Chapter Four: The Bomb Tech and the Sniper

Spike Scarlatti was shoved into a rather ramshackle building by the man who'd been waiting for him at the contact point. At first, the young constable had tried his best to talk his captor into helping him and/or Sam, but the man, as tall as Sam with a similar crew-cut – brown to Sam's blond – ignored all of Spike's chatter. His face seemed chiseled from granite, his blue eyes narrow and angry, and his lean, muscled frame taut with frustration. Spike stumbled a little at the shoving, but, surprisingly, the shoving seemed to be more for show than in earnest; a show for the two men who turned at their arrival.

As Spike's eyes landed on the first man, a skitter of sheer terror raced through him, the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up. The man, tall as Ed and broader than Wordy, had black eyes that held nothing but darkness and a sense of malevolent evil. The other man just looked insane, with tattered robes that held remnants of what might have been a military uniform, long, tangled, unwashed brown hair that hung to his shoulders, and an almost emaciated look to him. His dark brown eyes gleamed with madness, but still managed to look more normal – more human – than his counterpart's black eyes.

The madman spoke first, cocking his head to the side. "Hawke, what the heck? Why'd you bring him here?"

Hawke's scowl was in his voice. "He was snooping around, getting close. Didn't want him getting away to bring his little friends back with him."

Spike blinked, confused, but gave all three men his best defiant look.

"Is he a wizard?" a new voice inquired. The man who entered was the same height as Spike himself, with short dark brown hair, dark gray eyes, and a muscular, compact build. He eyed Spike, a hungry look in his eyes that made Spike feel like a fly in a spider's web.

"Hersh," the black-eyed menace greeted. "No, he's not," came the solemn, regretful reply. Spike shivered, how did they know he wasn't a wizard?

"Pity," Hersh remarked, so nonchalant and disappointed that Spike's flesh crawled and he found himself wondering if Hersh enjoyed killing wizards. Despite his words, he still had that hungry look, leaving Spike hoping his armor was both bullet and knife proof.

"He's not involved," another man remarked, a frown creasing his face. He looked a bit taller than Sam, had close cropped black hair, a solid frame, and brown eyes. "Why are we bothering with someone who's not involved?"

Spike swallowed hard as the tall, black-eyed man strode right up to him, looming over the much shorter bomb tech. Dark amusement glittered in those eyes. "True, Alex, he wasn't involved," the man mused, his tone almost, almost conciliatory. "But, if he and his team are snooping around…well, one might say he is involved now." Alex considered, then backed down with a short nod.

The dark figure turned to the madman, the two of them trading looks for several long moments. Finally, the madman ordered, "Put him in with Braddock."

"You got it," Hawke acknowledged lazily, hauling Spike along with him. Once out of sight, Hawke hissed, "Do what you can, Scarlatti; this thing's out of control and Ryan's gone completely nuts." Without giving Spike time to reply, Hawke shoved the tech into a room and slammed the door after him.

This time, the shove was hard enough to send Spike sprawling on the ground with a muffled yelp. To Spike's mixed surprise and relief, the room, though threadbare, still had remnants of carpeting plastered to the floor. With a grumble, the bomb tech pushed himself up, glancing around the dim room; his eyes widened at the sight of familiar blond hair and a still form.

"Sam!" Spike cried, throwing himself at his teammate, ignoring the aches and scraps on his hands and knees. "Sam, come on, buddy; come on, buddy." The constable ran his hands over the downed Sam, checking for injuries. The soft groan from the blond was the most beautiful sound Spike had heard all day. "That's it, buddy, that's it…come on, Samtastic."

A few more groans came from the sniper as he struggled towards consciousness. Spike hovered, watching his teammate anxiously. But when Sam's eyes finally opened, there was a blankness in them that scared Spike. Sam's brow creased as he studied Spike, confusion growing. "Who are you?"

"Sam?" Spike questioned, alarm growing. "It's me, Spike."

Sam struggled up, crying out as he put weight on his right arm. Spike caught the sniper as Sam's arm gave under him, easing him sideways and bracing his teammate's form against himself. Sam tried to yank away, get loose, panic in his eyes and movements. "Don't know you," the sniper panted. "Why…why do you care?"

"Why do I..? Samtastic, what happened? We've been searching for you for two days. And you do know me, Sam; I'm Spike, I'm on your team." The bomb tech trailed off, watching Sam anxiously; the sniper's eyes were still confused, with that disturbing blankness in them. With a frown, Spike shifted his teammate enough to run a hand over the back of Sam's head, checking for any suspicious lumps.

Sam jerked away from Spike's searching hand. "I think I'd know if you were on my team, 'Spike'…and you're not."

Spike bit his lip, thinking for a moment. "Sam? What's the last thing you remember?"

Sam glared back, but answered, his voice sullen. "Betraying my team for that wizard." Uncharacteristic hate was in Sam's voice, furious resentment and bewilderment for his own actions. Spike worked to keep from drawing back at his teammate's venom; his mobile face registered dismay at Sam's behavior.

It took a minute for Spike to figure out his next move. "What about before that?"

Confusion resurfaced as Sam thought hard, his eyes flicking back and forth as he considered Spike's question. "The Veritaserum," he managed, his face twisting in remembered pain and anguish, "And Matt…" A sob wrenched out of the frail form. "I shot Matt."

"Easy, Sam, it was an accident, you didn't mean it; you didn't betray him," Spike soothed, his mind racing. "Sam? Tell me about saving the wizard."

Sam gasped, his muscles working as he abruptly struggled for air. Spike hurried to shift his teammate, trying to help Sam breath. When the sniper had regained his breath, he panted, coughing hard. Spike cringed as he spotted blood in his friend's hand. "Couldn't shoot him," Sam rasped. "Don't know how, but I knew him…knew he wasn't a bad guy."

"Don't push yourself, Sam," Spike urged, his eyes wide with fear for his teammate.

The sniper didn't listen. "Couldn't let them kill him," he muttered, his eyes darting around. "I helped him…I helped him…a wizard." Bewilderment overrode the hate. "He asked if I'd lost something."

"And?" Spike urged, his instincts sitting up and taking notice.

"Didn't…didn't know what he meant," Sam rasped out. The sniper's head shifted back and forth, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. "Something about the Witch, Morgana, and a dragon. Said…said to tell Greg he didn't regret it."

Tell Greg he didn't… Spike froze, his eyes bugging out. "Brian? Brian Wilkins? That's who you helped?"

Suspicion entered Sam's eyes. "How do you know that?"

Spike licked suddenly dry lips. "He died, Sam. He saved Sarge's life…jumped between Sarge and a Killing Curse. He was dead months before you 'saved' him."

"But." Sam's eyes flickered, the blankness fading a moment. "I saw him," he protested weakly. "He was there."

"It wasn't real, Sam," Spike pressed, "It was just an illusion, Sam…when we went after Sarge in the Netherworld. You didn't betray anyone, buddy."

For a moment, Spike thought he'd gotten through, Sam's eyes were becoming more alive with every word. Recognition actually flared in murky blue eyes, then, abruptly, Sam stilled. Without warning, the sniper began to seize and thrash; Spike struggled to hold the flailing form still.

"Sam! Sam!" he cried, terror and a keening despair in his voice. "Come on, buddy; come on, Samtastic. Don't do this to me," he begged.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped; Sam slumped against Spike and the floor. It took several minutes to rouse the sniper and when he opened his eyes again, the blankness was back. And to Spike's utter horror, the first question out of Sam's mouth was, "Who are you?"

Author note: For those of you just joining us, this story started off in the Flashpoint/Harry Potter crossover archive. On the advice of one of my reviewers, I have moved it here to the main Flashpoint archive until January 12th, 2018, when a character from the Harry Potter fandom will be joining the fun.

If you were following the story in the crossover archive and suddenly had to go looking for this story, my sincerest apologies to you. It perhaps might have been better to post the same story in both archives for a few chapters, but I'm rather paranoid about running afoul of the site moderators and so chose this more cowardly course.