Explosive Sprezzatura
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, then I don't own it.
A/N: For 2021 Whumptober #26 Trap door
When Spike's family had first moved to Canada, he hadn't been much more than a toddler. The only place the family could afford as they became established in a new country was a small run-down one-room apartment. There had been nowhere for the children of the building to really play, so they had claimed the basement and repurposed it as their playground. The dark mildewy area had been a place ripe for young imaginations. Full of old abandoned items and bits of broken furnishing that someone had once meant to fix, it was a treasure trove.
Even at such a young age, Spike had spent many hours there, elbow-deep in bits of broken appliances, fascinated to see how they worked. His love of pyrotechnics was born there, as he watched with rapt attention as the older boys lit off small firecrackers to blast anything they could. Watching the flames crackle and fizzle as they attempted to blow up boxes, pipes, broken television, and other such things.
One afternoon, they had tried to blow up an old toolbox, using higher-powered explosives, someone had smuggled in from somewhere. They had placed it in the corner and had hit the deck. One of the older boys had pushed the ever-curious Mikey's head down as the thing shattered. It sent little bits of shrapnel scattering over the basement which in effect sent the kids scattering once they pulled out of their dazed wonder. None of the adults knew what caused the loud noise and none of the kids volunteered an answer.
I took a few days to build up the courage to venture back down to the basement. When the kids went back to their playground, with the ever-present little shadow of Mikey following behind, they all discovered an amazing surprise. Where the toolbox had exploded it left a bulging dent in the floor. The floor was warped enough to reveal its true nature as a trapped door. Opening the secret compartment, pushing up hard against the rusty hinges revealing a passageway straight down. An old cylinder hole, lined in metal with a ladder led down to a long-forgotten fallout shelter.
The kids argued loudly about who would be the best candidate to go down in the hole. Little Mikey, full of young bravado or perhaps just too young to have developed much common sense had declared himself not scared to go down in broken English. Volunteered without preamble he soon found himself climbing down the rusty ladder.
He had hesitated for only a moment on the last rung before he had jumped down to see what the secret passageway contained. His eyes widened as he took in the large room it opened up into. A whole secret world, hidden below their feet. The older kids called down to him, their heads just visible peeking over the opening at the top. He broke into excited Italian, forgetting English, trying to describe the wonder of the hidden world. It wasn't long until the others were making their way down squeezing in around his small body, filled with the same wonder. Not only did they have a playground, they now had a secret clubhouse as well.
It was a sad day when his family could finally afford to move away. He had spent hours down in the bunker, tinkering, and dreaming. It became like a second home to a homesick, culturally shocked little boy.
Sometimes it felt like a different life from the one he was currently living. He had long ago grown from that small, always trying to please, lost little boy looking for a place to belong. He was a highly trained officer of the law, specializing in tech and explosives. He played a vital role in his unit.
He was clearing a basement, eerily similar to the one from his childhood, that had received a bomb tip. He hoped he found nothing more powerful than firecrackers.
"Everything okay down there?" He heard the Boss ask in his ear.
Spike carefully maneuvered Babycakes around another corner before answering, "Yeah, it's all good down here."
"Have you almost completed your sweep?" Ed asked, getting impatient to get his team member out of immediate danger. They had a job to do and his team did it exceptionally well but that didn't mean he felt any better sending his guys into the unknown, especially alone.
"Babycakes hasn't found anything unusual," Spike continued, stopping dead as his robot picked up something out of place, "Everyone, stay where you are."
"Spike?" Multiple voices asked with concern. The team had been up top anxiously awaiting their bomb expert to secure the scene. They hated letting Spike enter the possible blast zone all alone with only Babycakes for backup. Watching their friend gear up and head into the heart of danger, possibly never to return, often felt like saying goodbye.
"I'm fine," Spike answered tersely as he looked over the bomb he found, "One man downrange."
"He always makes it look so easy," Sam observed, glad it wasn't his job to get up close and personal with bombs and open them up. One wrong move was the difference between life and death. The pressure had to be crushing, yet Spike worked each job like the last one, whatever the outcome, never happened.
"Spike, what are you seeing?" Ed asked after prolonged silence that set them all on edge. Something was wrong.
"I'm trying," Spike confessed softly, his voice tight with stress. "There's not enough time."
"Get out of there!" Greg ordered, "Now, Spike!"
"I'm on it," Spike panted, clearly on the move.
The team cleared the immediate area around the building. As they moved away from the blast area with heavy hearts, they prayed to see their teammate exit and make it to safety as well.
"Hey, Lou, sorry bud," The team heard Spike apologize over the comms before an explosion blasted, taking out the basement as it collapsed on itself from the force of the bomb. Greg screamed Spike's name as he fell to his knees a mirror image of Spike the last time they lost a teammate in an explosion.
The deathly silence that descended upon them after their ears stopped ringing was blanketed in grief as they took in the devastation of the damage done. Spike could never have escaped in time.
The team's radios got a static transmission, weak on the verge of breaking up altogether. It was like hearing a ghost. A muffled voice tried again to make a connection.
"Boss," Spike breathed out the nickname like a sigh of relief.
"Spike?" Greg begged, not wanting to get his hope up too much.
"Yeah?"
"How did you manage that?" Ed asked in astonishment.
"I'm magic," Spike laughed.
It took hours to get the damaged building inspected and round up heavy equipment to clear the path to the trapped constable. The trapped man kept his teammates in stitches as he regaled them with funny stories over the radio.
"Don't do that to me again," Greg chastised, as he pulled the battered, dusty younger man into a tight hug, once he made it topside.
Spike's smile not only lit up his own face but the whole area. His joy was contagious, infecting his team around him. He was back where he belonged. He was alive because of a trap door.