Chapter Eight: Re-Ignite the Passion

Spike was grateful when Lancelot didn't question his twin shadows – the other constable guided all three outside and shepherded them to the nearby cluster of SRU trucks. The blind man heard the sounds of people turning towards them and even the squeak of a uniform's treads before Lancelot tossed the man a glare that had him scurrying back to his post.

Next to the Command Truck, Lancelot pounded on the side, then turned towards Karl as the older of the two boys asked to see his submachine gun. Spike listened as the other man crouched down, showing the weapon to both boys while carefully retaining full control of it.

"All right there, Scarlatti?"

He turned towards the now-open door into the Command Truck and blinked in surprise – Mordred's deep green magic shimmered behind a man who carried a light of inner iron adorned with gilt gold at the edges. Leon – but how did a pure techie have magic? And why two shades – not even Sarge or his kids had two.

"Still alive," he replied, reaching up to rub at his throbbing jaw.

Mordred was by his side in an instant, magic rippling with indignation. He inspected Spike's injuries, hissing. "Team One's gonna kill us."

He blinked. "Why?"

There was a heavy sigh from behind him and Spike whirled towards the new voice. The man was outlined in emerald and roughly the same height as himself – Sergeant Troy Vio unless he was wildly off base.

"Believe me, Scarlatti, if Team One could've been here, they would've, but they rolled on another hot call 'bout an hour before you dialed in."

Spike's eyes widened and he felt his jaw fall open.

Vio huffed amusement. "Parker let me know exactly what he'd do if you didn't make it out in one piece."

Tears budded and Spike ducked his head, grateful for the black glasses that hid those tears from his former colleagues. "I'm okay," he rasped. "Not your guys' fault that guy was so hair-trigger."

"Tell that to them," Leon muttered unhappily.

He laughed, the sound watery and half-hysterical, then scrubbed at his jaw, wincing. "I'm in one piece. Just a lil battered 'round the edges."

Troy huffed. "And just what were you doing in that store, Scarlatti? Thought your team was makin' sure you didn't have to go anywhere by yourself till your sight comes back."

The raven cringed at the Sergeant's stern tone. "I, um, I ran out of food this morning," he confessed, flushing bright crimson. "Not my team's fault; I forgot till today." One shoulder lifted and he sensed two small forms curl around his hips. Without thinking, he dropped his hands, finding both boys' shoulders. "Thomas and Karl offered to help me out – we were doin' pretty good, too, weren't we, boys?"

"Yeah!" Thomas agreed – Spike could practically hear him beaming. "We picked out lots of stuff for Mister Spike!"

"Not lots," Karl disagreed. "We still had to carry it home." He shifted under Spike's hand – maybe looking up himself? "We were in the checkout line when Mister Spike pushed us behind him and covered us."

Sensing Troy's sharp look, Spike squirmed. "Subject was arguing with the clerk. Was gonna step in, but then he pulled the gun."

The Sergeant heaved a sigh and muttered, "Big damn heroes. Every single time," under his breath, proud and exasperated, all at once. "And what if he'd called your bluff, Scarlatti?"

Spike blinked innocently under his black sunglasses. "Throw away my cane and punch him in the nose?"

Thomas guided him up the steps while Karl proudly bore his white cane and Team Four hovered, most of them bearing grocery bags – from a different grocery store, thank you. Once at the top, Spike dug out his keys and passed them to Percival. "I'm in 1327."

"Copy that," the big constable replied. "Sarge?"

"Take Gwaine, Elyan, Mordred, and Leon with you," Troy ordered. "Let's not overwhelm the boys' parents."

The men murmured acknowledgements and broke off, heading in the direction of Spike's apartment. Left behind with his two shadows, Troy, and Lancelot, the raven arched a brow down at his temporary charges. "Where's your apartment?"

Thomas tugged at his arm and the lean man let the young boy pull him. The emerald that surrounded his companions – save for Lancelot's forest brown magic – pulled his attention to his guide waving at someone. He glanced over, a tiny smirk emerging when his magic obligingly lit up a woman's form, tall and willowy. Unless he missed his guess, that was probably the same woman who'd tisked at Thomas and called him a troublemaker, right before leaving the 'poor blind man' to fend for himself at the top of a flight of stairs.

Two doors down, Thomas slid to a halt; Spike took back his cane from Karl, allowing the older boy to dig out a set of keys and unlock the door. He pushed it open, glancing back and up at his adult companions. "Wanna come in?"

"We'd better not," Troy replied. "Can you go get your Mom or Dad, though?"

"Sure!"

Thomas caught the door, keeping it open as his brother darted further inside. Spike cocked his head, listening to the sound of voices from further in. A minute or two later, Karl returned with a woman of average height, though taller than Spike himself. His magic outlined her slim form and a ponytail that hung down behind her head, ending a bit below her shoulders.

"Oh! How many I help you, officers?" She reached out, tugging Thomas to herself. "I hope neither of my boys are in trouble?"

"Not at all, ma'am," Troy reassured her. He gestured to Spike, who ducked his head. "They've been a great help to Constable Scarlatti today."

He could feel the woman's assessing gaze and her frown when she realized he wasn't in uniform. "I see."

"Spike was blinded several weeks back by a suspect on the job," Lancelot intervened. "Your boys were kind enough to help him get to your neighborhood grocery store today."

"The grocery store?" the woman repeated, tone rising. "The grocery store on the news?"

Spike cringed and nodded.

"My boys were in there?" she nearly shrieked, clutching both to her sides. "With you?"

Troy held out a hand, quieting Spike's response. "Ma'am. The hostage situation would've occurred regardless of whether Constable Scarlatti and your boys were present or not. We all regret that the three of them ended up in that situation. But your boys did you very, very proud, ma'am. If not for them, the situation would've been far worse than it was."

Shaken, the mother withdrew, kneeling down to face her children, though Spike took note that she was facing more towards one boy in particular. "Karl, is that true?"

"Yeah, Mom," Karl replied. "Thomas did great – Mister Spike had him dial into the cops' phone system and everything. He was tellin' 'em all kinds of stuff!"

"He did," Troy agreed. "And more than that, your boys obeyed every order Constable Scarlatti gave them. That meant we never had to worry about their safety when we made entry and arrested the suspect."

"Mom, can we keep helping Mister Spike?" Thomas pleaded. "He's tryin' to see again, but until then, he can't even use his microwave."

Spike turned brick-red – he could feel the stares from Troy and Lancelot, along with the astonished blink from the boys' mother. Then her eyes fell to the badge still prominently attached to his belt. "You're really a cop?" she asked, tone doubtful.

"I was."

"Am," Lancelot corrected forcefully. The raven jumped when a hand grasped his shoulder. "You'll get your sight back, Spike."

He wished he could be so sure and knew he telegraphed that with the way his eyes fell.

Lancelot shook his shoulder, dragging his attention back up. "Listen to me, Spike. You will see again. This won't be your forever."

The hair on the back of his neck prickled – that certainty, in a voice that held a background echo, though he wasn't sure anyone else heard that echo. The echo of a Lion – proud, strong, free, with paws of velvet that cradled his very soul.

Back inside his apartment, Spike allowed Troy to guide him to one of the kitchen island stools. Close to the action, but out of the way enough that Team Four didn't have to worry about tripping over him. He wanted to ask Lancelot how he could be so sure, but his courage failed him – he longed to know, but was afraid to know at the very same time.

So instead, he kept quiet while the constables finished unloading the shopping bags – replacements for almost everything he and the two Schubaltz brothers had picked out right before the hot call, plus a fresh container of butter and a half-gallon of milk to go with the lemonade from the second grocery store.

As the clatter died down, he remarked, "You know, you don't have to bribe me. I'll make sure my team knows you guys got me outta there safe."

"Rather be safe than sorry when it comes to them," Gwaine countered, breezing by. "But looks like you already had some stuff?"

One shoulder shrugged. "I went to a convenience store first. Ran into Thomas and Karl on the way back and they weren't tired of 'the blind cop' yet."

Gwaine ruffled his hair. "You super blind cop, you!"

"Shut up, Gwaine," Elyan snapped even as Spike turned brick-red again. "I'd like to see you handle a hot call blind."

The roguish constable pouted. "Wasn't tryin' to be mean, Elyan."

"You never do," Leon agreed. "But there's such a thing as tact, Gwaine. You might learn it."

"Spike," Elyan began as Gwaine moved away, still pouting, "My sister Gwen doesn't live far from here. I'll call her, have her come over a couple times a week."

"I'm okay!" Spike protested.

"We know you are," Elyan placated, "But if there's ever a repeat of this, Team One will have all our scalps. Gwen's a home health care aid and she's had a couple of clients who needed help relearning how to live on their own. Even…" He hesitated, then forged ahead, "Even a couple of blind folks."

"He will see again," Lancelot pronounced, frowning at his teammate.

"But when, mate?" Gwaine asked over Spike's shoulder, voicing the very question foremost in the raven's mind.

Lancelot's silence was pointed and Spike felt himself slump.

"Then it could be a few days, a few weeks, or a few months," Percival observed. "He'll need to know how to live in the meantime, Lancelot."

"Gwen is a good idea," Leon rumbled. Turning towards Spike, he added, "She's gentle without being a pushover. Firm without being overbearing. And she's hard to rattle – if you need to vent, she'll listen and never tell another soul a word."

"She can help keep an eye on those two scamps, too," Gwaine offered, leaning in next to Spike. "How many times did she help keep Merlin and Arthur in line?"

"More times than I care to count," Leon replied. "She even stood up to Uther a time or two."

"Okay, I get it!" Spike flung up his hands. "But if we don't get along, I can call it off, right?"

"Any time you want," Elyan promised. "Gwen won't be offended; she's the first to tell a prospective client if she doesn't think they can get along."

"Scarlatti." The whole room turned towards the Sergeant's firm tone and Spike cocked his head at the man. "You're all set up for at least a week now. Do us a favor and call Team One; once you let 'em know you're okay, we can go back to the barn without worryin' 'bout watching our backs."

"Copy."

"Elyan. Set up your sister and her new boyfriend on your own time." Both men went pink at this declaration. Moving on, Troy pointed at Gwaine. "Taunt Team One at your own risk; just make sure their payback doesn't spill over on us." At the grumble, he lifted a brow. "For the record – you taunt one member of Team One, you taunt 'em all."

"Sarge won't let them break you," Spike interjected, still pink, but grinning at the sputter from Team Four's prankster.

"Scarlatti. Good work out there today. Just don't do it again till you're better."

"Try my best."

"Do or do not," Gwaine intoned. "There is no try."

"Shut up, Gwaine," Team Four chorused; Spike chortled at the audible pout.

Troy set the apartment keys down in front of Spike, rattling them to ensure the blind man knew where they were. "Need anything else?"

A lump formed, but Spike shook his head. "Thanks, guys."

The hand that settled on his shoulder was rougher than he was used to, but kind beneath the firmness. "Any time, Spike. Any time."

With that, Team Four departed and Spike even heard his locks slide shut behind the door's closing – Lancelot plying a new Old Magic spell, no doubt. Reaching down, Spike worked his cell phone out of his pocket and powered it on again. He smiled wistfully as the device came alive with its customary chirps and beeps – it hadn't truly shut down, not with the ten-break-alpha code, but it held to the deception till the bitter end, just as it was programmed to.

A tear slipped down and fell onto the phone, glimmering with his native emerald. Funny; his magic was finally highlighting his world again, but he still wanted more. He wanted to see again – to see Gwaine's teasing grin, Elyan's chiding expression, and Lancelot's sure confidence. And yet he wondered – despite Lancelot's promise – would he ever see again? And if he never did, what then? What future was there for a computer tech who couldn't see his own keyboard? A bomb tech who couldn't examine the bombs he was supposed to defuse?

Drawing in a deep breath, Spike fingered his phone and ordered, "Call Lou."

"Calling Lou Mobile," his smartphone intoned.

Emerald light traced under a final rough patch of burned magical 'flesh', gently prying it up enough for another wave of power to slough it away from the second-outermost 'ring' of the magical core. As the callused material tumbled free, it was swept up by the core's cleaning system, to be used as fuel or discarded into the liver as a toxin in need of removal.

With most of its cylinders free and turning, the magical core picked up speed and returned to gathering ambient energy; the outermost ring was still too burned and damaged to move, an intolerable state of affairs. Still, the recent presence of another Wild Mage was very advantageous – the ambient energy level was high enough that the core could afford to begin the healing process anew while still collecting additional power.

A tendril of pure energy departed the core, racing upwards to its human's brain – the longer he remained away from his pack, the harder it became to gather the needed magic for healing and that lack of contact was wearying, dragging its human's soul down with lonely despair. But when it reached its destination, it found a barrier in its path. The emerald pressed against the barrier, formed of the Enemy's power, crying out to its human. He didn't respond, but the barrier did – it sneered, pushing the emerald away. Without its full power store – and aid from Above – the emerald fell back, unable to pierce the remnant of the Enemy's attack on its human's mind.

If the emerald could have despaired, it would have, for if its human would only believe, he would be granted the desire of his heart. So long as the Enemy's final bits of magic remained, it barred the path between mind and sight, but there was so very little of the Enemy's power left. Not even a hairsbreadth of magic – though it was stronger than any mortal power. A single plea for the aid of the Great Lion would destroy it, but the darkness silenced the emerald's cry before it could be voiced. Its human could not hear it. And the magic could not mourn, could not weep. It could only run – answering as its human called, with the spirit of a wild dog, but never able to speak.

The Enemy laughed, secure in the knowledge that he maintained the advantage over the young fool in his grasp. The Great Cat might've secured the human's soul, forever robbing him of final victory over the grasping, sniveling creature, but in the meantime, the human's despair was such sweet wine to him. Fresh and invigorating – with the proper aging, perhaps it would acquire an excellent flavor of bitter. The tang of grief, the zest of broken dreams. Perhaps even a tart of resentment – towards his friends, towards the job he loved so much.

Never would he permit the fool to guess that sight was but a breath away from being restored. So long as he could blind the creature to its salvation, he could continue to indulge in the human's prolonged suffering. A true banquet of the headiest flavors of exquisite mental agony. That the pain was unnecessary made it all the better – he thrilled in the veil he drew over each foolish human's eyes, whispering in their ears that they would never achieve all that life held in store. Never be restored to what they'd lost – best to cling to what they still had as long and hard as possible, for once a thing was lost, they would never again possess it. Not in this life nor the next. If there was a next life.

Inwardly, he frowned – the veil had slipped when that Wild Mage made his pronouncements. But it was the work of a moment to slide it back in place, though he knew he would have to handle the human most carefully for many days to come. The whelp had glimpsed Truth, held it between its hands and examined it, finding the Amethyst of Truth flawless and perfect. It would not be easy to prise that Truth from the human's fingers, but he remained confident in his success. It would hardly be the first time he'd robbed Truth from the foolish, insipid creatures of Earth.

And one day, he would ascend the heights of the heavens once more and seize the great Gems of the Emperor's Gifts to Mankind – along with the Throne itself.

~ Fin

Author Note: And Fade to Black... *cue Flashpoint ending music*

I hope everyone enjoyed Spike's adventures in blindness! As ever, please do read and review. I treasure each and every one - and I respond to all signed reviews.

On a Real Life front, I have officially secured a spot with my story coach for the Developmental Edit of Small Beginnings. Sadly, I was a bit too late to secure the beginning of August as I'd hoped, but I trust in the Lord's timing and I'm sure a start date of August 19th will work perfectly for His Plan.

Hopefully, I can get a lot written for my fanfiction between now and the end of September, as I'm pretty sure I will be up to my eyeballs in work on Small Beginnings once I get all that feedback from the story coach!

Your prayers and support have been invaluable and I appreciate them more than I can ever express.

Now, as we move on, we'll be staying in the main Flashpoint archive. Our next story, "Watching the Watchman", will begin on Friday, August 9th 2024 - and it's going to be a wild ride, ya'll!

See You on the Battlefield!