Disclaimer: No, sadly, I still don't own Flashpoint.
A/N: Thanks again to everyone for reading my little tale of pain and woe! This chapter is all Spike and the next chapter might be as well. BTW, I don't speak any Italian, so I used Yahoo's Babel Fish to translate most of it. Please accept my apologies if it's not conversational Italian or what would actually be spoken. I'm not posting the English translation because I want to keep the effect for the reader the same as for the rest of the team. It's your choice if you want to look it up or wait to find out with the rest of the team. As always, be sure to let me know what you think.
Mike "Spike" Scarlatti glanced up at the clock on the opposite wall of the waiting room and did a double take. '1:30AM?' he thought to himself. 'Have we really been here that long?' He fished his cell phone out of his pocket and without thinking turned it on. It took a couple of minutes to start up, but he noted with raised eyebrows that it was actually right around 12:30AM, not quite as bad as he'd thought, but still very late.
Spike had introduced Bridget to Greg, Jules and Shelley when they arrived, mentioning that they had known each other in high school and had run into each other again the year before. Shelley had playfully hinted that maybe fate was trying to tell the two of them something if they kept running into each other. Jules had thought of mentioning her friend Steve, and how that hadn't really worked out, but then thought better of it when she thought of Sam.
Greg and Jules were relieved to see that Spike was talking and that he seemed almost relaxed. They were the only ones in the CICU waiting room and Spike looked at each of them, noting the tired eyes and faces. Shelley Wordsworth's head rested on her husband's shoulder while his head rested on hers. Both had closed their eyes and for all Spike knew, had fallen asleep.
At the moment, Jules was filling in Spike, Sam and Greg on Sophie's and the baby's condition, telling them that the doctor was slowing the delivery as much as possible in order to let the drugs work on the baby's developing lungs. Wordy was sort of listening to Jules, but mostly was just trying to relax a little bit. He knew it was getting late and with Sophie sleeping and Ed in CICU where they couldn't visit with him, it was pointless to stay here at the hospital. He was just about to suggest they call it a night when they all heard the Godfather theme music suddenly start playing.
The others looked around and Spike jumped a little at the sound before quickly fishing his cell phone back out of his pocket again. He looked at the caller ID, a confused expression on his face as he read the name. Shaking his head, he hit the button to take the call and put the phone to his ear. Before he could say a word, though, the voice on the other end started in on him, speaking rapidly in a combination of English and Italian and his confusion quickly turned to tension with each passing second. He stood up and started walking to the other side of the room, speaking as he moved.
"What?" he said, sounding annoyed. "I had my phone turned off." He listened briefly before responding again. "Why, what's going on?"
Listening again, he glanced quickly back at the others, seeing that they were watching him with interest. When he spoke into the phone again, the tone was more urgent. "Che cosa significano è sprofondato?"
The others shared curious looks with each other at the language. While it made sense that Spike would know Italian, he almost never spoke it around them, and never more than just a word or two. He usually just spoke English. What concerned them, though, was that their friend sounded worried.
"È giusto?" they heard him say.
The SRU members all turned to look at Bridget who was watching Spike with the same concern that they all felt.
Wordy only half-jokingly asked the question that was on all of their minds. "Bridget, you don't happen to speak Italian, do you?"
Bridget shook her head, never taking her eyes off the man on the other side of the room. She stood up and took a hesitant step toward him. Spike had turned to look back at her; she could see fear in his huge doe-like eyes, and that the color had drained from his face.
"Quale ospedale?" Spike didn't take his eyes off Bridget as he listened to the voice on other end answer his question and then continue speaking.
After a moment, Spike's response to whatever had been said was loud and incredulous. "What?" His free arm rose in disbelief. "Come è il mio difetto?"
The others watched and waited.
"La mia responsa…?" he stopped mid-word, closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment on controlling his breathing. The others couldn't really tell, but he had begun to shake again, this time with anger, and the ruddy color had returned to his face. His voice started out low, but as he spoke, the volume grew until he was practically screaming into the phone.
"Sono ammalato e stanco di voi che lo incolpano di sempre tutto che vada male! Non tutto è il mio difetto! Braggiole!" He had taken the phone from his ear and bellowed the last word straight into the speaker. His face twisted with rage, he then turned to his left and threw the device as hard as he could against the wall where it shattered into a dozen pieces.
Bridget, Shelley and Jules all jumped a little when the phone hit the wall. They all looked at Spike in stunned silence, shock written all over their faces. None of them had ever seen their friend so enraged. Even Greg was utterly flabbergasted. They all looked as if they thought perhaps Spike had been abducted by aliens and replaced with this violent pod person they didn't recognize.
Spike stood there, eyes closed and panting slightly. When he opened them again, he realized that everyone was looking at him with a mixture of shock and concern. Unable to look any of them in the eye, he lowered his head.
Bridget walked over to him, but before she could do anything, Spike mumbled, "I have to go," and he turned away. She grabbed him by the arm and held him back.
"Mike?" she asked, "What's wrong?"
Spike just shook his head. "I have to go," he repeated, louder this time.
Greg stood and said, "Spike, I don't think that's such a good idea." Given the state of mind he had arrived at the hospital in, not to mention his current state of mind, he was worried the young man would drive carelessly. "Why don't you let one of us give you a ride," he suggested.
Wordy stood up and with a questioning look at his wife said, "I'll give you a ride, Spike. I can take you wherever you need to go." Shelley nodded her agreement. He had told her what had happened on the obstacle course and how Spike blamed him for hurting his hand. She knew her husband felt the need to make it up to his teammate.
Sam and Jules had both chimed in with identical offers and Parker was once again was filled with a sense of paternal pride at how his team was willing to do whatever it took to take care of each other.
Spike shook his head again. "No. I'm all right. Thanks, though, guys." He again moved to leave and Bridget wrapped her arms around him and enveloped him in a warm hug.
"Maybe they're right," she whispered into his ear as she traced slow circles across his back. "Maybe you should let someone drive you."
Spike closed his eyes. He appreciated his friends' concern, he really did. But, he had to leave now and he didn't want to drag any of them into his family's squabbles. It was bad enough that his boss now knew of his feud with his father. He didn't think he could face the rest of the team if they knew.
Spike had always tried to keep his personal life just that, personal. He compartmentalized, kept his professional life separate as much as possible from his private life. Lew had been the only one on the team who had known about the tension he dealt with at home. And, Oliver MacCoy was the only other cop he'd ever told and the only reason he'd told them was because they had figured out that something was wrong, they just didn't know what, and they had confronted him about it. No, he wasn't going to let his guard down again. He could handle it on his own, just like he always did. Of course, he was ignoring the fact that everyone needs someone else to lean on when things get to be too much. In the last year, he had lost the only two people he could turn to. On some level, he knew he would have to let someone else in or he would self-destruct. But, right now, all he wanted to do was get away.
He stood there for a moment, breathing in Bridget's scent, his thoughts a swirling mess again. Funny how a single phone call from precisely the wrong person with precisely the wrong news could send you into another tailspin. The words of his sergeant popped into his head just then, "Time and place, let's focus." Well, the time was now and the place was not here.
He put his hands on Bridget's arms and tried to step out of the embrace. "Bridget," he said softly, "I've got to go."
Instead of letting him go, however, she just held him tighter, shifting slightly to her right and rocking him back and forth a little as she felt his arms encircle her again and he rested his head against hers. After a moment like this, he lifted his head and let go of her. This time, she let him go when he stepped back.
She looked up at him and he could clearly see the worry in her eyes. "Call me?" she asked.
Spike nodded, "I'll call you later," he said. She made him promise and he did. Without looking at the others, he turned and left the waiting room, heading for the stairs.
Greg looked at Bridget dubiously. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea, letting him go like that," he said as he shook his head.
Bridget, on the other hand, was smirking at all of them. "Oh," she said impishly, "he's not going anywhere," she assured them.
They all looked at her confused, asking nearly in unison, "Why not?"
Her smile widened and she raised her left hand to reveal a set of keys. "Because," she told them, "I took his keys."
Greg's eyebrows inched up. "You took his keys?" he asked. "When did you get his keys?"
Bridget laughed, "When I gave him the hug. I distracted him just enough to get his keys out of his pocket." They just looked at her, still a bit confused.
"Okay," she explained, "when I was a kid, a community theatre group I was in did 'Oliver Twist' and I became fascinated with the Artful Dodger. I decided to learn how to pick pockets and actually got pretty good at it," she continued. "Did it to my friends in high school all the time, you know, just to mess with them," she smiled.
The others just shook their heads and sat back down, waiting for their friend to come back after realizing he had no keys. They each decided that they would not let Spike drive himself at this point. One of them would give him a ride whether he wanted it or not.
It wasn't until Spike approached his car that he reached into his pocket for his keys, only to come up empty-handed. He frantically checked every pocket and then walked around to the passenger side and looked into the car to see if maybe he had locked them inside. They weren't in the ignition or on the seat so he walked back to the driver side and peered in at the floor. But, it was too dark in the dim parking garage to see if he'd dropped them. He checked the ground around and under the car as well as the adjacent spots and even started to wonder if he'd brought a jacket and, if so, where'd he put it?
Spike's tension was increasing with each passing minute and it only added to the anxiety and agitation brought on by the phone call. He started kicking the car and slammed his fist down on the roof, setting off the alarm, which only served to pile on yet another level of aggravation. He let out a stream of English-laced-with-Italian profanity as he took his frustrations out on the car.
Unfortunately, a hospital security guard patrolling the garage had heard the car alarm go off and was making his way over to check it out. He approached the distraught individual carefully, ordering him to step away from the vehicle.
Spike stopped beating on the car and turned to face him. He knew what it must look like to the guard, so he took a few deep breaths to try to calm down and held up his hands in a defensive gesture, trying to defuse the situation.
"Look, I'm not trying to steal the car, okay?" he said. "It's my car. I just can't find my damn keys," he explained angrily. "It's been really long, really crappy day and I just want to get out of here, okay?" Spike pleaded with the guard.
"That's your car?" asked the guard skeptically.
Spike nodded, "Yeah, it's my car."
The guard looked at him suspiciously and with one hand on his taser said, "I'm going to need to see some ID and the registration."
"Fine," Spike replied as he reached carefully into his back pocket. "They're in my wallet." He slowly pulled out his wallet, retrieved his driver's license, and handed it to the guard who looked closely at it, shining his flashlight back and forth between the ID and Spike's face a few times. Satisfied, he handed the ID back to Spike and asked again for the car registration.
Spike was now hurriedly searching every pocket of the wallet. When he came up empty, he looked up as he dropped his arms down to his sides. It took every ounce of self-control he had left to refrain from throwing the wallet on the ground. The alarm was still blaring and getting on his last nerve.
"It's not here," he admitted, looking at the car as though he wanted to kill it. "It's in the glove compartment. Damn it!" He threw his hands up and cursed before closing his eyes and shaking his head. 'This is great,' he thought to himself. 'Just great! This is all I need. First, I lose my keys and now this rent-a-cop's going to detain me for trying to steal my own damn car!' He tried to take a couple of deep breaths before deciding to play the 'professional courtesy' card.
"Look," he said, "I'm a cop. SRU. My badge number is 9496. You can call SRU headquarters to verify." He could see the guard wasn't buying it. He tried another tack. "Okay, look, if you've got a slim-jim, you can get into my car and I can get the registration for you."
The guard just looked at him. Spike was starting to get angry again. He took a step forward. "Come on!" he yelled, glaring at the security guard. "Give me a break here, will ya?"
"Sir, you need to stay where you are!" warned the guard.
Spike was so tired and wired at the same time, he completely forgot that his commanding officer was sitting in the CICU waiting room, in uniform, and all they had to do was go up there and talk to him.
"Well? Are you gonna do something or what?" he shouted and took another angry step toward the guard who drew his taser and pulled the trigger. Two ECD probes hit Spike in the lower chest, the electrical current immediately immobilizing him. He yelled in pain and dropped first to his knees, then to the ground, his entire body convulsing even after the 30-second burst stopped. The guard quickly turned Spike over on his stomach and pulled his hands behind his back, securing them with handcuffs.
A/N: This seems like a good place to stop for now. Poor Spike, he did seem to be on the mend for a little while, didn't he? I'm so evil! The good news is, he might end up with a real girlfriend by the time I get through with him…at least in my little world… where the sky is purple. - Psy