Thanks to a cane and a walking pace that made elephants look zippy, Greg didn't have the element of surprise anymore.
His tapping approach made Winnie sigh.
She didn't look up from a giant stack of archive forms. "If you're going to give me the 'dad talk,' you should know that Ed already beat you to it. And Jules. Somehow Jules' was scarier, if you can believe that."
Greg blinked. "Uh…dad talk? I'm here to visit my favourite dispatcher."
"Oh good." Winnie glanced up. "I always thought the boy was supposed to get the shovel talk anyway."
Greg leaned his folded arms on the desk. "They told you to treat him right, huh?"
"I get it." She shrugged but her face was solemn. "It's Spike."
And that said it all, didn't it?
If anyone was going to get hurt in a relationship, it would be pure-hearted Spike. His emotional walls had been battered since childhood, making them stronger—but more painful—than most.
"It's just been a hard year for him, that's all," he rushed to reassure her.
"Tell me about it!" Winnie flopped back with a huff. "I'm going to have an ulcer before I reach midlife if you guys keep up with this almost-dying stuff."
"I have complete faith in you both," said Greg, lips quirking.
Winnie mirrored the smile.
"So, yesterday…" Greg began.
Winnie shook her head. "Spike would barely talk about it on our date last night. Their story makes sense, though. His sketchy neighbourhood is the reason he doesn't want me moving in."
A few gears whirred in Greg's head at that tidbit of information but he didn't voice them.
"Has he been okay lately?" he asked. "Really? Because he doesn't come by my place as often."
Winnie grimaced at this news. "That's not like him."
"Tell me about it." Greg blew out a terse breath. "It's been a huge red flag, not seeing him around the last few weeks."
"I don't know what to tell you, sarg. Spike's been himself just…"
Greg hunched in close. "Just what, Winnie?"
"Kind of quiet, you know?"
"Quiet," Greg repeated, stretching the word out.
Spike was all humour and broad smiles and fast talking theories. It was when he stopped that the team tended to go on alert.
"He's normal at work, though," Winnie tacked on. "Even with me. Just when he thinks no one's watching, or when it's just he and Sam, he'll get silent."
Greg's gut cinched. "Thank you for telling me."
"I don't think…" Winnie licked her lips in a nervous gesture. "Now that you mention it…I don't think I've seen Spike laugh since his surprise party."
And how could Greg forget that memory? An owl-eyed Spike in the wake of confetti and 'hitting the big 3-0' banners everywhere. They'd been all over him, rife with back slaps and hugs and jokes about getting old.
Ha. Spike was the youngest of them all. In every way possible.
Winnie peered up at him. "You didn't really come to visit me, did you? Recon only?"
Greg clapped his hands. "Of course I did! I even brought a present."
From the handle of his cane, Greg unhooked a bag of mini donuts—Winnie's favourite.
She lit up when she spied them. "Cinnamon?"
"Is there any other kind?"
Winnie leaned across the desk to peck Greg's cheek. "You're the best."
"Now if only we could convince my students of that."
Greg let the ringing sound of Winnie's laughter and zing of cinnamon sugar on his tongue carry his mind away from worry and bruised faces.
It was embarrassing, really. He should have known it was well overdue to happen.
Still, the moment that distinctive siren pulled onto their street, Greg jumped halfway out of his chair. Marina cried out and dropped her cereal spoon. Milk splattered across the table.
Reaching across, Greg captured her hand. "Sorry, honey. Old habits."
She blinked hard a few times, her own trauma floating somewhere in the foreground, before nodding. "Of course. Oh, but…what on earth would they be doing here? We don't have criminal neighbours and it's a Saturday!"
Greg didn't point out that most domestic calls happened on the weekend and wealth had nothing to do with criminal rates.
"I'm not sure," he said instead. "Are you okay here if I just go check?"
Marina handed him his cane. She got that half-grin and twinkle in her eye Greg so adored.
It said 'kiss me at once' and Greg happily leaned down to comply. Love pooled in his stomach. Some days, he wasn't sure he deserved all this family, this happiness. But he basked in it all the same.
"Wouldn't have it any other way," she said against his lips. "It was only a matter of time until you ran into them on a case."
Greg pulled away to brush back her hair. "You're a special lady, you know that?"
"So a certain man keeps telling me. Handsome, pert—you know him?"
Greg kissed her again. "Maybe. He's terrible at keeping his nose out of other peoples' business though. You should warn him about that."
Marina giggled. "Get out of here. Go save someone."
After a last call of—"be safe and stay away from the windows!"—Greg followed the trail of black SUVs to a residence four houses down the street. He didn't know these neighbours, except that they'd moved in recently.
The action seemed to be over, judging by uniforms standing around, writing up reports and taking forensic photos.
A familiar crop of hair fluttered in the wind and Greg felt another rush, a cocktail of relief and love. "Spike!"
The tech didn't look surprised to see him. He shielded his eyes against the morning sun with the hand not typing something in a laptop on the hood of the car. "Couldn't believe it when we pulled onto your street, boss. What are the chances?"
Greg's eyes ran a quick assessment over his boy. No injury. Even the bruise from three days ago looked better. "Bad call?"
Spike wagged his head slightly back and forth. "Domestic call, severe abuse. Including with a gun, hence why we got the call."
"Good news?"
"Nobody died." Spike pointed to a man being loaded into a waiting patrol car, nose busted. Greg hoped dearly Eddie had pistol whipped him. "Pretty open and shut case."
"Thank heaven for that," Greg muttered, glad he didn't have to tell Marina something gruesome.
Spike nodded and then paused, listening to something in his ear. "Ed, let me try. I know," Spike argued. "But Jules and Leah aren't here. Leave it to me."
"Try what?" Greg tailed after Spike's dash for the back of the house. "Spike?"
Spike's eyes were wide. He brushed past uniforms and EMTs wheeling a woman on a gurney.
Behind a bank of trees they found Ed, crouched low. He glanced at Spike and Greg's shuffle through the leaves but didn't get up.
"Hey, Greg. Sorry to disturb your morning."
"Ed." Greg rested his hand on Ed's shoulder. "I'm just sorry I missed the action."
Ed smirked up at him, a wonky action with how tense he was. "Sure you are."
Then he locked eyes with Spike. "I've tried everything: food, a female officer, affirmations of safety. No response, even when I busted the lock."
Greg finally saw that Eddie was crouched in front of a squat shed, overrun by vines. The door was crooked, hinged open into a dark space, like the mouth of a beast.
Spike studied it with a look of unease. Greg put a hand on his shoulder too.
"Spike?" Greg asked, hushed.
Spike inhaled a deliberate breath. "I got her."
At the words, Greg squinted and yep, there it was—the corner of a filthy nightgown and a very tiny bare foot.
Nausea climbed in Greg's throat, that this had been happening for a month, right down the street. Maybe he really should keep his nose in the business of his neighbours more.
When Spike removed his rifle, laying it in the grass, Ed stood. Greg's hand followed the motion. Spike crept forward.
"Hey," Spike spoke gently, but with a certain loudness that intended to be heard. "I'm Spike. These cops and their guns must be pretty scary, huh?"
Spike knelt at the door of the hut and slightly off to the side. The little girl, no older than nine, really was in a state. Bruised, hungry looking. A pair of big blue eyes peeked out.
Spike saw and grinned. He didn't coax her out at all, didn't assure her that Daddy was going away for a long time. He just knelt there and talked. Told her stories about Italian slums and new schools.
"…Because it's supposed to rain and let me tell you, bare feet in the rain is no fun at all. I had to hide the tadpoles in my rubber boots so my mom didn't find out. And she still did, can you believe that?"
The fountain of words faded from Spike's lips. He gazed at the girl for a long, extended minute.
Then, to Greg's surprise, he shifted on all fours and began crawling inside. That was new. Not exactly a textbook move. "You know, when I was a kid, my dad used to lock me in the closet whenever he felt I'd misbehaved. Just for a few hours."
Ed's breath snagged. Greg squeezed his taut shoulder. Both fought to stay composed, their mouths white and unsteady.
"He thought I hated it. But you know what?"
The little girl tracked Spike when he sat down across from her. Their feet touched.
Then came a croaked whisper. "What?"
Spike rested his chin on his knees. "After the initial fear of the dark, I liked being in there. That was my childhood secret, that it was actually a relief to be somewhere quiet, unstimulated, away from the shouting."
The little girl's eyes widened at that. Spike had struck a nerve.
"You feel safe in here too, I'm guessing, even though he locks you in."
Greg's windpipe ached against unshed tears and Ed quivered with a mute brand of rage.
The girl stared at Spike, shadows ringing her bony clavicle that rose and fell with each thin breath. Then she nodded.
"You don't have to live here anymore," Spike promised. "No more yelling, no more wishing for food."
Spike's tone wavered, just a touch, and it took every last ounce of Greg's willpower not to rush over and hold him.
The little girl's hand snaked out. Spike already had one of his own waiting. Their two hands met and Spike clasped hers with a wink.
"Ready?"
She eyed Greg and Ed.
"Those are my friends," said Spike. "Super friendly, I promise."
Greg waved. Ed didn't even try to smile, tense.
"There's no rush," Spike assured her. "We'll only go out when you're ready."
The girl cupped her free hand around her mouth. Spike dipped down so she could whisper in his ear. He listened with a furrowed brow.
"That's no problem," he said, looking concerned for the first time. "Here. You okay if I carry you out? It's Laura, right?"
Laura nodded and lifted her arms. Ed chuffed a fond sound. Greg understood the feeling, watching with hooded, maudlin eyes as Spike swung Laura up onto his hip. The way her button nose hid in his shoulder.
"Watch your head," said Spike. He set a protective hand on the back of Laura's red tresses.
Together, they emerged into the sunlight. An EMT and Child Services waited off to the side, but even they seemed to understand the need to not break this moment—
The first male hands ever to treat this little girl kindly.
Spike's touch was the first to help, not harm, she had probably ever known.
Laura whispered something else in Spike's ear while he walked them to the gurney.
He chuckled. It reached all the way to his laugh lines. "I'm sure they can rustle up some cheeseburgers for a nice lady like you."
Laura didn't smile exactly, but over Spike's shoulder, both Ed and Greg spotted the precise moment the whites of her eyes shrunk because she'd relaxed. Years vanished off her face.
"Ed," said Greg. "How's he been since…?"
Neither took their eyes off the poignant scene but Greg knew without looking that Ed had shaken his head. "Totally normal. Professional and easy going as usual."
This did not comfort Greg.
"I'd buy it," said Ed, "If Sam didn't keep stopping by to check on him."
Ah. Yet another red flag.
"He did good today, Eddie."
Ed reached up and patted Greg's hand. "He sure did. I can tell you one thing—that's the first time I've seen him laugh in weeks."
Spike handed Laura off to the EMT with one last stroke of her knotted hair. "She says she can't stand without falling, so check her legs."
The EMT thanked Spike and hooked Laura up to a blood pressure cuff. "You have let go, honey."
Laura released Spike with a sloppy kiss to his cheek.
Spike, bewildered, gave her a confused half smile. He pressed a business card into Laura's grimy palm after squeezing it. "You call if you need anything, got it? Anything at all. Even if it's just to talk when you're lonely."
Laura nodded and let the medics pull a blanket over her.
Spike jogged back to the older men, gaze fixed on Laura being wheeled away. "Sweet kid, huh?"
Greg mapped the chocolate eyes of his boy, the ruffled mop, the shiny spot of Laura's drying kiss. A candid face graced by long lashes and a bubbling grin.
Greg wrapped an arm around Spike's shoulders. "Got that right."