Chapter One: Getting His Wings
Author note: This story is the thirtieth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "East of the Sun".
Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own Flashpoint, Harry Potter, Narnia, or Merlin.
Flames roared high, eating hungrily into the two vehicles in the middle of a normally quiet neighborhood. Sirens wailed as the fire trucks and firefighters arrived; shouts preceded the first jets of water onto the fire, which hissed in indignation and outrage to be so assaulted.
Nearby, the residents of the block grouped around a middle-aged woman, groaning and hardly conscious, but alive. One resident eagerly informed the paramedic that the woman had been driving the larger car…a once immaculate white Dodge Durango. When the paramedic asked after the other driver, the residents grew telling silent, each nervously glancing at each other.
The paramedic signaled her partner, who raced to tell the firefighters, "The other driver's still in the car!"
The lead firefighter glanced over at the paramedic, then back at the blazing, formerly slate-blue Chevy Impala. "Then they're dead!" he yelled back at the paramedic. "No way someone could survive in that!"
Slowly, sullenly, the flames died down, drowned by the expertly applied water and the persistent firefighters. With the metal of the two wrecked cars still too hot to touch, the firefighters anxiously read off the two miraculously intact license plates to their dispatcher.
The dispatcher pulled in a shocked breath at the results from the Impala. "Read that license plate off again, please?" he requested.
On-scene, the lead firefighter just about barked out the plate number. "Kilo, Three, Bravo, November, One, Eight, Two." He paused. "You get it this time?"
"Yeah, I got it, but you aren't gonna like it…car belongs to a member of the Strategic Response Unit." Both men were silent a moment. "I've got a phone number, if you want it," the dispatcher offered.
The lead firefighter eyed the smoldering wreck as the phone in his hand rang and rang. He shook his head. No way it would be…
"Sergeant Parker speaking."
The firefighter froze in shock. "Sergeant Parker, my name is Simon Griggs; I'm with the Fire Department." He eyed the car again. "Do you know who's driving your car, Sergeant?"
Confusion, mixed with wary alarm. "My nephew, why?"
Simon Griggs let his head drop. "You'd better get down here as soon as you can, sir. There's been an accident."
"My nephew, is he okay?" Sergeant Parker demanded sharply.
The firefighter continued to stare at the remains of the car. "Please get here as soon as you can, sir." He gave the Sergeant the address, then hung up.
Several feet away, the two cars both let out loud screeches as their roofs, weakened by the fire, gave way with a loud crash.
3 hours earlier
The young man anxiously standing in line at one of Toronto's DMV locations was just like many other teenagers on their sixteenth birthdays – hopeful that they could finally get their driver's license and earn their first real bit of independence. Of course, this teenager already had a fair amount of independence, but still, he was about to get his driver's license and no one was allowed to rain on his parade with inconvenient truths.
"I see you got the Driver Manual," Greg observed solemnly, though his eyes twinkled at the excitement in his nephew's eyes. "Read it yet?"
The look he got in return was so very teenagish that he resisted the urge to laugh; sometimes, he could almost be forgiven for forgetting that the two teens hadn't spent their entire lives in the tech world…they could act just like any other teenager when they wanted to. Like right now, as his nephew practically danced around the kitchen in glee over the idea of finally learning how to drive.
Lance thumped down in his usual chair after a few seconds, his eyes going wide and pleading. "Are you going to teach me, Uncle Greg?"
Now his uncle did laugh. "As if I'd pass up the chance, kiddo," Greg chided, tapping him lightly on the back of the head. "But first you have to pass the written and get your learner's permit, so start studying."
"Easy there, kiddo," Uncle Greg murmured, reining his eager nephew in. "Line's not going to move any faster than it is right now, so just take a deep breath and be patient."
Lance tossed his uncle an incredulous look. "Were you patient when you were my age?"
The other considered this, then quirked a grin. "No, I wasn't," he admitted. "But still, it's not going to go any faster, so try to stop fidgeting."
The Toronto School of Magic did not offer a driver's course and Apparition licenses couldn't be obtained in Canada until an applicant reached seventeen, so Uncle Greg tracked down a reputable driving school and enrolled his all-too-eager nephew in their driving course.
The day after Lance got his learner's permit, his uncle took him out for his first driving lesson…in the local cemetery. The young man looked around in confusion as they pulled in. "Uncle Greg?"
His uncle chuckled and got out, waving for his nephew to trade places with him. As they both got back in, Uncle Greg explained, "No one to hit in here and there's plenty of room and lots of road here for you to practice on."
Lance blinked, but nodded, understanding. He looked down at the floorboard, a trifle surprised to actually see the pedals that made the car stop and go beneath him. "So, um…how do I do this?"
With another chuckle, Uncle Greg started explaining, starting with the three most basic parts of the car: the gas, the brake, and the steering wheel. When he was done, Lance put one foot on the brake and took the car out of park, setting it to drive, and let the car inch forward; he tried to correct too much for the turn in front of them and Uncle Greg had to grab the steering wheel before they went over the curb and into the grass. "Easy there, sport," he chided lightly.
Lance cringed, rethinking the entire project, but his uncle wasn't about to let him.
"Okay, try again," Uncle Greg ordered.
"But…"
"It's your first lesson, you're going to get things wrong, mio nipote. Just don't let that scare you off. Now try again, kiddo."
They reached the head of the first line and Lance hesitantly offered his documentation to the woman behind the counter. The woman took the documents, inspecting them closely before nodding and handing him the first part of his test. "Fill this out and turn it in. Once you've got the paperwork done, we'll set you up with the driving portion of the test."
"Yes, ma'am," Lance replied, taking the clipboard and pen and heading to a hard plastic chair to get started.
Behind him, Greg snuck his phone out and took a quick picture, sending it to his team with the caption: Starting the paperwork.
He chuckled at the response he got back from Eddie: Be afraid, be very afraid.
"Okay, what did you do wrong?" Uncle Greg asked calmly once the car had come to a stop and Lance's hands were off the wheel. He didn't look the least bit unnerved by the way the car had bounced up onto a curb and then off as Lance struggled to turn and stop the vehicle without hitting anything.
Lance cringed and tried to look small…a difficult proposition since he was now taller than his uncle and bidding fair to get even taller. "I, um, I hit the gas and the brake at the same time?" he offered in a small voice.
A nod. "I'd agree with that. So, how are we going to prevent that in the future?"
The teen ducked his head. "Use just my right foot?" he replied. "Instead of trying to use both?"
His uncle smiled at him and deliberately reached over to ruffle his hair. As the teen yelped and ducked away, he laughed a little. "Stop cringing, kiddo; I'm not mad at you. That's why we started here, instead of out on the streets. And the car can take a little rough handling; you're going to make mistakes and that's all right, Lance." An amused grin. "And now you can answer that age old question." At Lance's quizzical look, Uncle Greg smirked. "The brake is definitely more effective than the gas."
Lance turned the clipboard back in, rubbing his hands against his jeans as soon as it was passed over. His uncle joined him with a soft, "Well?"
Sapphire flicked upwards. "I think I did it right, but there were a couple questions on there I wasn't expecting."
Uncle Greg smiled and rested one hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure you did just fine, mio nipote."
When Uncle Wordy turned up after his first driving school lesson, Lance was puzzled…right up until Uncle Wordy shooed him into the driver's seat of his minivan. "You're letting me drive?" Lance asked, both delighted and in disbelief.
Uncle Wordy's grin flashed across his face. "Well, I hear you're learning," he teased. "Figured I'd give you a taste of how to handle a bigger car than Sarge's got."
A curious look from the teen. "I drive a sedan at the school," he pointed out, his question clear.
A nod and a wave at the steering wheel. Lance turned the key and carefully backed out of the spot; Uncle Wordy watching just as carefully as the teen. "Good job," he praised once they were out. As the minivan started forward, the constable explained, "Bigger cars handle differently from smaller cars. The seat is higher, the view is higher, and the car needs more space for lane changing, parking, things like that. Get into a truck or a full size van and you have different handling for turning, you might not have all the mirrors you're used to, and, again, you need more space all around."
Lance focused on the road, staying as alert as he could and cringing, just a little, whenever a driver came too close. He followed the directions he was given, unsurprised when they ended up in a large, mostly empty parking lot.
"Okay, we're going to practice parking with my car, so you can see the differences between the minivan and what you've been driving."
"Copy that," Lance quipped, earning a hair ruffle for his cheek; naturally he yelped in protest and ducked away as best he could.
The wide smile was all the evidence Greg needed that his nephew was now in line for the driving practical, he smirked as he took another photo of Lance standing at the counter, being told what would come next. This photo was sent off with the caption: Clear the roads, teen driver on a mission.
This time, Spike managed to get the drop on Eddie, with his return message of: How many points if he hits a drug dealer?
The Sergeant smothered a snicker as his nephew's shoulders drooped a bit…more waiting.
Uncle Spike and Uncle Lou insisted on tag-teaming the teen as they taught him two things: defensive driving and tactical evasion. Strictly speaking, only the defensive driving was necessary, but both men were of the firm belief that, sooner or later, Lance, Alanna, or both of them were going to get themselves in trouble, so best to train them up now, rather than counting on luck.
Their usual good-natured approach was nowhere to be seen as they ran the rookie driver through his paces and coached him on numerous little tricks he could pull behind the wheel to keep himself out of danger. Unfortunately, they could only go so far…their Sergeant would kill them if they deliberately shot out his tires…or his windows.
Lance drew in a deep breath and handed the car's insurance and registration information to the driving examiner. The man minutely inspected the documents, frowning to himself. At last, they passed sufficient muster for the examiner to lead the nervous teen out to where his uncle's Chevy Impala had been pulled up for the beginning of the driving practical. At the examiner's instructions, Lance got in the driver's seat and, one-by-one, demonstrated that all of the car's lights were in perfect working order.
The rather fussy examiner climbed into the passenger seat and started with a brisk, "Turn left out of the parking lot."
Lance pulled forward, flipping the left turn signal on and stopping to check for any traffic before entering the street. He shoved the nerves and anxious butterflies down, forcing himself to focus entirely on the road and the examiner's next set of instructions.
"So, you think you're ready?" Uncle Greg asked, one brow going up as he regarded his nephew.
Though normally confident, the young man's expression was unsure and nervous. "I don't know," he admitted. "I know I still make mistakes and…yeah…" He rubbed at the back of his neck.
Uncle Greg's smile was gentle and just a bit chiding. "Let me let you in on a little secret, mio nipote…you can drive for fifty years and still make mistakes. You're young, you're still learning, but you've learned enough to pass your course and get your license, okay?"
"You think so?"
One arm went around the teen's shoulders. "I know so," Uncle Greg countered.
When it was over and the examiner got out of the car, Lance bit his lip and slid out the other side, a mix of hope and anticipatory disappointment on his face. But the examiner had once been young and sixteen himself, he understood the mix of emotions on the new driver's face. So he extended his hand, put a smile on his own face, and said, "Congratulations, young man. You passed."
"I passed?"
A slight rumble that might have been a chuckle. "Yes, you passed." The examiner filled out the last of the paperwork. "Now take this in and get in the next line…you'll get your picture taken and then they'll print out your new license."
Inside, Greg smirked and waited for his nephew to get in the final line before snapping another picture. This one bore the caption: Watch out world, the gryphon has landed.
Sam managed to get the first word in this time with his droll comment of: How long before you lose the rest of your hair?
Oh, he wanted to play it that way, huh? The Sergeant's smirk grew larger as he plotted out how to rope Winnie into helping him with a prank on the smug sniper. And speaking of ropes…
"You do know your brother's going to be getting his license on his birthday, right?" Greg asked his niece.
Alanna rolled her eyes. "No, I hadn't heard that," she teased.
Greg bit back laughter…they both would have had to be deaf, dumb, blind, and stupid to miss the brunet teen's glee over getting his license on his birthday. "So," he began, winking at her, "How are we going to celebrate?"
An impish grin lit her face. "What'd you have in mind?"
Greg leaned back in the passenger seat of his Impala, biting back snickers at how his nephew was managing to bounce in his seat, cast pleading looks at his uncle, and drive at the same time. The negotiator was careful to slap his mask of impassiveness in place whenever his nephew peeked at him. When they reached the apartment, Greg allowed a slightly dramatic sigh before saying, "Oh, go ahead, take the car out for a spin. Just be back in an hour."
"Yes!" Lance cheered. "Sure thing, Uncle Greg!"
Greg got out of the car and turned around. "Have fun." He waited until Lance was looking at him to add, "And good job, mio nipote… Congratulations." The Sergeant closed the passenger door and stepped back to watch the slate-blue car pull away. He pulled his phone out and snapped one last picture. After a moment, Greg added the caption and sent it off: Cleared for takeoff.
He wasn't entirely surprised when Eddie answered from behind him. "Hard to let them go, huh, Greg?"
Greg blinked back moisture he hadn't even registered until that moment. As Ed came up beside him, he replied, "He's a good kid; he'll be all right."
Ed smiled at that. "Yeah," he agreed after a second. "You did a good job with him."
The light smack to the chest made the team leader grunt in surprise. "No, Eddie," Greg countered, "we did a good job with them. Now come on, he'll be back in an hour and we'd better have the party ready to go when he gets here."
Author note: I got partway through plotting this story out, then realized that I'd probably pulled a bit of an Americanism with this one. You see, in Illinois, the state I'm from, teen drivers can get a driver's license at 16, provided you take an appropriate course (and naturally, get a learner's permit) and have enough documented driving hours by either your sixteenth birthday or whenever you get those requirements afterwards.
Thanks to a quirk of my birth date, my parents' permission, and my high school offering a summer driving course, I got my license on my sixteenth birthday. On the flip side, this is not a self-insert, because I've never had a serious accident or totaled a car.
For those of you praying for my family, we did finally get some more information over the weekend. Sadly, it appears my cousin passed away from a heart attack. My aunt and uncle have essentially turtled in and are grieving very hard for their daughter. They don't even want any contact, which I respect, but that won't stop me from praying for them - or asking all of you to keep praying for them as they struggle with their loss.