-its, then Andy can sign us off…" He shrugged. "Only another day…"

Roselin ground his teeth.

Even Andy could hear it from where he was standing. His eyes darted to the henchmen who were approaching, reacting to their employer's turn of mood.

Andy sighed. "Tony… you promise to have it done? Everything done right? Before the doors open?"

Tony spun about like he had just been delivered his very own pony for his sixth birthday. Eyes so bright, smile a mile wide… "Promise!" he held up a three finger hand, the Boy Scout's promise. "Swear it! Work all night long! There won't be a bar, flammable curtain, candle in sight when the big doors open!"

Andy glanced down at his clipboard, glanced at Mr. Roselin, glanced at his brother… again he sighed. Pulling his pen from his pocket, he signed the paper. Ripping off a copy he held it out to his brother.

"You, man, are the best brother…" Tony started to reach for it, but Andy pulled it back just a breath.

Andy gave him that look he used when he needed to make things clear. "Tony, we're talking about lives. People's lives."

Tony let his excitement drop away. He nodded once. "Yea, Andy. I get it. I promise, man, on my life! This joint will be so safe you'll want to use it as your poster for fire safety." He held his hand out.

Andy held out just a moment longer. But, like always, he gave his little brother what he wanted. "Okay. Done."

"Well done!" Roselin cheered happily, clapping Tony on the back. "How about a celebratory dinner? Wine, dine, lobster and steak…"

Tony turned excited eyes to his brother, more thrilled with dinner with the boss than anything the whole day had shown him.

But Andy shook his head. "Thanks, but no thanks. I've got…" he stopped just short of saying integrity. "…Work stuff. Tony?"

Tony licked his lips, glancing from hero fireman brother to gangster employer to hero fireman brother again. "Um, yea, sorry, Mr. Rose. Think I should get onto that list if we're gonna be ready to pop this can tomorrow night."

Mr. Roselin frowned at the brothers for a moment, never liking being turned down. But, hey, if he gets what he wants… With a laugh, he waved back at his men. "Let's eat, be merry." And they took their leave.

Andy looked at his brother one more time.

"Promise, Andy!" Tony assured one more time, bright eyes and mile wide grin back. "This is gonna be the hottest zone in town!"

And it was.

Burned down opening night.

Bars still in place.

Flaming curtains falling down, around the full house.

Candles knocked over by panicked patrons.

Thirteen people dead.

Twenty eight injured.

Club manager Anthony Lenardo third degree burns over eighty-nine percent of his body, alive only by miracle…

Miracle?

Depends on one's definition.

Every breath was agony. Every forced beat of his heart, every droplet of blood pumped through strangled veins, every… everything!

"It's time, Mr. Lenardo." The doctor was saying. "There is nothing more we can do for your brother." His voice was soft, gentle, kind.

Andy took a deep breath and held it.

"Mr. Lenardo…?"

Andy's eyes tore away from his brother to look at the doctor.

"What I am trying to say…"

"I know!" As soon as he snapped, he pulled back his anger. Licking his lips, he spoke again, calmer, quieter. "I know, Dr. Miles, what you are trying to say. I know." He patted the doctor on the arm. "Do what you can to keep him comfortable… as much as possible… until… until…"

"We will." Dr. Miles assured. "And you…?"

"Gonna make sure someone pays for this." He whispered the promise to himself, to Tony, to the victims of the fire, to the city he had sworn to protect, but, most of all, he swore to Mr. Windell Roselin. "Pays fire for fire!"

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A/N: so, just an idea. Seeing if it catches anyone's attention. ~~The Chronicler