Howdy! First, let me say thank you to everyone who read chapter one, and a special big-time thank you to everyone who favorited, followed, and especially took the time to review. It really does make a difference.
Without much more preamble, here's chapter two. It's a bit longer. I really hope you guys enjoy!
[…]
By the time Wordy and Sam made it through to Spike most of the mob had seen them and taken off. Only a few remained. One was viciously kicking his back and head and another was hitting him with a baseball bat. Spike was not moving.
Sam pushed past the last few people as he reached Spike. He began instinctively searching for a pulse. The man with that bat had just swung it high above his own head in preparation to strike the fallen bomb technician again, but Wordy lashed out and grabbed the bat mid-swing. Surprised, the protester spun around and found himself face-to-face with the large SRU officer. Rearing back, Wordy let a powerful punch fly, making direct contact with the man's jaw. He fell to the ground hard, out cold. The rest of the stragglers took off. Wordy knelt down beside Sam and seemed almost afraid to touch Spike, as if he would break his already damaged body.
"All right, Boss, we've got Spike. He looks…bad," Wordy said.
Sam looked at Wordy, terror in his eyes, and screamed, "He's not breathing!"
"Okay. We'll do CPR," Wordy suggested, fighting to keep his voice calm and even.
"No, get outta there first," Greg ordered. "There's still armed subjects down there."
Wordy and Sam exchanged looks before Wordy scooped Spike up in his arms and the two retreated to the safety of the building with Sam covering Wordy's back. Once inside Wordy laid Spike out on the ground of the foyer and Sam began stripping him of his heavy jacket and Kevlar vest.
"I'll go get some oxygen," Wordy offered to Sam as the younger man worked on ridding Spike of the restricting materials.
"Good idea." Sam had finally gotten the clothes off Spike and checked his breathing. Confirming that he still wasn't breathing on his own, Sam administered a few chest compressions before leaning down to perform mouth-to-mouth. However, the instant his lips touched Spike's, Sam recoiled. His lips tingled and they burned painfully. It was only at that moment he noticed the red, irritated state of Spike's face that had nothing to do with a physical beating. "Wordy, we'll need water, too. He's been maced."
"Copy," Wordy responded, out of breath from running.
Pushing past the pain of the burning sensation in his lips Sam continued on breathing air into Spike's mouth. "Come on, Spike…" he muttered while pressing down on his chest. He felt his pulse quicken when he received no response from the man. "Come on…! Damn it, Spike, don't you do this!"
It was a terrifying, brutal, ineffective pattern. Sam forced more air into Spike's lungs and still nothing changed. He desperately pumped Spike's chest before breathing into his bloody lips again. He sat up again and pressed on his chest. He felt something give under his hands and knew he had broken his friend's ribs, but he couldn't care less. That just meant he was doing it right.
"Sam…" came Greg's heavy voice over Sam's earpiece.
"No, Boss!" he retaliated. "It can't happen. Not after Lou! Not like this! Come on! Come on, damn it!"
Sam desperately breathed into Spike's mouth one more time and from beneath him he felt the man's body spasm. He jumped up abruptly as Spike came back. Spike's entire body wracked and shook with coughs as he tried to breathe.
And it was the greatest sound Sam had ever heard.
Spike struggled against Sam's grasp, trying to sit up. Sam pushed him back, hoping to calm him by saying, "Spike, it's me! It's Sam! You're safe now! Spike, it's Sam! I got you! I got you."
Eventually the words of his teammate broke through the thick haze surrounding Spike's head. He gazed up with bleary eyes at Sam and tried to speak, throat hoarse and abused from smoke inhalation and mace. "S-Sam…?" he struggled, gagging on the words. He fell into another bad coughing fit and gasped for air before lurching to the side opposite Sam and vomiting on the floor.
And oh god Sam almost lost it right then because there was blood in Spike's vomit and he knew what that meant and it would have been so easy to just give up and panic - but then he felt Spike's weak, trembling grasp on his sleeve and he knew that his friend needed him to be strong right now and that took the edge off his nerve and brought his focus back down to Earth.
Sam, to his credit, just swallowed and rubbed Spike's back, mindful of his various injuries. "It's okay," he murmured soothingly. "Just breathe, okay, Spike? Just focus on that. Try to slow it down."
Spike nodded rapidly and tried to do as Sam instructed but he just couldn't get a decent breath in. He felt like he was suffocating.
Luckily, Wordy turned the corner at that exact moment juggling several bottles of water and an oxygen mask. Ed, Jules, and the Sarge were right behind him. Winnie had called in Team Three to cover the rest of the transport so that Team One could be with Spike.
Sam adjusted his position so he was kneeling on his knees behind Spike, cradling the bomb tech's head in his lap. Wordy crouched down by Spike's side and strapped the oxygen mask over his face and began inflating it slowly.
Finally Spike could breathe again. The fresh air had the sweetest taste to him and even though his throat was raw and his lungs ached, he took it in deeply, greedily.
Wordy unscrewed the first bottle of water and slowly poured it over Spike's face, flushing out the mace. When Spike brought up his right hand to try to rub at his irritated eyes, Sam swatted it away, saying, "You'll only make it worse, you know that. Let the water do its job. Just breathe."
It wasn't until he felt like he could breathe halfway normally again that Spike began to feel the pain radiating through his body. It seemed to pulse with his heartbeat. He hadn't noticed it when he was gasping for air, but now there were no such distractions.
He knew his left arm was badly broken; he could feel the bone protruding from the skin. He recognized the sickening sensation of broken ribs. He also knew he had some type of head wound, and he could feel the blood running down his face from the broken glass.
But he was alive. And that was better than nothing.
After a few more long, agonizing minutes the paramedics showed up escorted by the heavily armed Team Three, and Team One stepped back to give them room to work. They strapped Spike to a backboard and placed a c-collar around his neck before loading him up. It was understood without needing to be said that Greg would ride with him to the hospital, and the remaining four SRU members followed closely in the SUVs, lights flashing the whole way.
When they arrived at the hospital Spike was immediately taken to emergency surgery. His arm had to be reset and there was a strong possibility of internal bleeding, Greg reported, having heard bits of the paramedics' conversation in the ambulance. The team hunkered down for a long, tense wait.
Ed looked at the shocked remains of his team. He felt strange sitting with them in his street clothes. He felt separated. "Wordy, Sam. You guys okay? No harm?" he asked.
"No, Ed," Wordy replied, not looking up from the floor but shaking his head. "No harm." He was suddenly exhausted, hunched over in his seat with his elbows resting on his kneepads. Never before had he really felt his age working this job until today.
"No harm," Sam echoed. Unlike Wordy, Sam was leaned back in his chair, slouching, with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs spread out before him. Jules, who was sitting next to Sam on the edge of his seat, patted his knee in what she hoped was a comforting gesture.
Ed only nodded at the responses before looking at Greg. The sergeant took a moment to consider each officer carefully before inching forward in his seat and saying, "You all did a fine job out there today - a damn fine job. You saved Spike's life. I'm proud of every single one of you."
Jules nodded her head and smiled grimly at her boss. Wordy, although it was difficult, knew that he couldn't blame himself for what had happened to his friend. After a moment his gaze rose to meet that of Greg's, and he gave his sergeant a look of understanding.
Sam, however, looked between all three of them, to Spike's blood on Wordy's uniform, to Ed in his plain clothes, to Jules's hand that still rested lightly on his knee. He pushed her hand off him roughly - too roughly, he would realize later - before rising to his feet and rushing to leave the waiting room. For a dazed moment no one said anything. No one moved, no one breathed.
Greg moved to stand, but Ed put out a hand to stop him. "I'll talk to him, Greg. I think I know where he's coming from." Greg nodded his consent, and Ed followed Sam out into the hallway.
Ed found Sam steaming in the hall. The few other people who were out there were standing far away, watching the officer pace furiously. Sam saw Ed heading toward him and promptly ignored him.
"Sam-" Ed began. He was stopped short when Sam whirled around to confront him, his face flushed red with anger.
"Don't, Ed," Sam warned darkly, his voice low and nearly trembling. "Not now." When neither man moved, Sam continued. "You know, most of the time, when people leave a room it's because they want to be alone."
"I can't do that, Sam," Ed responded coolly. "You know that. Not when you're blaming yourself for something that wasn't your fault."
Sam took a few steps back and looked up toward the ceiling, his hands running up to grip his sweaty blond hair. He allowed himself a strained chuckle.
"We won't let you do this to yourself," continued Ed. "And when he wakes up, Spike won't either-"
"I sent him out there, Ed!" Sam suddenly exploded so abruptly that Ed physically started and actually took a small step away from the younger man. "I finally get to be team leader and I nearly get one of my teammates killed!"
"Sam-"
"No, Ed! You can't string together a bunch of pretty words and change my mind about this one. I did this. Spike was only there because I put him there - it's on me! He was all alone, no backup, and that was my decision, Ed!"
"Yeah, and it was the right decision, Sam. I would have done the same thing." Ed edged closer to Sam and planted a finger on the man's chest, emphasizing his words. He was getting heated now. "We all know Spike is the best defensive driver on this team. He's the only one who's been certified in tactical driving - he's the obvious choice for a getaway." Sam turned his eyes down, considering, and Ed knew he was starting to get through to him. He lowered his voice and went on. "Sam, what happened out there today would have happened no matter who was stuck in the truck. What, do you think it would have been better if it were you? Is that what this is about? What if it had been Wordy? Would that be better?" Ed paused. "Sam, what if it had been Jules?"
The thought stopped Sam in his tracks. He stepped back a bit away from Ed, putting some distance between the two, before allowing himself to lean against the wall and slide down.
Ed let Sam simmer for a moment before joining him on the floor. He was pleased to note that the bystanders in the hall had since left. Ed watched Sam carefully out the corner of his eye. The younger man had his eyes closed and his head leaned back against the wall with his knees propped up in front of him. His breathing was quick and heavy.
After a long silence Ed spoke again. "I would have done the same thing, Sam," he said again in a more gentle, hushed voice.
Sam nodded stiffly before opening his eyes, still not looking at Ed. "I know," he said, he voice cracking slightly. "I just-" Sam cut himself off. He couldn't seem to find the words to put to the situation. "You didn't see him up close," he eventually settled on. Finally, Sam looked at Ed. His eyes were so full of insecurity and vulnerability and - god - downright terror that Ed almost had to look away. "You didn't see how bad it really was," Sam continued. "I have never - never - seen Spike helpless. At all. I mean, he always bounces back. It was like he was just…broken."
And the look Sam was giving Ed was just so pathetic that Ed put an arm around the younger man and pulled him close for just a second. "I know," Ed told him. "I know. He's your friend, and it hurt to see him that way. I get it."
The two sat like that for a long while. The tears that fell silently from Sam's eyes were a natural progression and neither acknowledged them. If anyone ever came through the hallway neither noticed, but if anyone did, they would have seen a grieving officer being comforted by his friend, put two and two together, and immediately went back the way they came so as not to disturb the pair.
At some point Sam's tears dried and he sat forward, disentangling himself from Ed. The two stood up and Sam gave Ed a meaningful, knowing look and that was all the exchange that was needed for Ed to know that yes, Sam understood now.
They assumed quite some time had passed by the time they had returned to the waiting room because Jules was asleep in her chair, Wordy was across the room on his phone, and Greg was nowhere to be seen. Their corner of the waiting room was littered with paper coffee cups.
Wordy nodded at the two, finished up his conversation, and headed over.
"That was Shell. I was just asking her to kiss the girls goodnight for me," explained Wordy as he stuffed his Blackberry back into his pocket. "And you're welcome - she said she'd call Sophie for you and explain everything."
Ed nodded and gave a tight smile as he sat down, suddenly feeling very tired.
"Where's Sarge?" Sam asked, looking around the waiting room. There were several other families, but no sign of Greg.
"Holleran showed up a little bit ago after the call was complete. Went off without anymore hitches," Wordy responded. "We got you guys coffee but that was like, an hour ago. I wouldn't drink it. The stuff they got here is bad enough hot, I'd hate to try it cold."
"So no word on Spike yet?" Ed asked.
Wordy looked down briefly and shook his head. "No. Nothing yet."
The three officers settled into chairs once again. Not long after that, Greg and Commander Holleran came around the corner. In his hands Greg carried a tray with piping hot cups from Tim's.
"Fellas," Holleran greeted. Wordy rose to his feet to help Greg unload the coffee.
"Sarge, you're the best," he crooned, taking the lid off one and blowing on the hot liquid. He took a long sip and relished the flavor.
"Yeah, well, you guys deserve better than mud water with cream in it," Greg said, shrugging, as he distributed the rest of the Styrofoam cups.
At the smell of coffee, Jules awakened and raised her head slowly. "Hey," she said in a thick voice, blinking her eyes open. "Someone bought a round of karma."
That earned her a laugh from her teammates and a pat on the shoulder from Ed.
"I was just telling Greg that the team can have the rest of the week off, all things considered," Holleran informed them as he took a seat. "I understand how tough this probably is for all of you."
Indeed, he did know. Even though Holleran didn't work with Spike on a daily basis like all of Team One did, he knew the technician well enough to know that he liked him; he had always liked Spike.
It would have been very easy for Spike to start off on a sour note. He was replacing Team One's bomb tech Shakes, who had been with the SRU for nearly fifteen years by the time of his retirement. Shakes was also a close personal friend of Holleran's since the two served on the police force together.
When it came time to find someone to replace him, Shakes threw out the name Scarlatti, a promising young technician who served on the Special Support Unit with the Explosives Disposal and Technology Section in Toronto. Shakes had met the kid - "Spike," as fellow officers called him - a few times and had only good things to say.
Trusting Shakes's commendation implicitly, Holleran was sure to contact his original commanding officer, MacCoy, to speak to him about recruiting.
And when Spike did show up for the recruitment cattle call, Holleran was nearly embarrassed when the rest of Team One saw the scrawny brunet who looked like a teenage boy. Standing just a bit taller than Greg, he was barely in his mid-twenties and looked like he would barely even be able to pick up an assault rifle, let alone fire one. And of course, Shakes hadn't told Holleran any of this.
The rest of the applicants absolutely towered over him. He stood out like a sore thumb in a room full of intimidating, strapping men, and not in a good way.
However, when it came time for the trials, he surprised them all.
Although not as skilled as a sniper, the kid was a bull's eye shot. He also passed the endurance and hand-to-hand tests with flying colors.
Rolie and Ed ran the physical evaluation. All the recruits stood in a straight line at the obstacle course and their names were called at random in pairs and they were timed individually.
Rolie actually let himself laugh when Ed called out, "Boneyman, Scarlatti, go!" and the pair instantly darted off for the course.
Robert Boneyman happened to be over six feet - a hulk of a man. He made Spike look even tinier by comparison.
The two made it to their twenty-pound packs and hoisted them onto their backs. They climbed the vertical wall and belly-crawled through the mud under the barbed netting.
As Ed, Rolie, and the rest of the recruits watched, astonished, Spike pulled ahead of Boneyman in the free sprint, his pack slamming against his back as he ran. He was fast; there was no denying that.
Then, as Spike hoisted himself over the edge of the mountain slope, Boneyman, who was just seconds behind him, lost his footing and slid back down. He cried out painfully as his foot got caught between two of the slats and he hung awkwardly, unable to free his twisted limb.
"Hey - hey!" Spike called out. Instead of continuing down the side of the mountain, he shot forward without hesitation, extending his grasp and gripping Boneyman's wrist tightly. Spike lurched forward, the weight of the huge man almost bringing him down with him. But he grunted and strained and pulled the other man back upright. "Come on!"
Ed and Rolie watched both shocked and impressed as Spike assisted Boneyman down the wall and continued to allow the man to lean on him. The pair hobbled through the tire field, dumped their packs, and collapsed at the end of the course.
They clocked out at twelve minutes and twenty-five seconds - a full five minutes behind any other time.
When it came time for Spike's psychological evaluation, he entered the room and smiled at Greg, who was already sitting down.
"Officer Scarlatti?" Greg asked as he rose to shake the younger man's hand. "Sergeant Greg Parker, nice to meet you."
"You too, Sergeant Parker." He sat down, folded his hands in front of himself on the table, and looked up at Greg expectantly.
"So," Greg began casually, "do you prefer Michelangelo?"
"Actually, most people call me, uh, Spike." He was grinning now, and it was contagious.
Greg chuckled. "'Spike'?" he repeated. "Okay. Okay. 'Spike.' I can do that. I'm cool, I'm hip." He laughed again, this time with the amiable young man, before getting to the interview. "All right. Let's start with this: I was out on the field today, during the course runs. The whole team was watching. I saw how the obstacle course played out. You wanna talk about it?"
Spike's face turned red. Suddenly he began to fidget a bit with his fingers. After a second he looked back up to meet Greg's scrutinizing gaze. "Not really sure what I'm supposed to say, sir."
Greg referenced a paper. "Twelve twenty-five." He raised his eyebrows and Spike nearly flinched. "Not your best time, Spike?"
Spike only gave another grin and shook his head. "No, sir," he said with a slight chuckle. "It wasn't."
"You got high marks in all the other trials - marksmanship, hand-to-hand, rappelling, bomb diffusion - you scored the top mark in diffusion." Spike's eyes widened just a bit at that and he chewed on his lips. "Great marks. But that bad time on the course puts you way close to the bottom."
Spike looked down and nodded. "I understand that, sir." He didn't look quite disappointed, but Greg couldn't really pinpoint the expression he was seeing.
Greg leaned forward in his seat and rested his elbows on the table. "So why'd you do it?"
"He was my partner." Spike spoke so earnestly. His large brown eyes were wide with seriousness.
Greg almost burst out laughing. Was that all this was? Some misguided attempt at passing the obstacle course? Had this young officer simply misunderstood the rules or not heard the part about their times being separate?
But no. Greg had seen Spike's benchmark scores - they were through the roof. Shakes had told them the kid's IQ was near-genius. There was no way he just misheard Ed.
"But you weren't partners. Everyone's time is individual. We just do it that way to save time," Greg explained.
Spike didn't falter. "He needed my help," he said simply, shrugging with one shoulder. "I mean, if that was a real call, and my buddy had hurt himself like that and couldn't get to safety, that's what I'd do." Spike pulled his hands off the table and rested them on his knees. "Sergeant, I understand that a score like that brought my overall numbers down and probably blew my chances at getting a position on the SRU, but I'm not gonna apologize for what I did, or ask for a mulligan or anything like that. I stick by what I did - and I'd do the exact same thing again. And you can bet that as soon as you have another opening, you'll see me again."
Spike was offered a permanent position on SRU's Team One the next day and accepted.
And he thrived. He quickly became part of the team. When Jules and Lou had joined, Team One began to feel whole, but when they got Spike-
That was when the team became a family.
He filled the role of the overeager rookie well. He bonded with his teammates. He and Lou, who had been the most recent addition to the team before Spike, got particularly close. They quickly became best friends and damn near inseparable. Spike helped Lou open up, take a few risks; Lou became Spike's voice of reason (something he clearly never had before). They were no longer individuals, but they became some form of hybrid being - Spike and Lou.
Holleran recalled that devastating day when they lost the promising young officer. He remembered attending Lou's funeral and watching his parents thank Spike, standing right next to the closed casket, for everything he did for their son, for being his friend, for doing everything he could to try to help him - and watching as Spike turned away, suddenly unable to speak. The young man just sat in his seat for the rest of the ceremony, in a daze, not interacting with anyone.
But he rebounded, came back stronger than ever, and Spike became one of the best officers that Holleran had ever worked with. And now he was on the table for no reason other than that he wore the uniform.
Holleran looked out at Team One again, still sitting in the waiting room. They looked exhausted. He knew the team had been stressed and overtaxed lately, but they were the best at what they did. No one could defuse a hot call like Parker and his team. It was almost as if they weren't real, weren't human, but some kind of super-beings.
But they were, Holleran reminded himself. They were so very human.
Holleran and the members of Team One were all pulled out of their thoughts when a doctor entered the waiting room from the O.R., his green scrubs stained in places with still-fresh blood.
He looked out at the many anxious families in the waiting room before his eyes settled on the group of police officers. He nodded to them and asked, "Michelangelo Scarlatti?"
[…]
Well, there it is. Lots and lots of Spike whump. For anyone who knows where I got the names Shakes and Boneyman, you get one internet cookie. Chapter three will come shortly. Live long and prosper, my friends!