I still have no idea where this is going, all I know is that my OC is a work in progress, and that she is no hero. Sometimes I think she might even turn out to be the aspiring villan of this story. We'll see.

I am very grateful to the people who read the first chapter! Thank you so much!

This will eventually (one way or another) be a Spike/OC story (if I get that far) and since I don't know where this is going I rated it M from the start.

Constructive criticism is very welcome and I hope you will enjoy!

Warnings: For now, just my rusty English skills. Oh, and I've never been to Canada, and know nothing of real police work and such stuff.

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize from Flashpoint is NOT mine.

Firefly – Chapter Two

"It's about time you know." Kyle beamed at me from the other side of the table, munching down his third donut. "I thought you'd never take the bait. Kids these days are sooo slow."

I stared, dumbfounded, back at him. "Bait?!"

"Yeah…I've tried to peak your interest for a year now, making sure we got the calls where they'd be. But you showed no interest whatsoever." His grin grew. "But I made it."

The cat that got the canary.

"So, now. I've called in a few favors and you have an evaluation meeting for being accepted to training next week. I figured since you had finally decided and all and-"

"Wait! Wait…what? I what!? How did you-"

"You underestimate me child. I knew the moment you walked through the doors this morning. I've known you for three years after all" The man was almost bouncing up and down in his seat, so pleased with himself it was almost disturbing. "Don't you want to know how I knew? Don't you?"

"Just tell me God damn it…and sit still!"

Three years. And if it weren't for you I'd still be picking fights with the local thugs.

Kyle settled back against the soft cushions of the couch studying my face, the mug of coffee secure in both hands.

"You're not pale-green-ish, so you didn't go drinking. No bruises, except the one from the kid, so no fighting either. The shadows under your eyes are not leftover make-up, you didn't sleep last night." He grinned at me, eyes sparkling. "I could be the new Sherlock Holmes. Do you want to know what the conclusions from my deductions are?"

I smiled, he knew me alright. "Shoot, Sherlock."

"No drinking, no fighting. So you went directly home last night, but you didn't sleep. So you were researching. And the only thing that happened yesterday that would keep you researching all night… is the SRU."

Putting his now empty mug on the table he smiled at me, the proud, fond smile of a mentor. "And the only reason for you to study the SRU is if you were thinking of applying for training. So I made some calls." He leaned forward, stealing the untouched cookie from my forgotten plate. "But you doubt that you'll even be accepted to training. That your past will catch up to you and you'll be deemed violent and unpredictable, dangerous and unfit for the job."

"Well, it's all in my files so I can't really hide it from the people who'll be judging can I." Sighing I stood, removing the now empty mugs and plates from the table. It was a really stupid idea after all. "Break's over."

"Chris!"

Childish.

"Christina!"

Violent.

"The paper's in your locker, I want them on my desk so I can sign them at the end of todays shift."

Unpredictable.

"Who you were doesn't matter anymore. It's who you are now."

So tired.

"And who you'll become in time."

Finally turning, I meet the eyes of the man who'd been my mentor the last three years, his look stern. "People sleep peacefully in their beds at night because rough people stand ready to do violence on their behalf. You of all people should know that change is always possible."

"I'm proud of you."

"I know."

"Papers on my desk by noon. And that's the end of this discussion." His voice leaving no room for protests as he walks by. "And brush your hair."

I stare as the cafeteria door swings shut behind him.

What?

Dragging my fingers through my short hair I slowly walk through the corridors to the locker room. Shaking my head I open my locker and, with a surprised, very un-scary squeak I jump out of the way as tons of papers fall out over the floor. What the hell!

"I'm proud of you." Prove that you can change.

"Copy that."