Chapter Nine: Denying the Reaper
Spike dove forward, seizing Sam's left wrist at the last second. The bomb tech gasped, struggling to hold on, trying to pull his teammate up with sheer willpower alone. Below him, Sam swung, already fighting, trying to get Spike to let go.
"Sam, stop," Spike pleaded, "Come on, buddy; I can't hold you if you keep squirming like this."
"Then let go," Sam replied, his voice dead, just as dead as the blue eyes that lifted to Spike's.
"Not happening," Spike gritted out.
"Spike! Hang on!" Wordy's voice, rising over the pounding of Spike's heart. "We're coming!"
Coming too late, Spike realized as his body slid forward; he had nothing to brace his boots against and Sam's weight was pulling them over the edge. "Sam, stop! You'll pull us both down!"
"Let go," Sam repeated, still struggling. "I betrayed them; let me fall."
"No. You. Didn't," Spike growled. "Now hold still!"
Sam, startled by the vehemence in Spike's voice, finally obeyed, but too late. Spike's body slid forward again and their precarious balance…tipped. Spike screamed in terror as they both went over, but he didn't let go; he just tightened his grip.
A bird shriek echoed and the next thing Spike knew, a large violet bird was pacing them, racing downwards at the same speed they were, drawing ahead of their fall. The wings were pinned back in the dive, the bird's eyes pleading, but Spike didn't understand.
From above, Wordy's voice rose again, frantic and desperate, holding to one last chance. "SPIKE! GRAB HER TAIL!"
Spike obeyed, reaching out and grabbing hold of the bird's tail feathers; a jolt ran through him, he felt weightless, even as he and Sam fell. With a shrill of triumph, the bird changed direction, swooping upwards with no regard whatsoever for the laws of physics; to Spike's utter shock, he and Sam were pulled along behind her with no strain whatsoever. The bird winged skyward, racing up just as quickly as they'd fallen and reaching the ledge in seconds. Wordy, his face paler than a ghost, was there; he grabbed Spike and hauled both him and Sam to safety. The bird, relieved of her burden, swept around Wordy in an almost smug manner.
"Yeah, you did a good job, girl…now stop being so smug," Wordy chided the bird absently as he checked his teammates over.
Spike, gasping for air, looked up at the fluttering bird. "Wordy?" he asked, packing an entire question in the one word.
"Phoenix," Sam rasped, staring even more than Spike. "That's a phoenix…why did it save us?"
The phoenix twittered in indignation at the very question, Wordy's frown just as indignant. Spike stepped in. "Wordy, they did something to Samtastic…he doesn't recognize me at all and when I tried to get him to remember, he had a seizure or something."
Wordy's expression cleared, turning more worried than indignant. "Any ideas?" he asked the phoenix, who gave the impression of shrugging in reply. The brunet sighed, securing the gun Sam had pointed at Spike while Spike helped Sam up and kept him as far away from the ledge as possible. Once was quite enough, thank you.
Ed closed in on the one cooperative kidnapper, his expression a storm cloud. Yanking his target up, he growled, "What did you do to Sam?"
"Not me," Hawke denied. "Ryan did it; used a real old spell that they used to use in the days of the Old Religion…meant to make the victim relive a 'life' they'd left behind."
"How do we break it?" Lou demanded from behind Ed.
Hawke shook his head. "Don't know. All Ryan would say was that it needed a password…and whatever it is…he thought it was the funniest thing ever." His brow furrowed in thought. "He-He did say something else."
"What?" Ed barked.
"The door swings both ways," Hawke dutifully reported.
Lou frowned, something about the phrase niggling at him.
Spike's expression was thoughtful; he mouthed the phrase Hawke had given them to himself several times. Then he looked over at Sam, being checked over by the Healer that Auror Potter had dragged along; the sniper was being very contrary, snarling and snapping in a highly uncharacteristic fashion. "See you on the other side," Spike whispered, staring at his teammate. Though he'd whispered, Sam's head came up and focused on him, something underneath that blankness, flickering and straining to come through.
"The door swings…the other side…" Spike looked up at the sky, his eyes narrowing, his mind racing. There was a place they came together and he meant to figure out where.
"Peck," Sam snipped at the wizard being hauled away, still struggling wildly against the British Auror who was dragging him.
Spike's eyes bugged wide as the pieces clicked. "Wait!" he yelled, before the Auror could haul Peck to the departure point. Bounding over, Spike gave Ryan Peck a smug grin. "Lou! 1984, Ghostbusters…what did Egon Spengler say about the gateway above Dana Barrett's apartment?"
Lou blinked at the sudden movie reference, then his eyes narrowed in thought. "The door…swings both ways."
Sam looked between the two, more alert than he'd been since before all of this had started.
With a grin growing ever wider, Spike turned away from Ryan Peck, who was now fighting with everything he had to get loose, snarling fury. "See you on the other side, Dr. Stantz," he intoned solemnly, eyes dancing.
Lou's responding grin was pure mischief. "It's been an honor, Dr. Venkman."
"No!" Ryan howled, but it was too late.
Sam gasped, collapsing forward as if he'd been punched in the gut, heaving and wheezing for air. Magic swirled around him, folding in on itself; the spell broke with an audible crack. The sniper looked up, awareness finally, finally, in his eyes. Then he crumpled like a little boy, the grief and self-resentment surging higher than ever.
"Sam?" Spike questioned, crouching next to his teammate, confused when Sam refused to look at him.
The blond curled in on himself, cringing away from Spike. "I almost shot you," he cried.
Spike shook his head, getting in close. "Easy, Sam; it wasn't you, it wasn't your fault."
"Sam." At Wordy's voice, both men looked up. "Take a look at this," Wordy ordered, holding out the evidence bag containing the gun Sam had pointed at his own teammate.
When Sam wouldn't take the bag, Spike did; his jaw dropped and he thrust the evidence bag at Sam, his eyes triumphant. Sam blinked in confusion and, at Spike's insistent look, took the evidence bag, studying the gun. For an instant, the confusion stayed and even deepened; then the pale sniper straightened, life coming back into his eyes. Spike glanced down at the weapon and started laughing. The magazine was empty and the safety was still on.
One final thing remained to be dealt with. The Narnian Knights reassembled to deal with a repeat of events from over fifteen centuries earlier. A Shade, bound to the Necromancer who'd raised it, even in death. When Sir Lancelot had been bound, the spell to free him had failed, utterly. To let the same happen to Sam's one time best friend was unthinkable. But where the Old Religion, where Latin magic, faltered, there was yet one further option.
"He stopped when you invoked the name of Aslan?" Lance inquired, looking at Spike.
"Yeah," Spike confirmed, confused. "Didn't really think about it…plus the ropes on Samtastic gave right then."
The young man looked down at the Shade, thinking for a moment. "In Aslan's name," he whispered to himself. Then he straightened, looking over at Alanna. "Watch him, 'Lanna. I'll do the spell, but you keep your eyes open."
For once, Alanna did not give her brother any static for 'protecting' her; she simply inclined her head.
Lance stepped to the Shade's head, solemn and resolute. His eyes glowed gold, magic swirling as he summoned it. "Beinnan Aslan gescéadnes, grith faestne mid thisse tintregedan sáwol! (3)"
Golden light shimmered around the Shade and its eyes opened; the black faded back to brown and Sam found himself looking in his best friend's eyes. "Sam," Matt whispered. "I'm sorry."
"No," Sam whispered back, crouching down by his best friend. "If I could take it back…"
"Don't," Matt rebuked, a little strength coming back. "You're where you belong, Sam." He looked up at Sam's teammates. "A family, huh? Just like you always wanted."
"Yeah," Sam admitted. Even softer, he whispered, "See you on the other side, Matt."
Matt's smile was sad, curling his mouth. "Maybe, maybe not, Sam. It's been an honor." Then his eyes slipped closed again, his body slumping.
Sam stared at his best friend, tears shining in his eyes; Alanna hugged the sniper, burrowing her head into his chest. Sam pulled her close, hugging her back and hiding his tears in her shirt. "Thanks, kiddo," he whispered. After a minute, Sam pushed himself back to his feet, his shoulders settling in place, his gaze clear.
"Take all the time you need, Sam," Sarge urged.
"I'm good, Sarge," Sam replied, glancing down for a moment. "Matt died two years ago…that Shade wasn't him, it couldn't be. And…" the sniper stumbled to a halt, then looked around at his team…his friends. "I've got a new team now."
"That you do," Sarge agreed, his smile as warm as Alanna's hug. "Let's go home."
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
~Mary Elizabeth Frye
~ Fin
[3] Old English for 'In Aslan's name, give peace to this tormented soul!'
Author note: And cut! I want to thank all my reviewers and all my readers for hanging with me through this wild ride. Next up, "Blessings", which starts on January 23rd, 2018, and takes us back to the main Flashpoint archive.