Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Please,” the woman whispered, staring up at the man in the room with her.

A shiver ran up her back when his eyes narrowed without any verbal response.  One foot came forward and his jaw tightened right along with his shoulders.

She stumbled back, terror warring with disbelief.  “Please, no,” she begged.  Why…why was he doing this?  What had she ever done to him?

His expression twisted – outrage, fury, hate.  All aimed squarely at her as he snarled.

She cried out, flinching away.  “No, I didn’t mean to hurt them!” she wailed.  “I never wanted to hurt them, you have to believe me!”

And yet…despite not speaking a word, her accuser was unmoved.  Implacable.  He stalked towards her, so enraged that she could see the anger rolling off him in waves.  His eyes bored into hers, as familiar as her own and yet so alien that she didn’t know them at all.

He hefted her off the ground, slamming her back into the cold concrete wall.  A low, rumbling growl rattled the air as he held her gaze.  Unflinching, with not a twinge of empathy on his face.

“Don’t do this,” she pleaded.  “Please, no, you’ll always regret it!”

One side of his mouth lifted, granting her a glimpse of long, sharp canines; his furious growl acquired a touch of…amusement.  The pressure on her chest increased as he pushed her harder into the wall.

“Please…”  Faint and resigned to her fate.  She couldn’t stop him and there wasn’t anyone who could save her.  Not this time.  So she reached up with her free hand, gently touching his arm.  Forced a smile in place of the terrified shriek longing to break loose.

“I forgive you, honey.  I know this isn’t you – that they made you do this.”

He faltered an instant, then stiffened, growl shifting back towards a snarl.

“I want you to know, I never stopped loving you.”  She closed her eyes briefly, longing for what might have been.  “I’ve missed you so much.”

Wetness stung his face even as the snarl grew louder.  The canines flashed, more like fangs than human teeth.

Drawing in a deep breath, she lifted her chin, meeting the solid scarlet that bored into her so unforgivingly.  “Just, please, if you ever loved me, make it quick.”

He roared, hurling her sideways and into the metal bars of their cage.  Even as she slid to the ground, he advanced again, so contorted with fury that he didn’t look human any more.

Staring up at her former fiancé, Marina Levin wept.

* * * * *

4 hours earlier

The days were long and bleak without him.  Where once her apartment had been filled with joy and anticipation, now it was just another reminder of what she’d lost.  Who she’d lost.  She hid despair behind a smile and sleepless nights behind makeup.  Made it a point to cry over him only once a day.  She knew she should move on.  Pack his pictures away and venture out on the dating scene again, but…  She just couldn’t; he was the One and it didn’t matter that he didn’t want her anymore.

On the worst nights, she blamed them, raging and sobbing in equal measure that they had taken him away from her.  But in the light of day, she always remembered.  Remembered the plea in sapphire eyes – please don’t do it, Miss Marina – remembered the teenager’s defiant courage right before that woman stabbed him.  Remembered Greg’s outraged snarl as he shoved her away from his bleeding, dying nephew.  The magic that had surrounded both of them – not Lance’s, but Greg’s.

Her employees blamed him, but they didn’t understand.  Nothing had ever been Greg’s fault.  Just hers.  All hers; though she longed to truly blame Greg’s nipotes, she knew the truth.  The Malisons had lied to her and she’d lashed out at two young orphans who’d watched their parents get murdered.  She’d tried to steal the only home they had left; what kind of human being did that?  Not even Cinderella’s evil stepmother had tried to throw her out of her own home, but…but she had.  Because of her, Greg’s nipotes had ended up in a rundown, ramshackle apartment in one of the worst parts of the city.  And to her shame, there was still a part of her that wished they’d never come back.

Marina bit back a sniffle as she regarded the message in front of her.  The reason she was even letting herself think about Greg at work when she knew it would only end in fruitless, helpless tears.  It was simple, straightforward – just a request for a meeting.  It could’ve been from any of her clients…but it wasn’t.  And the photograph that had come enclosed with it…

Staring at the picture of her mother working happily in her small rose garden, Marina picked up her phone and called her secretary.  “Anthea, please call Mr. Elison and give him my regrets.  I won’t be able to make today’s lunch appointment due to a family emergency.”  Her fingers tightened as Anthea gasped and Marina forced a smile.  “No, no, it’s nothing bad, Anthea.  Just…I need to go.  Thank you.”

Hanging up the phone, Marina’s smile vanished.  For several moments, she considered, then she nodded to herself and tucked both note and photo in an envelope.  Pulling out a small sheet of paper, she wrote a message of her own and laid it on top of the envelope.  Regardless of what he thought of her, she knew him.  If anything happened to her, he’d protect her family, no matter what.  That meant leaving behind as much information as she could.

* * * * *

Lieutenant Greg Parker bit back a sigh as he regarded the paperwork in his office.  Paperwork he’d promised to complete for Commander Holleran, except…  It already was.  Just like it had been every single day this week.  It rankled – he’d promised – but he couldn’t deny the relief that he didn’t have to deal with reams of paperwork on top of pulling twelve hour shifts with Team One.

Grimacing, the officer set aside the paperwork issue and crossed back to his door; a quick flick of the lock ensured his privacy as he changed into his uniform.  He could’ve – should’ve – done it in the locker room, but with Spike on medical leave and the rest of his team still reeling after the blood bond revelation, he was doing his best to give them as much space as possible.

If he’d known…but he hadn’t.  And no matter how many times he replayed it in his mind, Parker couldn’t see what other choice he could’ve made.  Not back then and not now, either.  Besides, there wasn’t any way to sever the blood bonds; he’d asked Lance and Alanna to look into it from the Wild Mage angle, just in case.  What they’d found out had only solidified Healer Queenscove’s assertion – from the moment he’d sworn a blood oath with Spike, his Wild Magic had been engraining that bond in all his friends, piggy-backing on the already existing ‘team sense’ to spread as wide and fast as possible.

Only Aslan could’ve broken those bonds without harm to his team, but they’d chosen to keep the bonds.  Fleetingly, Greg wondered if they’d known the bonds were of blood and not just magic when they’d made that choice, but deep inside, he knew the answer.  Aslan wouldn’t have accepted their choice if they hadn’t had all the information; Tash might thrive in humanity’s ignorance, but the Lion and His Father were Truth personified.

A pulse from his magical core broke his train of thought; Parker froze in place, panting as the throb built up, sending ripples of pain through his system.  Leaning against the wall, one arm curled protectively around his middle, the stocky man closed his eyes.  He’d lost count of how many times this had happened as his core sought to channel power through the damaged ‘team sense’.  The links were healing, though progress was painfully slow, but Greg had never realized before that he constantly shared magic with his teammates.  As often and naturally as he breathed, with no more thought than he spared for his heartbeat.

So far, he’d been able to hide these…episodes…from the others – they were the worst in the morning, before he changed into his uniform, but once he was on-duty, he never had a one.  Or, at least, if he did, he couldn’t feel it.  His core spasmed, doubling him over as he choked back a cry, then slumped in relief as the tightness and pain dissipated immediately afterwards.  He thought that meant the magic had made it through the links, but it was hard to be sure.

Straightening from his hunched position, the stocky officer grabbed his bulletproof vest and slid into it.  Once it was secure, he inspected his equipment vest, carefully packing away all traces of his internal upheaval.  It took another minute for his expression to smooth out, but when it did, the veteran negotiator swung the equipment vest into place, ready for another day of keeping the peace.

* * * * *

There were times when Kevin ‘Wordy’ Wordsworth wished he could forget about being a cop and start knocking heads together.  Preferably Ed’s – and Sarge’s.  Team One’s sniper Sergeant was a good leader and trained to control his emotions – right up until it got personal.  Then he was prone to flying off the handle, assumptions building on top of each other until they rivaled Mount Everest.  It was even worse when he felt hurt.  Betrayed.

And Sarge, the idiot, kept turtling in.  The angrier Ed got, the more Sarge’s shoulders hunched and the less he sought to defend himself.  A vicious, endless circle that was well on its way to destroying a decades-old friendship – unless someone outside that cycle stepped in.

Wordy fully intended to be that someone, but he’d had to deal with the rest of Team One first.  It had taken a lot of arguing, a lot of fussing and pushing and prodding and even a couple threats, but, little by little, he’d finally gotten it through his teammates’ thick skulls that the blood bonds weren’t Sarge’s fault.  No, they were his fault.  Spike’s fault – Lou had been particularly petulant about that tidbit, but the team leader had persevered.

Sam and Jules had been the worst, though…and he understood why.  Dating relatives was taboo, after all, and it wasn’t like they’d volunteered to suddenly become related to Sarge – and indirectly related to each other.  For them, he’d had to get reinforcements in the form of Susan Travis – the Healer had lent him a raft of old tomes regarding blood magic.  Some of the material turned his stomach, but he’d eventually found what he was looking for.  Proof that blood oaths didn’t change the participants’ DNA.  Oh, the books hadn’t said that right out, but he’d read between the lines enough to be confident he wasn’t lying when he reassured his teammates that their blood bonds to Sarge didn’t mean the end of their romantic relationship.

Which only left one nut to crack – the hardest, most stubborn one of them all.  It had taken him a day or so to come up with a good strategy, one that would – hopefully – finally get Ed thinking again instead of just reacting.  He’d even gotten Kira onboard with his plan – actually, she was essential; otherwise, his Sergeant might shove it off the rails.

As he left the locker room, the team leader glanced over at the dispatcher desk, earning a tiny nod from his co-conspirator.  Sarge might be hiding in his office before every shift, but that just made it that much easier for their plan to work.  Affecting nonchalance, Wordy headed into the briefing room and ‘casually’ leaned against the poly-carbon fiber panels.  Keen hearing focused on the atrium, just waiting for the show to start.

Only for his shoulders to slump as Sarge walked into the briefing room, already geared up and ready for their patrol.  Darn it…there went the plan of tricking Ed into thinking something was wrong with Sarge.  The big man swallowed a sigh, knowing they’d have to wait until tomorrow to try again – maybe Kira could find a way to delay Sarge in the morning?  Just enough that they could fake a problem and kick Ed’s protective instincts into high gear?

“Morning, Sarge.”

Hazel flicked over to him, iron control over a too-smooth expression.  A smile cracked through, real, if forced.  “Good morning, Wordy.”

Despite a throb of pain – how could Ed miss that Sarge was using his negotiator mask all the time now? – Wordy smiled back.  “Paperwork fairy still gettin’ there?”

Laughter crinkled the corners of Sarge’s eyes and a soft chuckle broke loose.  “I don’t suppose you know who it is, Mister Wordsworth?”

“Nope; just know it’s not me.”

The grin was genuine even as it was fleeting.  Then Sarge smoothed out again, emotions locking down with an almost audible click.  “How’s Spike doing?”

Wordy grimaced.  “Kicking up one heck of a fuss about therapy,” he reported, tone glum.  “Lou’s tryin’ to get him to just talk to Dr. Kroger.”  Before Sarge could ask, he shook his head.  “Still can’t see anything, either.”

“Copy,” Sarge murmured, sorrow peeking through the mask for an instant.  The emotion vanished as they both heard the sound of footsteps and Wordy fought for composure as his lieutenant moved to the back of the briefing room, well away from the rest of their teammates.

Dammit, Sarge.

* * * * *

Despite appearances, Ed Lane was not oblivious to the careful maneuvering his best friend had been engaged in over the past couple weeks.  Nor was he oblivious to the fact that his other best friend was doing his best to imitate an emotionless turtle.  Honestly, given how fed up Wordy was, he was mildly surprised when Kira didn’t wave him over with some absurd story about Greg being ‘in trouble’ and ‘needing’ his help – it would be just like Wordy to pull that kind of stunt.

As the Sergeant entered the briefing room, though, he saw why neither Kira nor Wordy had bothered – their boss was already present, geared up, and hiding behind a smooth, unconcerned expression at the back of the room.  He scowled reflexively, turning away with just enough scorn – there.  A tiny, barely visible shudder as his boss’s face twitched.  He knew Wordy was glaring at his back, smoldering outrage only kept quiet by virtue of the ‘team sense’ still being down.

Lane held his stance, clinging to his anger and wielding it as a shield against his team leader’s disapproval.  While he wasn’t quite ready to drop his grudge, he’d been hanging around the periphery as Word talked down all their teammates – pointing out that he and Spike had been the idiots who’d used a blood ritual without knowing what the heck they were doing.  That if they’d been patient enough to wait, then maybe Parker might not have been forced into a second blood ritual to fix the disastrous outcome of the first.

Deep inside, he acknowledged that he’d overreacted.  Acknowledged that there was no way Greg could’ve chosen any other course and still been himself.  It didn’t change how he felt.  Problem was, the longer he held onto his grudge, the more he put his team in danger.  With Spike on medical leave, Team One needed their lieutenant.  Otherwise, they’d be running with five teammates, a dangerous reduction in their manpower when they were used to having seven members.  For the sake of the team, he had to clear the air and mend his friendship.

With that in mind, Ed moved to the front of the briefing room and waited for the rest of his team to arrive.  He kept his expression closed, not even glancing towards his boss – the longer he refused to look, the more heated Word’s glare became, though he maintained his cool.  Once the last member of the team – Sam – arrived, he straightened a hair.

“All right, team; I checked with Kira and we don’t have any warrants on tap.”  One shoulder shifted.  “We’ve spent the last week in the workout room, so…”  A tiny grin broke free.  “We’re patrolling today.”

Sam and Jules inched closer together while Lou’s face twitched in pain and Wordy edged in Greg’s direction.  Ed knew what they all expected, but he had a few…different ideas.

The grin became a smirk.  “Sam, you’re with Lou; west end,” he ordered, ignoring the jerks of surprise – he almost never assigned pairs outside of an active hot call.  “Word, Jules; east end.”  Blue lifted, focusing on carefully blank hazel.  “Parker, you and I’ve got the club scene.”

There was a brief silence as Sergeant and lieutenant faced off, then Greg’s eyes dropped and his head tilted to the side, exposing his throat.  “Copy that,” he whispered.

* * * * *

The second-hand clothing shop was small and dimly lit; Marina was forced to stop right inside the door and wait for her vision to adjust.  Behind the counter, a black-haired woman sat, examining her so closely that Marina felt a chill run up her back.  Perhaps it was merely the shadowy environs, but the woman’s eyes seemed very…reptilian.

“You are Marina Levin?” the woman inquired after a few moments.

Unwilling to trust her voice, she simply nodded.

The raven returned the nod and gestured towards the back of the store.  “Up those stairs; they are expecting you.”

“Thank you,” Marina murmured, though she wanted nothing more than to flee from the store.

Lifting her chin, the blonde marched through the racks of clothing and up a rickety, circling staircase.  At the top, she found herself outside another door, one that opened even as she reached out to knock.

“Enter,” a smooth voice bade.

Gathering her courage, Marina obeyed, slipping inside the room to meet two more women.  One was as blonde as she was, with curly hair that tumbled down past the shoulders of her ruby-red dress.  Her poise was elegant, her makeup pristine – the very picture of aristocratic nobility.  The raven beauty at her back was just as beautiful in her black dress and soft emerald cloak.

The blonde smiled, though it never reached her deep brown eyes.  “Hello, Marina,” she purred.  “Thank you for coming.”

Marina stiffened.  “It wasn’t like you gave me much choice.”

The other woman shrugged, a graceful movement that showed off the delicate metal latticework on her arms and chest.  “I do apologize, but needs must.”

“What do you want?” Marina asked, clutching her purse a little tighter.

Deep brown narrowed.  “Greg Parker.”

She’d suspected, but…  Marina swallowed hard against the surge of pain in her heart.  “We’re not engaged anymore.”

“Ah.  He chose the bratlings over you?”  The hint of scorn was unmistakable.

Anger flared.  “You’re the one who stabbed his nephew,” she hissed.  “How on Earth could he marry me after that?”

Another shrug, this one so careless and unconcerned that Marina fought to keep her composure.  “The boy defied a High Priestess’s Judgment.”  Her eyes flashed a tainted red-gold.  “There are consequences to that.”

Marina shivered.  “I can’t give you Greg.  I…I won’t.”

“You won’t…?” the blonde echoed, a dangerous congeniality in her tone.  Slim fingers reached down and picked up a picture.  A flick sent it flying into Marina’s chest and she gasped, free hand rising at the sight of her brother-in-law walking out to his car.  Her parents, her sister, perhaps even her little niece.

As she stared at the photograph, trembling, the blonde laughed.  “Go, little mouse,” she sneered, gesturing to the door.  “Bring Greg Parker to us by the end of today or the next time we meet, your dear, dear mother will be in attendance as well.”

Involuntarily, Marina gazed up at the second woman, fervent plea on her face.  Calm emerald met her regard for an instant before the brunette turned her head away.  Seeing the direction of her gaze, the blonde stiffened, sparks flying around her fingers for an instant.

“Now go and do not return without Parker,” she hissed.

Much as Marina wanted to argue back, to fight for Greg, the thought of her mother, here, frightened and in pain…  She couldn’t do it, she just couldn’t.  With a soft cry of despair, she fled, wishing, bitterly, that she’d never met the sorceress in the first place.

* * * * *

“Laying it on a bit thick, weren’t you?” the brunette inquired in a disinterested tone.

The blonde woman turned, her smile cruel enough and sharp enough to cut steel.  “So long as she brings him, I care not what that mouse thinks of me.”

“With a threat like that, she will warn him.”

A throaty laugh rang out.  “So much the better,” she sneered.  “Such men cannot lay down their swords; her distress shall ensure his downfall.”

The brunette’s lip curled.  “Take care that it does not lead to your own,” she snapped.  “You underestimate them at your peril.”

“I have no intention to challenge them, my dear,” the blonde simpered.  “Once he is in our grasp, all else shall fall neatly into place.”

Chapter Text

Sergeant Ed Lane bit down on a soft growl; ordinarily, the flood of small incidents during patrol would’ve been welcome.  An easy way to shed the boredom and build up Team One’s rep with the city while they waited for a real call to come in.  But he’d arranged the patrol so that he and Greg could talk, not so they could run around the club district, interrogating hapless citizens about bar bills.

It was giving him an up close view of his lieutenant’s mental state, though.  Bill walkouts were hardly worth a ticket, but Parker was treating each one like a serious, life-or-death negotiation.  Effective – by the time he was done, the bar patrons were practically falling over themselves to pay the bills they’d tried to skive out on – but unnecessary.  Why waste time and energy on negotiating when a stern talking-to would work just as well?  Unless he was already in a negotiator mindset and it would cost him more if he dropped that mindset.

Maintaining his own mask, Ed swung out of the driver’s side to approach the fender-bender that was their latest call.  He flicked a glare in Greg’s direction, noting the other man’s reflexive eye drop – the way he tilted his head to the side, exposing his neck – and approached the haughty-looking blonde standing by a white car.  “Hi there, I’m Sergeant Ed Lane.  Could you tell me what happened here, ma’am?”

She tossed her head, throwing a glare of her own at the stocky driver of the other vehicle – a tan truck.  “I was changing lanes, officer, and this…this person accelerated up behind me right before I started moving.  I’d just gotten into the right lane and they hit me!”

The other driver sputtered.  “I was in the right lane and you changed lanes without looking!”

“Where were you going?” Parker asked the blonde.

“Gas station,” she replied, half-turning to point at the station on the next block.

A station she would’ve had to be in the right lane to get to, because the driveway into it was just past the light.

Glancing towards the second driver – a hefty woman with a brown buzz cut, the Sergeant inquired, “And where were you going?”

One shoulder lifted.  “I’m going to pick someone up.  Club’s about four blocks away, on the right.”

“And after that?” Ed pressed.

The woman made a face.  “Whichever tow yard picked up my friend’s car.”

Ouch.  But that – probably – meant the second driver wasn’t in a big hurry.  Whereas the blonde…if she’d gotten a little too close to the light and been out of position, she might’ve changed lanes without looking.  Especially since the accident was about five, six meters from the intersection.

In the meantime, his boss was examining both cars with a thoughtful expression.  Catching Ed’s querying glance, Parker tilted his chin towards the white car’s passenger-side flank, waited a moment, then reached out and rested a hand on the truck’s driver-side front quarter-panel.  The sniper measured the angles with his eyes and nodded once.  White car, moving into the right lane – and right into the truck.

“I have a dash cam, officer,” the stocky woman volunteered.

The blonde sputtered, but once the second driver had the footage queued up, it confirmed that she’d been traveling at a steady rate of speed right up until she’d gotten hit.  After that, it was just a matter of writing up the accident report along with a ticket for the blonde and waiting for the tow trucks to arrive.

* * * * *

“Accident report,” Ed groused once they were back in their truck.  “I haven’t written one of those in years.”

“Then you were about due,” Greg teased before he flinched and looked away.

The Sergeant huffed, checking his phone to see if Kira had found them any more incidents –  discreetly texting her an order to knock it off – and reached down to turn his radio off.  The other hand pulled his headset off, a move that pulled his lieutenant’s eyes back to him.  He glared until Greg removed his own headset and turned his radio off.

Drawing in a breath, he locked down the rage that surged in his gut, demanding to be unleashed on the very deserving target right in front of him.  “So.  When you comin’ back to the locker room?”

A minute flinch and subtle twitch that might’ve been Parker exposing his throat again.  “Maybe when Spike’s back.”

Two fingers drummed on the wheel.  “Which isn’t gonna happen for awhile.”

A grimace escaped the other’s control.  “Wordy told me.”

“Lou told me this morning he finally cracked.  Guess the doc’s a WoW fan, whatever that is.”

Despite the tension vibrating in the air, awaiting just the wrong move to snap, the negotiator hiked a pointed brow.  “World of Warcraft, Ed.  I know that was part of Spike’s last hot call.”

Okay, fine, he’d known darn well what WoW was – even Sam knew what WoW was and he’d been a gaming illiterate before joining Team One.  Ed glared harder and pointed at his boss.  “Point is, Spike’s not coming back for awhile, which means we need you back in the locker room.”

The other man swallowed hard.  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Ed.”

Lane rolled his eyes.  “Greg, either you come back to the locker room or I’m gonna come bustin’ into your office one of these days after Kira and Wordy trick me into thinkin’ there’s a problem.”

Both brows shot up as hazel went wide.

“Seriously?” Ed demanded.  “You haven’t noticed?  Greg, they were practically crying this morning ‘cause you beat me into the briefing room.”

“Why?”  The stocky man cocked his head to the side.  “Forcing things isn’t going to help the situation.”

Blue narrowed.  Forcing things – that was what Greg was focusing on?  No automatic ‘there’s-no-problem’ denial?  Because while it was true that Greg was a master of putting his team first, always and forever, he was also a master of the redirect.  Focus on the thing that most affected him – Ed – and the conversation would naturally migrate there without touching Word and Kira’s ‘prank’.

“Who says it would force things?”

Parker blinked.  “Ed?”

The sniper sighed, rubbing his dome for a moment.  “Word’s been workin’ on the whole team, Greg.  Makin’ it as clear as he can that this one’s not on you.”

The lieutenant paused, considering.  “That doesn’t change the fallout.”

“No, maybe not, but it happened before the ‘team sense’ got fixed.”  Ed snorted.  “Heck, that was right before the gryphon nearly killed you.”  Wait a second…  “Greg?”

Hazel studied him, sensing a change in direction.  An ever so slight tilt of the head, not to expose his throat, but in silent query.  Ed’s breath nearly caught at how much his friend resembled his gryphon form in that moment.

“That day.  If we’d gone with Giles instead of you, what would’ve happened?”

The other man’s eyes narrowed a touch.  “Wordy and Spike would’ve had a blood bond with Giles, not me.”

The Sergeant shook his head.  “Not what I mean, Greg.”  He shifted in his seat, blue meeting hazel dead-on.  “What would the gryphon have done?”

Greg reared back, flinching as he absorbed the question.  For a long moment, the two men faced off before the lieutenant nodded.  Hazel closed as he summoned up his memories of what had happened, jaw tightening in concentration.

Ed waited, calm, cool, and collected on the outside, but inside, emotion churned.  Resentment curled and sparked.  Even if Greg hadn’t known what could happen, it didn’t change what he’d done to them.  They’d never asked to be bound so tightly that their team was essentially a closed circle.  No one in, no one out.  Family by blood, by spirit, by heart – never again could any of them choose the other.  For a moment, he wondered if he’d known in that instant of choice how very true that statement was.  But he couldn’t remember and so he’d never know for sure.

Parker’s jaw tightened further, twisting into a grimace.  Without opening his eyes, he admitted, “Ed, if it had come down to Giles, you and the others would’ve had to tie me up.  Maybe even cuff me; the gryphon was not happy at the idea of ‘losing’ his Flock.”

The exhale was sharp, but he wasn’t all that surprised.  Not really; Greg’s gryphon side tended to be possessive – Anakin Skywalker’s obsessive nature paled in comparison.  At least the thing was now completely under the lieutenant’s control.  Parker eyed him, tense, wary.  Almost fearful.  And yet, Ed knew the other man wouldn’t fight or argue against any of his demands.  He’d just accept them and hide all the pain underneath that negotiator mask of his.

“You’re angry at me.”

He opened his mouth to agree, only to pause.  Because…somewhere in this twisty, windy conversation, he’d stopped being angry.  The fury had smoldered down to a dull resignment that Greg was doing it again.  He was blaming himself for everything again.  It wasn’t right, it wasn’t healthy, and, darn it, Greg couldn’t keep doing that!

And yet, before he could say any of that, he saw his friend stiffen.  Hazel closed again as Greg’s left arm curled around his midsection; within moments, he was panting as if running a marathon – but he was just sitting still.  The stocky man doubled over in his seat, throat working to swallow down a cry of pain; then he slumped against the car door frame, chest heaving as if he was finally getting air again.

“What.  The.  Heck.  Was.  That?”

Parker kept his eyes closed, inhaling and exhaling in a steady rhythm they both knew by heart.  “Me trying to use the links.”

The snarl of fury was unstoppable, rage building up – and then he froze.  “Automatically.”

A cringe and a nod.  Hazel worked its way open, finding his blue with an effort.  “Burns are still pretty bad.”

Ed breathed a low, voiceless curse.  He’d never considered that – none of them had.  He knew – they knew – that wizards used their magical cores constantly.  That the only reason Word hadn’t spent most of his life in agonizing pain was ‘cause his subconscious had learned to stop trying, but he’d never considered what that might mean in the context of a ‘team sense’ burnt to a crisp by dragonfire.

Now he wondered just how ‘fake’ that ‘Greg’s-in-trouble’ prank would’ve been.  How many times had Greg suffered through his core trying to use what couldn’t be used?

“Tell me you let Queenscove know.”

A weary chin tilt.  “He said they’ll keep getting more intense until the links heal, then start becoming manageable once the magic can make it through consistently.”

“No way to stop it?”  The headshake was redundant; Ed knew the answer even as he asked.  Greg never would’ve risked being on-duty with a handicap he could eliminate.  And so long as Spike was on the injured list, Greg couldn’t take himself off-duty.

Dammit, Greg.

* * * * *

Though Sam was tempted to keep up a running commentary with Lou, he knew that would just remind the other constable of their absent teammate.  Besides, he’d never been very good at rambling about anything, everything…and nothing at all.  That was ground best left to their resident bomb/computer tech.  So instead he let silence settle over the truck’s interior, keeping his eyes outside and scanning for trouble.  If Lou wanted to share, he would.

Kilometers fell away without a word between the pair, the quiet comforting rather than menacing.  By mutual unspoken agreement, they’d stop at Island Foods for lunch – Sam wondered if he could pick up an extra serving of chicken roti for Jules – but in the meantime, the two officers kept their eyes outside and one ear on their radios in case of a hot call.

Once they reached their assigned area, Kira was ready for them.  A small fracas, something the unis usually took care of, but easy enough for SRU to handle.  Almost a relief after all the tension that had been steadily ratcheting up within the team.  Lou acknowledged and Sam altered course for the first of their patrol assignments.

It didn’t take long for the constables to realize Kira was flooding Ed and Sarge with incidents.  Oh, the dispatcher handed out quite a few to them as well as Wordy and Jules, but Sam had a feeling his Sergeant was getting ticked.  Seriously?  Bar bills and traffic accidents?

Turning down his radio volume with one hand, he muttered, “She’s on the warpath today.”

Lou hummed agreement.  “Prolly tryin’ to keep Boss too busy to yell at Sarge.”

“Which isn’t gonna help,” Sam countered.  “They need to clear the air.”

His teammate sighed, shoulders slumping down.  “Or we could try not blaming Sarge for everything that goes wrong with it.”

The blond stilled.  He knew, in his head, that Wordy was right.  Once he and Spike had done that first blood ritual, they’d left their boss between a rock and a hard place.  And darn it all to heck, there’d been no time; Word had been dying, right in front of them.  No time to research, no time to investigate a third option – only enough time to act.

It didn’t change the nauseous revulsion at the realization that he was technically dating his half-sister.  Though he had to give his team leader credit for slogging through who-knew-how-many thick, dusty tomes about blood magic.  Although Wordy had proven that magical blood bonds did not mean the couple was committing incest, Sam was still…uneasy.  And so long as he was, forgiving Sarge simply wasn’t going to happen.

So instead of responding outright, he grunted.  “Thought you were still mad at Wordy for ‘blaming’ Spike.”

Lou grimaced.  “I was.”  Dark eyes flicked away.  “Right up until Spike told me Sarge snuck into his hospital room while he was still out.”

A blond brow rose.  “Must’ve been when he went to call Toth.”

The less-lethal specialist nodded even as his expression twisted into something that was misery and awe and hope and despair, all mashed together.  “Sam, if Sarge hadn’t done that…”  He shook his head, unable to continue.

The sniper’s breath caught.  But…  “What does that have to do with the blood ritual?”

For a long moment, Lou didn’t reply.  Then, without warning, he swiveled back to his teammate, a glimmer of bronze shining in the depths of dark brown eyes.  “The links were down, Sam.  Spike’s was – is – still burned right through to the center.  No way he could’ve heard Sarge.  Sure didn’t hear anyone else.”

It was hard to swallow.  “But he did.”

Lou nodded once.

Sam was tempted to point out that Spike was Sarge’s magical brother anyway – same as Wordy.  Just because Sarge had been able to use the blood bond even with the ‘team sense’ down did not make the blood ritual okay.  It especially didn’t make it okay when it came to him and Jules.

But before he could say any of that, their radios crackled.  “Hey, guys,” Ed remarked, so nonchalant that the hair on the back of Sam’s neck stood up.  “Plan on Pearly’s for lunch.”

“What’s that gonna cost us?” Jules asked before any of the rest of them could.

The nonchalance dropped away.  “You’ll see when you get here,” their Sergeant growled, his tone making it clear that lunch at Pearly’s was non-negotiable.

Startled, Sam glanced at Lou; if Ed had been planning on Pearly’s, he would’ve mentioned it during the briefing.  So why the sudden change of plans?

Lou, though – he eyed the truck radio as if it was one of their comms, jaw tight and a troubled expression on his face.

“Lou?”

The tan-skinned constable’s frown deepened.  “Sam, something must be up with Sarge.”

Blue widened as the pieces fell together; Ed was being discreet – sort of – but forcing the team back together in the middle of their patrol shift wasn’t typical.  Unless they had a hot call or a member of the team was in trouble.  They sure didn’t have a hot call and Ed had sounded fine, if upset.

Which meant…  It was Sarge.  Again.

* * * * *

Jules ignored Wordy’s frown as she settled back in her seat, briefly clasping her arms together across her chest.  She’d known, sooner or later, that Ed would bring the hammer down and force the team to mend fences.  He had to – a divided team was a liability in the field – but she wasn’t ready to forgive, forget, and move on.  Not when Sarge had jeopardized her relationship with Sam.

She was grateful when Wordy kept quiet rather than start a fresh round of ‘why-it’s-not-Sarge’s-fault-this-time’.  She’d heard it, she knew it, even accepted it, but her heart wasn’t there yet.  It wouldn’t be there until she and Sam had worked their way through all the fallout of Sarge’s decision.  And maybe he hadn’t had any other choice, maybe there hadn’t been any other way, but her heart didn’t – couldn’t – care.  Not yet.

Chapter Text

Most of the time, Eddie was direct to threat.  A born tactician and sniper.  And yet, while he’d never be the best of the team at negotiating, he rarely gave himself enough credit either.  Lieutenant Greg Parker buried a tiny smile as he watched his best friend wheedle a private room out of the Pearly’s hostess, confessing that they didn’t have reservations, but if no one was using the room anyway…then letting a group of cops in at the last second would at least mean revenue from that space.  Plus if Team One was in there, then they wouldn’t be taking up two tables in Pearly’s main dining area.

Swallowing down a laugh as the hostess finally bowed to Ed’s persuasion, Parker smoothed out his expression and joined the taller man.  Hawk blue shifted to him, measuring and assessing.

Hazel warmed a hair.  “Ed, I’m fine.  First time I’ve had it happen on-duty.”

“First time that you know about,” Lane countered, nodding once at the lieutenant’s tiny flinch.  “Surprised Queenscove didn’t think of this himself.”

One brow hiked.  “I thought of it, Eddie, so I’m sure he did, too, but it was too soon.  Too much.”

A finger poked his chest.  “Greg.  It’s never too soon when your health’s at risk.”  The finger poked again.  “Get it through your head, Greg.  We’re your team.  Yeah, we were ticked, but if we’d known, we’d’ve been there.  Any time, day or night.”

He looked away, rubbing at his shoulder in lieu of his chest.  “Sam and Jules might not agree with you.”

“After all those musty old books Word dug through?  They’d better not pitch a fit.”  The sniper shook his head.  “It can do a lot of things, buddy, but it can’t change DNA.  Yeah, it tied us all together, but at the end of the day, we’ve got the exact same DNA we were born with.”

“True, but that doesn’t change what they’re going through, Eddie.”

The tall Sergeant huffed.  “Sam should know even better than the rest of us.”

Now that was just unfair.  Greg frowned up at his friend.  “Sam’s father insured he didn’t know anything more about it than he was told growing up.”

Blue flickered and Ed’s shoulders relaxed a hair.  “Copy,” he murmured.  “I hear you, Boss, but as soon as you started havin’ trouble, you shoulda known you could come to us.”

It was his turn to back down.  One hand rubbed through his remnants of hair and over the bald dome.  “I have it under control, Ed.  It won’t be a liability on a call.”

“You’re right,” the sniper agreed in a level tone.  “It won’t be an issue.  Not after today.”  An intent gaze snared his eyes.  “And as of tomorrow, you’re back in the locker room.”

“If the others agree.”

Blue burned into him and Ed scowled, but Greg refused to yield on that point.  It could not be Eddie’s call alone, not when Jules and Sam were justifiably upset about the blood bonds.  If they didn’t agree, he’d stay right where he was.

* * * * *

Jules was in front of Wordy as they walked into Pearly’s; the hostess immediately pointed them towards one of the restaurant’s private rooms, the faint frown on her face suggesting that she didn’t entirely approve of letting them have the room without a reservation.  The brunette gave the woman an apologetic grimace, her peripheral vision picking up her team leader’s ‘what-can-you-do?’ shrug.  At least the hostess’s reaction confirmed Pearly’s hadn’t been planned prior to their shift and dropped on their heads at the last second to keep them from arguing.

Despite that, Jules kept her expression closed and eyes narrowed by a hair as she and Wordy strode through the restaurant to the private room.  Inside, she flicked a glance around – no Lou and Sam yet – and landed her full attention on a nervous Sarge.  Under her stare, he fidgeted, dropping his gaze away with a faint, hardly audible whine.

“Enough.”

Behind her, she sensed Wordy’s startled jump, the unexpected firmness in Ed’s voice enough to give his stallion instincts a sharp prod.  Unperturbed, the constable turned, landing a glare on her Sergeant.

He gave the glare back with interest, blue narrowing dangerously.  “Jules.  We get it.  But that’s enough.”

Her hands found her hips, propping on them.  “Easy for you to say.”

He held up three fingers.  “It happened before Fletcher Stadium.  While the gryphon was still runnin’ around loose, causing havoc.”  One finger folded down.  “I heard Word talkin’ to you two; blood bonds used to be part of wizarding marriages before they started lookin’ down their noses at blood magic.”  The second finger folded down.  “And Sarge’s core is having spasms ‘cause the ‘team sense’ is down.  That is not going to happen on a hot call, understand?”  The final finger closed right in time with Wordy’s sharp inhale and her freeze.

“It’s having what?” Jules blurted, ponytail flying as she whirled, scanning Sarge from head to toe.

He flinched and she saw his negotiator mask slide into place.  Impassive hazel met her gaze, every last emotion buried beneath that protective shield.  “It hasn’t affected my performance.”

The brunette felt herself stiffen, anger and hurt warring within.  Anger at what he’d done to her and Sam.  Hurt that he was hiding from them, not letting them in.  Anger that he was downplaying his own needs.  Hurt that he’d never considered the consequences when he’d done that damn blood oath with Spike.

She inhaled, pulling her own negotiator mask into place.  For a long moment, the two negotiators regarded each other, not letting even a wisp of their internal thoughts show.  Then Jules stepped forward, moving to her lieutenant’s side.  She reached out, grasping his wrist even as brown eyes met hazel.  “Sarge.  We can still be mad at you without jeopardizing your health.”

“She’s right.”  Wordy, moving up behind her.  “Well, I’m not mad at you, but…”

Hazel lightened a hair, though the negotiator mask remained firmly in place as Wordy curled around them, resting a hand on Sarge’s shoulder, ‘accidentally’ landing right at the gap between his uniform collar and bare neck.  Jules studied her boss closely, only pulling back when the tension in the depths of his eyes eased.

* * * * *

Sam slipped into the chair next to Jules, earning a brilliant smile from her.  Ed had hit him and Lou with the same three arguments that he’d used on Jules and Wordy, but since he and Lou had already guessed they had another Sarge problem on their hands, it hadn’t been quite the shock for them that it had been for their teammates.  And if they were lucky, Sarge wouldn’t have another ‘core spasm’ for the rest of the day after they’d all used the ‘physical touch’ remedy.

No, the shock was the sound of someone knocking on the wood next to the private room’s doorway right before he leaned in.  Grant Taylor, with an expression of pure mischief that set all of them on guard.  “Room for one more?” he drawled.

Sarge twitched a grin.  “We’ll send him back in one piece,” he promised, ignoring his teammates’ inquisitive stares.

Taylor grinned right back.  “Just give me a call when you’re done,” he replied, shifting back to grab someone out of sight of the door.  Even as Jules frowned and Sam started to open his mouth, the wizard tugged his companion into sight.

“Spike!”

Sightless medium-brown landed unerringly on Lou and the bomb tech tilted his head.  “Aren’t you guys on shift?”

“Lunch at Pearly’s,” Ed explained, already moving towards their teammate while Grant and Sarge traded smug looks.  The wizard lifted a hand, then ducked back into the main restaurant, whistling as he strode away.

“Well, yeah, sure smells like Pearly’s,” Spike jibed back; Lou laughed and abandoned his chair to grab another one.

“Lou, don’t.  We’ll move,” Sam broke in, gesturing Jules towards the other side of the table.  She made a face – it would put their backs to the door – but nodded agreement.  Anything to get Lou and Spike together while keeping their blind teammate as comfortable as possible.  Even if he couldn’t see, he’d be able to sense an open door at his back.

Their Sergeant cast them an approving nod even as Sarge temporarily vacated his chair to give Ed and Spike an open route to the wall side of the table.  For his part, Ed kept Spike well away from chairs that might trip him up, guarding his movements fiercely until Lou could reach out and guide him the last few steps to his seat.

It took a few minutes for the team to settle again; Sam quietly helped Lou shuffle the plates around so Spike got a clean one and the used plates ended up back with their owners.  Fortunately, none of them had needed the silverware yet, so there was no need to juggle forks or knives.  The bomb tech held still, letting his best friend work, but Sam spied a gleam of emerald and felt a shiver down his back.  Spike was trying to use his magic to see.  He gazed meaningfully at Lou and flicked his eyes towards Spike when the other man hiked a brow.

Lou blinked, then followed Sam’s gaze, seeing what he had.  Dropping his tone to a low rumble, he whispered, “Spike?”

Spike cocked his head in a canine-like fashion, sightless orbs traveling around the table.  “Yeah, buddy?”

The tan-skinned constable pulled in a breath.  “Is that working?”

Dark hair tilted further to the side for a beat as Spike parsed the question.  Then his jaw twitched upwards.  “Kinda.  Can sorta see your magic.  And the guys.”

Several sets of eyes widened, but Spike didn’t elaborate further.  Even so, Sam noticed several things as the meal proceeded.  He saw Spike looking right up at the waitress when she came in, rattling off his order as smoothly as if he’d been reading right off the menu.  He noticed the bomb tech reach unerringly for the bread roll basket, only needing a minor prompt from Lou to locate the small plastic cups of butter in their tray.  He saw Spike wielding his butter knife without an ounce of fear, cutting through his roll once Lou gently pushed the blade to the center and buttering both sides before slapping them back together, brows knit in concentration.

Lou had to guide the hot plates in when the waitress returned with their food, but as soon as the plates were down on the table, Spike picked up his fork, frowning as he gingerly poked at the food, carefully establishing where everything was on his plate before digging in.  Aside from Lou hastily pulling the gravy cup in the center of the plate out of danger before it could tip over, the blind man suffered no mishaps as he worked his way through steak and mashed potatoes.  And as time went by, Spike’s frown of concentration relaxed, bit by bit, until, right at the end of his meal, he grabbed a small plate of apple pie topped with whipped cream and held it away from Lou, mischief dancing in emerald-tinted brown.

“Spike!  You ordered the ice cream!  Gimme!”

Rusty laughter shocked them all and a smile appeared as Spike proffered the slice of apple pie, mock contrite.  Lou huffed in equally mock aggravation and snatched the plate, replacing it with the bowl of vanilla and chocolate ice cream that their teammate had actually ordered for dessert.

At the end of their meal, while Sarge and Ed wrangled over the bill, Sam settled back in his chair, a tiny grin playing at the corners of his mouth as he watched Spike and Lou bicker.  Maybe Spike couldn’t see, but he was scarcely recognizable as the silent, uncertain figure who’d been half-eager, half-afraid as he was guided to a seat in their favorite restaurant.  That was progress and sorely needed encouragement for the whole team.

Because even as their friendships teetered on a knife’s edge, there was still the assurance that the foundation of their team was as solid and real as it ever had been.  The promise that once they’d sorted all their recent struggles out, things would go back to normal.

Sam felt Jules’ hand slip into his own and traded a hopeful smile with her.  Maybe, just maybe, normal was even closer than they thought.

* * * * *

Before they could separate back to their individual patrol routes, their dispatcher’s voice came over the radio.  “Sarge?” she asked, a wary hesitance to her voice.

Sarge frowned, one hand rising towards his headset.  “Kira?”  Something wrong?

Sam’s brows rose when Kira didn’t immediately reply; beside Sarge, Ed’s eyes narrowed.  Then the dispatcher cleared her throat and continued, every word chosen with exquisite care.  “We have…a report…of a potential threat…to a member of the SRU.”

The stocky negotiator’s frown deepened.  “Who’s the report from, Kira?  And who’s under threat?”

“I think you and Team One should get back here, sir.  Soon as you can.”

That wasn’t a response…  Unless…  The sniper’s eyes widened a hair and he locked gazes with his Sergeant.  Ed stared right back, offering a subtle nod of agreement even as he edged just a smidge closer to their lieutenant.

Behind him, Wordy cut right to the heart of the matter.  “OMAC Helicarrier,” he called, loud enough for Kira to hear him, yet soft enough that no one outside their group could.

While not one of their original OMAC codes, it had been developed after the Neo Death Eater assault on the barn as a way to test Commander Holleran or their dispatchers for possible Imperius compromise.

There was a surprised noise from Kira and the whole team tensed.  Then a wry, if foreboding, humor entered her voice.  “I don’t think you understand what you’ve started, letting the Avengers loose on this world.  They’re dangerous.”

Wordy grinned, following up with the second part of the multi-phrase response.  “They surely are, and the whole world knows it.  Every world knows it.”

“Was that the point of all this?” Kira challenged.  “A statement?”

“A promise.”  Wordy met his teammates’ eyes as he finished, adding a very non-movie phrase.  “Helicarrier secure.”

“Copy,” Sarge acknowledged.  “Kira, you already set off the OMAC codes.  How ‘bout you just tell us what’s up.”

“Yes, sir,” Kira replied, tone subdued.  “Marina is here; she says she needs to talk to you.”  A breath.  “She’s clutching a photo of a man who she says is her brother-in-law.”

Alarm shot through the group.  “Captive?” Ed demanded.

“Negative, but he wasn’t aware of the photographer, either.”

“Copy that, Kira,” Sarge murmured, hazel gleaming in their sudden intensity.  “We’ll be there soon as we can.”

“Greg, you are not talking to her alone,” their Sergeant snapped.  “For all we know, she’s got a Portkey stashed in her purse.”

The lieutenant bent a frown in his team’s direction.  “I have never doubted Marina’s character.  Only some of her decisions.  She would not fabricate a threat against her family simply to get my attention.”

Sam wasn’t so sure about that – didn’t Sarge remember the love potion?  Kidnapping a sick teenager out of his apartment just ‘cause Sarge wouldn’t pick up the phone and talk to her?  And that didn’t even include her triggering Lance’s stupid ritual-thingie in the first place.

Glancing around at his teammates, he saw the same doubts written all over their faces.  Silently, he vowed to keep as close an eye on Marina as possible.  He was not the only one.

* * * * *

Greg was aware of the rampant disbelief swirling around him.  With the ‘team sense’ down, his magical sixth sense was muted, as were his five physical senses, but he was not blind, deaf, or dumb.  Eddie was hovering so close behind him that if he stopped too quickly, the Sergeant would smack into him.  Word and Lou had taken up the foreguard while Sam and Jules tag-teamed the rearguard, the constables radiating hostility and suspicion that wasn’t directed at him.  Apparently, all it took for his team to forgive him for the blood bonds was Marina turning up again.  Which might’ve been funny if it hadn’t been so sad.

As the team hit the ramp up into the atrium from the garage, Parker felt the moment his two leading teammates saw Marina; tension crackled in the air, thick as a storm rolling in.  Enough.

The lieutenant quickened his step, sharp hand signals demanding that his team stand down.  They slowed, frowning as he brushed past towards the blonde woman hovering in front of the dispatcher desk.  Her makeup was impeccable, every last hair in place, but there was a redness to her eyes that spoke to recent tears and she was clutching something to her chest.  Likely the picture of her brother-in-law, if he had to guess.

“Greg,” she breathed, hope igniting like embers given new fuel.

Pain spasmed inside his heart and it took everything he had to not sweep her up in a hug, begging for her to come back even though he’d been the one to end it.  Locking down his emotions, Parker let his mask slide in place, suddenly grateful for all the recent practice.  “Hello, Marina.”

She hurried to him, reaching out her free hand; he let her grasp his, inwardly thrilling in her touch.  “Greg, can we talk?”

“Right here,” Eddie growled before he could respond.  “You two don’t leave our sight.”

He restrained a sigh as his teammates nodded fierce agreement with their Sergeant.  One shoulder lifted in a ‘what-can-you-do?’ shrug before he gestured to the far end of the atrium.  “We can talk over there, Marina.”  Far enough for some privacy, but close enough that Ed wouldn’t protest any further.

Although unhappy with the public setting, Marina nodded and allowed her former fiancé to guide her a short distance away from the other occupants of the atrium.  Once they were far enough away that they couldn’t be easily overheard, Greg halted.  Unease stirred in the back of his mind; his teammates’ enhanced hearing would catch every word; but he focused on the blonde.

Before he could speak, she proffered the photo in her hand, along with an envelope.  He took both and started with the envelope.  A message in Marina’s handwriting along with a photo of an older woman he knew to be her mother.  Clearly unaware of the camera, the elder woman was working in her small rose garden, smiling down at the plants in her care.

He knew from his time as Marina’s fiancé that Mrs. Levin had suffered a severe stroke several years back, one that had partially paralyzed her right side and wrecked havoc with her memory.  Some days, she couldn’t even recognize her own family, but even on her worst days, she remembered her beloved roses; tending them had become a form of therapy she could practice all year ‘round – in addition to the outside garden depicted in the photo, her devoted children had put together an indoor garden with miniature roses on an elaborate climbing trellis.

Chilled to the bone, Greg inspected the other photograph.  Marina’s brother-in-law, just as unaware of the camera as her mother had been, heading for his car, which was parked right in front of his family home where Marina’s sister lived along with her young niece.  Perhaps nieces if Marina’s sister had another little girl when she gave birth in a few months.

Then he felt something beneath the first photo and shifted his fingers.  A piece of paper appeared from under the edge and the lieutenant pulled it all the way out, frown deepening towards a scowl as he read the meeting invitation written on it.

Glancing up, he asked only one question.  “What do they want, Marina?”

Shame cloaked her slim form and Marina hugged herself for an instant.  “They want you, Greg.  If I don’t come back with you today, they’re going to kidnap my mother.  You know how she is, she won’t understand, she’ll be so scared.”  Tears filled her beautiful gray eyes as she gazed up at him.  “Please help me, Greg.  Please don’t let them hurt my family.”

Chapter Text

Buying time to think, Greg looked back down at the photos, examining them with a predator’s razor-sharp focus.  Letting the tactical part of his brain analyze the angles, trying to figure out where the photographer had been.  He couldn’t afford to think like Marina’s ex-fiancé, couldn’t let himself regard her and her family as anything other than civilians under his protection.  If he let this become personal, the subjects would have an edge.  A knife to twist – right in his back after he left himself exposed.

Lifting his head, he deliberately gazed over Marina’s shoulder at the nearby wall.  “Describe the subjects.”

She inhaled surprise; his peripheral vision caught her lifting a hand towards his chin and he intercepted with a frown and a shake of the head.  “Greg?”

“You want my help, Marina?  Then you have to work with me.  At my pace.”  He dared to stare her right in the eyes before averting his gaze again.  “Describe the subjects.”

It took her a moment to rally, but he’d known she would.  With a nod, she glanced down at the floor, idly tracing a pattern on her purse.  “It…it was a little clothes resale shop, Greg.  Dark inside, darker than it should’ve been.  Not…”  She choked, lifting a hand to her mouth.  “Not enough light to really see the clothing.  And the carpet was somewhat ragged.”

He held up a finger to halt her recitation and turned back towards his team, hands already moving in request.  Jules’ eyes widened and she hurried over with her black binder; he nodded thanks as he took binder and pen – he’d left his in the Command Truck a week ago and kept forgetting to grab it.

While Jules was still next to him, he handed her both photos, the envelope, and the message Marina had written.  “Keep it discreet, but we need protection on the family, Jules.  Mother especially; she’s physically compromised.”

“Copy, Sarge,” Jules acknowledged.  Gazing past him at Marina, she smiled.  “We’re going to do our best to protect your family, Marina.”

Tears budded, but Marina dredged up a return smile.  “Thank…thank you, Jules.”

“Sarge, anything else?”

“Not yet, Jules.”  Shifting back to Marina, he flipped the binder open to a fresh page and uncapped the pen.  Words flowed easily onto the page – Marina’s statement, his initial thoughts and impressions, and the SRU’s response thus far.  When he’d caught up, he nodded for his ex-fiancé to continue.

Marina swallowed hard, hands wringing together as she cast her mind back.  “The woman at the counter, she knew who I was.”  Distress knit her features tight.  “And there was something about her, Greg.  Just…wrong…”

“But not anything you could pin down?” Parker offered, earning a nod.  His pen moved for a few seconds, drawing a surprised blink.  He smiled at her, wan, but determined.  “Instinct.  Sometimes it tells us stuff we never coulda figured out otherwise.  We don’t discount it, even if it’s vague.”

She blinked again, then nodded and sniffled.  “I went up a flight of stairs.  They were waiting for me.  Emilia and another woman.”

The pen stilled.  “Emilia?”

The blonde flushed a deep red, shame draping her figure once more.  Unable to look up, Marina whispered, “She…she’s the one who…who hurt him…”

Fury stirred, protective instincts growling offense.  He shunted his inner gryphon aside, mentally slamming it into a cage – his expression hardly even twitched.  “The witch you refused to identify.”

Staring fixedly at the ground, Marina nodded hard.  “She…”  Stopping, she lifted a hand, as if fighting against herself.  “She’s blonde, like me.  Maybe a shade darker.  Long hair, down to her shoulders at least.  High-class, if…if you know what I mean.”  He nodded once, leaning in to prompt more information.  “Cold, though.  Haughty.  Like the world owes her something and she intends to collects.”

Reminded of a brunette sorceress with a fixation on himself and his team, Parker grimaced.  “I know just the type.”  Sensing Marina was done, he wrote down her description in a brisk shorthand he knew Eddie could read.  “What about the other woman?  Do you know her name?”

Marina shook her head.  “No, I’d never seen her before.”  She hesitated, thinking hard, turning an idea over in her mind.  “Greg…I think…I think they were sisters.”  She stopped, biting one nail.  “I mean, they looked nothing alike, but…”

“But you got that sense?” he offered.

“Yes,” Marina breathed.  “Brunette; dark to Emilia’s light.  Her eyes were emerald; Emilia’s are brown.”

“Short hair?” Greg suggested jokingly, only to frown at his ex-fiancé’s absent headshake.

“No, long.  As long as Emilia’s or a little longer.”  Marina halted again, staring at the ground so fiercely that the lieutenant glanced down himself, just to make sure it was the same dark granite tile as always.  “Her eyes were different.  Emilia, she doesn’t see me as anything.”  The slim woman’s jaw twisted in fear and indignation.  “I’m a mouse.”

Ouch.  He reached out, touching her arm.  Waited until her eyes came up to meet his.  “Marina.  A mouse doesn’t come out of hiding to save her employee from an obsessed gunman who already shot another one of her employees.”

“I…I was so afraid, Greg.”

“I know,” he whispered.  “But courage isn’t the absence of fear, especially rational fear.  It’s doing what you have to do in spite of the fear.”  He patted her arm.  “Now come on, Marina.  What did you see in our mystery woman’s eyes that was so different?”

Marina jerked back a hair.  Then, impossibly, she smiled up at him, hope so unmistakable that he had to avert his gaze again.  He flinched internally as the brilliant smile fell away and Marina curled back.  Away from him.  “I don’t know,” she admitted.  “Maybe…testing?  Evaluating my responses?”

Interesting.  Parker examined his notes, frowning.  Although he suspected the blonde Emilia was using some sort of alias, he had no way to know for sure.  However…  The brunette was almost certainly Morgana le Fay.  Again.  “Our mystery brunette was running the show?”

“No.”  Startled, he glanced up.  Marina met his gaze without flinching.  “Emilia did all the talking, Greg.”

That was…disconcerting.  Morgana was a powerful opponent, yes, but largely predictable at this point.  He didn’t know anything about ‘Emilia’ beyond her name, general physical description, and Marina’s assertion that she’d been the witch who’d stabbed Lance and brewed the love potion he himself had been dosed with.  Her grudge against his family and team was clear, but why?  What had any of them ever done to her?  And how could a group of techies, Squibs, and underage magicals hope to challenge two powerful, experienced sorceresses?

In the back of his mind, Greg wondered how he knew the blonde was a sorceress instead of a witch.

* * * * *

Sam stuck by Jules, though he couldn’t offer much as she coordinated with Kira to get Marina Levin’s family under police protection.  It would have to be discreet; the whole team doubted their subjects would be pleased to discover that Marina had warned them about the threat.

Next to them, Lou had set up Spike’s laptop and he was searching through DMV records for ‘Emilia’ or any other variations she might’ve used.  Since they were dealing with a witch, the odds that she had a license were low, but every avenue had to be checked.

Behind them, Ed and Wordy were hunched over Sarge’s black binder – Lou had brought it from the Command Truck when he’d gone for the laptop.  Sergeant and team leader were conferring in low tones, compiling their initial profile and best guesstimate of what the subjects were likely to do next.  Of course, that depended on who was in charge – Morgana or Emilia.  After how many times they’d managed to thwart Morgana’s plans, she was liable to take a chunk or four out of Sarge’s hide before killing him.  Unless, of course, she decided on a third rendition of her Animagus collar and Portkey ‘vacation’ plan.

Emilia, though?  Sadistic with a taste for dragging things out.  Her dual attack on Lance would’ve left him bleeding out even as his magical core shut down – the Healers had never been able to decide which would’ve killed the teen first.  About the only thing they could say was that it would’ve been pure torture.  Same went for the love potion their lieutenant had been dosed with – yeah, he would’ve fixated on Marina, putting her above all other considerations so long as it lasted, but the potion had been so strong that by the time it ran out, nothing would’ve been left of Greg Parker’s personality.  He would’ve been an empty shell of a man, an outcome that would’ve devastated Marina and their whole family in one fell swoop.

Internally, Sam shuddered and he found himself hoping Morgana was their primary subject.  Mercurial and cruel she might be, but at least she was straightforward with her methods.  Predictable, after a fashion.  They didn’t know nearly enough about Emilia to even hope for an accurate profile.

* * * * *

Ed snapped up from the notebook as soon as he heard the tread of Greg’s boots along with Marina’s lighter steps.  Wordy reared back a hair, eyes wide, and the Sergeant shifted sideways, deliberately touching shoulders with his best friend.  A breath later, Wordy settled, a heavy exhale the only sign of just how close his equine instincts were to the surface.  In the back of his mind, the sniper wondered if that was another symptom of the ‘team sense’ being down; maybe Greg’s magic helped the rest of them control their animal sides?  Rather ironic if he was right.

In the meantime, he cleared his throat, bringing the rest of their team in, though Lou stayed by Spike’s laptop, keeping an eye on the DMV search he had going.

As soon as the ex-fiancés were close, Lane asked, “What do we got, Boss?”  No need to give away the fact that they’d heard every single word of the conversation between the former lovers.

Greg consulted Jules’ binder, buying time for Marina to fidget, swallow nervously, but ultimately calm down, trusting her ex-boyfriend’s judgment.  “Two primary subjects, both female.  One blonde – Emilia – and the other brunette, name unknown.  Possible third subject; Marina’s thinks she’s a brunette, too, but the lighting wasn’t all that good at our subject location.”

“What do they want?” Sam asked, even though they all knew.

Their lieutenant’s gaze, already solemn, turned grim.  “Me.”  He nodded towards the pictures Jules still had.  “Primary subjects made a direct threat to Marina’s mother if I’m not turned over by the end of today.”

Kira spoke up before anyone else could.  “Mrs. Levin’s driver’s license was revoked for medical reasons three years ago and her family has disability symbols on their license plates.”

Ed whistled; they would’ve had to apply for that through their doctor’s office and it would’ve taken time and a ton of persistence, particularly since DMV preferred to hand out temporary disability placards that could simply be hung on car rearview mirrors.  To successfully get license plates stamped with the disability symbol meant a permanent disability with no chance of recovery.

“We’ve requested an additional patrol for the Levins’ neighborhood,” Jules reported.  “They have orders to keep their eyes open for anything out of the ordinary, although we haven’t officially confirmed any threats.”

“Good work, Jules.”  But despite the praise, their Boss’s jaw was still tight.  Unhappy.

Ed stepped closer, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “Greg.  This is a bad idea.”

Humor lightened hazel.  “You don’t even know what it is.”

“Yes, I do,” Lane countered.  “You wouldn’t do this on a hot call, Boss.  They don’t even have a hostage.”  He didn’t add that they only had Marina’s word that there was a threat, though the words burned at the back of his throat.

The stocky officer sighed, closing his eyes an instant.  “Assume Emilia is calling the shots.  What’s our profile?”

“Preliminary,” Wordy confessed.  “But based on our two known encounters, she likes dragging things out.”

“Big fan of the surprise twist that no one likes,” Lou grumbled.

“And excruciating deaths,” Jules tacked on, frowning.  “Sarge, if she’s calling the shots, we have no way to predict what she’ll do if she gets her hands on you.”

“We don’t know what Morgana will do either,” Sam cut in.  He smirked mirthlessly as his teammates turned, surprised.  “Last time, she didn’t hurt any of us.  She saved Spike’s life.”

Ed stilled, hawk blue narrowing to razor slits even as Wordy half-shied back into him.  Sam was right; Morgana and her pet dragon had saved Spike’s life.  Morgana had even cast magical restraints on the Welsh Green, restraints that hadn’t faded until the injured dragon had been back in Wales for three weeks, much to the annoyance of the Welsh Reserve.

“A serious break in pattern,” Parker agreed, bringing all attention back to himself.  “We can’t predict the subjects.  Nor can we pretend that the unis will be anything more than an annoyance to them.  The Auror Division won’t spare the manpower to guard two techie families.”

Lane’s heart sank, but he turned towards his boss anyway.  “Greg.  We don’t know that, not unless we ask.”

The other man’s shoulders slumped.  “I do know that, Sergeant Lane.  And I know this is a bad plan, but I have two counter-arguments.”

“And those are?” Sam challenged.

“Priority of Life.”

Dead silence rang, all of them trying not to choke.

“And?” Wordy rasped.

A faint smile flickered across their lieutenant’s face.  Gryphon hazel locked on hawk blue.  “I know you’ll be right behind me, Eddie.”

* * * * *

They were expected.  Greg eyed the woman behind the counter of the small resale shop, seeing what Marina had meant about how wrong the woman was.  Although her features seemed rather plain to him, there was an aura around her.  One that twanged off his magical senses, attempting to lure him in even as the predator in his soul snarled offense and shoved her influence away.  And when he summoned up his gryphon vision, he saw her eyes change to a glowing serpentine green with a snake’s slit pupils.  Not human.  Definitely not human.

Her expression turned amused when he kept himself between her and Marina on their way through the shop.  As though his protective stance was unnecessary – perhaps because she’d already been leashed by another.  Warned against tampering with the primary subjects’ target.

He took the lead up the staircase, wishing for the reassuring hum of the ‘team sense’ in the background.  Longing for the feel of his friends, beside him in spirit even if they had to hang back and wait for the trap to spring.  Because even with the weight of his gun at his side, nestled in its tactical holster, and the snug fit of his Narnian armor, its protective magic in total sync with his own, he knew he was walking into a situation he couldn’t handle.  Heck, even if he’d brought sword and shield, there was no way he could tackle even one sorceress on his own, much less two.

The door at the top of the stairs swung open and Lieutenant Gregory Parker pulled in a slow, steadying breath before he lifted his chin and stepped across the threshold, triggering the trap.

* * * * *

Marina huddled close behind Greg, hiding behind his protective bulk as she peered over his shoulder at the two witches.  Emilia smiled, the same smug, haughty, blood-thirsty smile she’d smiled at Lance – right before she’d stabbed him – and Marina’s arms wrapped themselves around Greg’s torso, clinging to him.  She wouldn’t let Emilia hurt Greg, not like she’d hurt Lance.

Emilia laughed.  “Found your courage at last, little mouse?”

Greg stiffened, but he didn’t try to break free from Marina’s terrified hold.  Instead, he turned his head, fixing a glare on the brunette standing just behind and to Emilia’s side.  “Coming after me again, Morgana?  If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if you were a one-note villain.”

The brunette’s mouth twitched up in a smile.  “Well, I must do something to pass the time until I locate my misbegotten half-brother and his men, Lieutenant.”

Her Greg rocked back on his heels, surprised even though Marina knew his expression hadn’t changed.  She was surprised – banter from a witch?

Emilia’s expression twisted, fury and rage.  “Enough,” she snarled, gesturing.  Marina cried out as Greg was ripped away and slammed into a nearby wall.  “I did not give you permission to speak to my sister, peasant.”

Hazel narrowed – how could he be so calm?  “This isn’t Camelot.  And even if it were, I wouldn’t be a peasant.”

“Oh?” Emilia purred, sashaying closer.  “Do tell.”

Greg smirked and lifted his chin, adopting the same haughty, aloof air.  “I am a Scion of the House of Calvin, a House that dates to before the House of Pendragon’s rise to power.”

Emilia froze, deep brown widening, and the other woman – Morgana – arched a pointed brow.  “So.  You have finally accepted your magic, little knight.”

Her beloved lifted one shoulder in a shrug, keeping his attention on Emilia.  “Had a little help.”

“It will not avail you, peasant,” Emilia snarled; Greg yelped in pain as her fingers curled, hands flying up to his head.  What was she doing to him?

“Sister!”  Morgana’s hand moved in a summoning motion, yanking Greg away from the wall – he landed on his knees and she snapped her fingers, outlining him in emerald light that held him immobile.  “Even now, Parker’s team is nipping at his heels; if we remain, we shall be overrun.”

The blonde Emilia snarled again, but nodded acceptance of the argument.  She turned, gesturing at Marina; instinctively, she sought to flee, but red-gold wrapped around her, dragging her to the witch.

She heard a babble of foreign words, felt a strange, unearthly wind whip around her, and then the second floor of the shabby clothing shop was gone.

Chapter Text

On his knees with Morgana gripping the back of his neck and her power wrapped around his body, Greg Parker fought to maintain his composure.  The last time her magic had been this close…  Panic welled, right along with a vivid flash of fighting with all his might – and losing miserably.  His friends, forced into their Animagus forms for the first time.  Robbed of their very humanity.  The only good thing was that the ‘team sense’ was down and he was reasonably confident that not even Morgana could heal the damage caused by dragonfire.  His team was safe – she wouldn’t be able to control them, not like before.

Outlined by Emilia’s red-gold, Marina’s eyes were fixed on him, terror writ large, but he could sense her trust in him.  Her faith that he would – could – protect her, no matter what happened.  He wished it were true.

The emerald power loosened its band around his chest and he worked his jaw for an instant.  Seizing his chance, he locked his attention on Morgana’s sister.  “Emilia, wasn’t it?”  Not waiting for her reply, he forged ahead.  “You made one demand of Marina.  Bring me to you.  She did that.”

The blonde sorceress hissed, lifting her left hand; as her fingers curled, he jerked against Morgana’s restraints, pain erupting as Emilia’s magic bore down on his mind.  Crushing his head in a vice grip.  “Silence, peasant.”

“I would hear him, Sister.”

Emilia glanced up, fingers relaxing as her brown eyes widened.  “You would hear the words of a miserable scut desperate to save his own skin?”

He shuddered as Morgana’s hand tightened on the back of his neck.  “Speak, little knight.  We are listening.”

Hazel found Marina’s eyes, gathering strength.  “Marina did what you wanted.  You have me and you didn’t even have to wait for the end of today to get me.  If you let her go without hurting her or her family, I won’t try to escape.  I won’t fight whatever you do to me.”

Emilia sneered, but Morgana spoke before she could.  “You would bow to us in return for releasing one who betrayed you?  One who attacked your own?”

“Yes, she did that,” Parker acknowledged.  “She betrayed my trust and did everything she could to drive mio nipotes away.  And when that didn’t work, she willingly brought mio nipote to your sister.”  He shifted his gaze up to Emilia.  “My job is to protect the citizens of Toronto.  All the citizens of Toronto, regardless of my personal feelings.”  Hazel narrowed.  “You threatened Marina’s parents.  Her sister, brother-in-law, and their children.  All of them are under my protection as an officer of the Toronto Police Department.”

“Enough,” Emilia shrieked, fingers curling; he bit back a scream as razor-sharp talons dug into his mind.  “You defy the Goddess with your very existence, little Wild Mage.  How dare you spurn Her Judgment!”

Every word sent a fresh stab of pain driving deep into his skull, but he forced them out regardless.  “I follow the Lion.”  A breath, gathering all his remaining strength.  “I believe in a Free Narnia.”

Scarlet blazed, inside and out; emerald restraints shattered as if made of glass.  The lion rampant on his shoulder let out a roar that echoed in the enclosed space as every piece of his armor reacted to his declaration.  Even Marina’s restraints of red-gold collapsed with a shriek of metal being ripped apart.  He lunged, reaching his ex-fiancé even as the witches reeled, and one hand hovered over his gun as he whipped around to face them, but he hesitated to draw.  That would cross a line he wasn’t sure he and Marina would survive.

Even so, he lifted his chin, letting the gryphon in his soul emerge, scarlet dappling his native hazel.  The officer’s stance was solid, wide enough to guard the frightened woman at his back, but tight enough that he could control every move he made.  Maybe he couldn’t save himself or Marina, but he’d bloody well avenge them.

* * * * *

He was trying to protect her.  She’d dragged him right into the middle of her mess, again, and he was trying to protect her!  No hesitation, no regret.  Only the fierce determination overlaid with gentle persistence that had drawn her to him in the first place.  Marina fought back tears as realization dawned.  He was fighting so very hard for her, but…these women.  These witches, they didn’t care.  They just wanted blood.

Emilia’s eyes were alight with that awful red-gold light, almost joyful as she curled her fingers to silence her Greg with magic.  Hurting him – he didn’t scream, but his expression twisted and she knew.  And still, her Greg wouldn’t stop.  Instead, he threw out words she heard, but didn’t understand.  Who was the lion?  What did C.S. Lewis’s Narnia have to do with anything?

There was a sound.  Two sounds.  A screech of warping metal; the high, tinkling sound of delicate glass shattering on the ground.  And her Greg, glowing scarlet.  No, not him, not entirely.  It was the oddly medieval armor he’d changed into.  Every piece of it shone with a layer of scarlet magic, shimmering as it coated his arms, chest, and legs.  Even the holster of his gun was lit up with that sheen of scarlet magic.  At his belt, the buckle shaped like a leaf had come to life, forest-emerald twining around silver leaf-veins.

Greg surged up, launching for her and whirling to face their attackers as soon as he reached her.  His right hand rested on his gun, though he didn’t draw it, and his left arm was outstretched, as though holding an invisible shield.  She could feel his protective spirit, focusing on guarding her no matter what the cost and nearly wept for relief.

Greg would save them.  He would get them out and then…  Then she could throw herself at his feet and beg him to forgive her.  To give her another chance.

* * * * *

This.  This was not how Morgana had envisioned her sister’s plan going.  And yet, she was intrigued.  True, Morgause had been correct – Parker’s dedication to being a hero had made it inevitable that he would follow his little mouse right back to their trap.  However…

She had expected that when reminded of the little mouse’s treachery, Parker would react much as her half-brother did.  Hurt, perhaps even arguing against the obvious, but ultimately turning on the one who’d betrayed him.  A calm acceptance of her statement, coupled with a brief recitation of the mouse’s crimes, and then recommitting to protecting her – that wasn’t how these things worked.  She was almost offended – how dare Parker upend a basic tenant of her reality?  How dare he offer that little mouse forgiveness she hadn’t earned?

In front of her, Morgause was puffing up in indignation of her own – how dare the peasant reinforce his defiance of the Triple Goddess by swearing allegiance to that mewling cat and his so-called nation of Talking Beasts?  Didn’t he know that all magicals, by their very nature, were sworn to the Old Religion’s service?  There were no exceptions – the Goddess laid claim to every witch, wizard, warlock, magician, sorcerer, and sorceress that had ever walked the Earth.  Magic was Her Gift – to possess it was to be beholden to Her.

The blonde sorceress stepped forward, lifting her right hand.  Parker tensed, but didn’t draw his weapon.  “Impressive,” she purred, a hint of malice interlaced with her tone.  “Perhaps you are a worthy opponent, peasant.”

“Funny how you didn’t think that till you got a good look at my magic,” Parker snapped, no longer bothering to conceal his contempt.

Morgause snorted.  “Even the mightiest have no defense against magic, peasant.”

“I think you’d be surprised what we Muggles can do,” the stocky man hissed.

How very interesting.  He had embraced his magic, yet still saw himself as a Muggle.  Perhaps a deliberate way to identify himself with his non-magical subordinates?  Curious, curious indeed.

Her sister eyed their captives, not responding immediately.  When she did, her voice had turned conciliatory.  “Your bravery has not gone unmarked, peasant.  Perhaps we may bargain for the woman’s freedom.”  She let that ring in the air.  “Swear allegiance to the Triple Goddess and Her High Priestesses and I vow that we shall not touch the woman, her family, or your own.”

One brow rose above hazel dappled scarlet.  “So.  You’re willing to let us go so long as I forfeit my soul.”  He shook his head slowly.  “Not much of a deal from my perspective, ‘specially since the first thing you’d do is demand I attack my own in the name of your goddess.”

Oh, very good.  Very good.  Morgana applauded lightly, ignoring Morgause’s disgruntlement that she’d been so easily seen through.  It was so fun to see the befuddlement on Parker’s face, the squint to his eyes as he tried to figure out what she was up to.  “Sister,” she cried, malicious delight ringing loud.  “You cannot sway this one.  He is most intent upon his own destruction.”

“So I see,” Morgause agreed.  A shadowy fireball erupted above her fingers.  “Draw that weapon, peasant, and I shall not hesitate.”

For an instant, Morgana saw Parker battle with himself.  Weigh the odds.  Then he sighed and let his right hand slip away from his sidearm.  He remained where he was, but his stance changed from challenging to at-ease.  The closest he could get to surrendering without removing what little protection he could offer his mouse.

“Excellent.”  The fireball flexed wider in unspoken threat.  “Sister.”

Morgana smirked and gestured, conjuring her Patronus.  The elegant high-class mare appeared with a snort, emerald outlining pure white hooves, delicate legs, and perfectly sculpted ears.  The white muzzle turned towards Parker, whuffling gently into the palm he stretched out.  Humph.  He’d clearly been studying up on equines – he had the wide-eyed look of a novice beneath the forced calm.  Then he reached up and stroked the Patronus’ head.  Morgana felt her jaw give way as her Patronus leaned into the petting, whickering.  By the Triple Goddess, how was this possible?  Patroni were magical conjurations, no more substantial than ghosts.  You couldn’t pet them!  But clearly, Parker had missed the memo, as the modern-day peasants were apt to say.

She wiped away her astonishment before Morgause could turn and sniffed loudly in disdain.  “How very typical of you, Lieutenant.  Petting a Patronus.”  Inwardly, she flinched at the wounded expression her mare managed to affect.  Flicking a finger, she sent the mare trotting towards a door that led out of the sisters’ private area into the larger building.  “Follow.”

The stocky officer shot her a fulsome glare, but obeyed, ushering his mouse alongside him until they reached the doorway.  A beat before the door, he nudged her in front, acting as her rearguard, though his stance made it plain he expected a dagger in the back at any moment.  Morgana frowned, tapping one fingernail against her bottom lip.  It had to be an act – no one was that selfless, that willing to overlook past offences.

And yet, doubt niggled at her.  An unfamiliar emotion was burgeoning in her chest, one she refused to acknowledge even as it lightened the darkness that had been her faithful companion for centuries upon centuries.

It is time, little guardian.  Let us see your quality.

* * * * *

In the back of his mind was a litany from every SRU handbook he’d ever read and every course on negotiation he’d ever taken.  All of them pointing out the one-million-and-one ways he’d screwed up the negotiation with the le Fay sisters from the get-go.  On the opposite side were his instincts and prior encounters – direct and indirect – with said sisters.  That side was adamant that negotiation had been so laughably futile that he’d gained more by taking a strong stance and refusing to bend.  Not to mention the fact that magic was involved and when magic was in play, words mattered far more than they did in your standard every day negotiating.

He let the debate go on for a good minute or so – just long enough for Morgana’s equine Patronus to guide himself and Marina to their destination.  Then he shut down the debate in favor of eyeing the medieval cell built into the building’s outer wall.  Hmmm…a corner cell, too.  Far roomier than the last cell Morgana had shoved him into.  Must be coming up in the world to rate a cell large enough to move around in.

Greg swallowed down the acid sarcasm and turned around, continuing to keep himself between Marina and the le Fay sisters as Morgana used her magic to herd them into the cage.  Beside her, Emilia allowed her fireball to dissipate in favor of snapping her fingers; the cell door banged shut only inches from the end of his nose and he jumped involuntarily.  Judging by the matching smiles, he had a nasty feeling he was about to regret getting out of bed in the morning.

Morgana swooped in close, emerald sparkling as she stretched an arm through the bars towards his chin; he backed away, out of reach.  Briefly, she pouted at him, then eased back.  “As you will, little knight.”  Stroking the bars, she smiled, malicious delight oozing off her.  “You have my deepest condolences on the forthcoming death of your fiancé, little knight.”

Marina squeaked and he widened his stance, hazel hardening towards topaz.  He would not let them hurt her.  Not while he still had breath in his body.

“Just so,” Emilia drawled.  “We shall give the two of you a moment to farewell.”

“You’ll have to go through me, first,” he growled.

The sorceress laughed, a haughty, sneering laugh that grated against hearing and nerves alike.  “Do you imagine that I would sully myself with such an insignificant mouse?”  Glee spread across her face, along with an eager anticipation of the events at hand.  “Oh, no, peasant.  ‘Tis not I who will harm your mouse.  No, no, no – it shall be at your hand alone that she falls.”

“Never,” he vowed.

Her smile never faltered.  “No?” she inquired, coy with knowledge that sent a thrill of fear up his spine.  “Let us see if your magic agrees, peasant.”

Before he could react – do or say anything – she flung out a hand.  Red-gold picked him up, yanking him forward and flipping him around in mid-air so his back struck the bars and he was facing a petrified Marina.

“Greg!”

Even as she cried his name, emerald power forced her backwards to the cell’s outer wall, forming a shield that stretched across the center of the enclosure.  Fear morphed into dread as he inspected the magical barrier keeping him from Marina.  He knew how protective his gryphon side was of his Flock.  How it reacted to threats against his Pride.  He’d seen it all before, back when he’d been at the mercy of his own magic and animal instincts.

Part of him wanted to beg – he didn’t want to go back to that!  To living in fear of himself.  Wondering how long he could hold out against the darkest part of his soul.  The nightmares of the chaos he could – would – unleash if the feral gryphon inside him ever got loose.

But he knew – they were going to do it, no matter what he said.  Begging would only bring him right back to the same offer he’d already rejected.  So he fixed his eyes on Marina and prayed the Lion’s protection would be enough to stop them.

“Déor heortscræf cwicast eorðcynn ġeþanc.  Hwara cynehláford āsēcþ, swá āsēċaþ allan, oþþæt Þrifildan Gydenu drífeþ. (1)”

Power erupted, striking him with all the force of a lightning bolt; he couldn’t have cried out if his life depended on it as every nerve from head to toe went wild.  He felt his heart thrashing in his chest, beating so rapidly that he feared it would explode and his eyes burned.

He struggled, the depths of his soul begging for help.  For the Lion to stop what was happening.  Keep him from whatever hell the le Fay sisters had planned.  But the power spreading through mind, heart, and soul was unstoppable.  Fingers and toes went numb, followed by hands and feet.  The numbness spread inwards, through arms and legs, hips and shoulders, and into his chest.  He gasped as the feeling in his heart, lungs, and magical core vanished, throwing his head back in futile resistance.   In between one gulp and the next, he realized he couldn’t feel his throat.  His jaw or tongue or nose.  Then the spell hit his brain and his mind screamed an instant before his whole body went slack, pure scarlet blazing in place of hazel.

[1] Old English for ‘Animal heart becomes human mind.  Where liege-lord-king goes, so go all, until the Triple Goddess speaks.’

Chapter Text

“Greg!” Marina screamed, pounding against the magical barrier that kept her from him.  Head limp against his chest, he didn’t react.  Didn’t move.  Didn’t breathe.  “What have you done to him?” she yelled, terror mixing with despair.  They’d killed him – they’d killed her Greg.

“Peace, little mouse,” Emilia soothed, though her gentle tone was at odds with the dark glee in her red-gold eyes.  “The Hour of Judgment is at hand.”

His fingers twitched.  Flexed.  She sucked in a breath, praying.  He inhaled, chest expanding with the force of the air he pulled in.  Then his head came back up, but his hazel was gone.  In its place was a horrid scarlet.  Glowing bright as a Sith’s lightsaber – she knew it was evil as soon as it fixed on her and she wept.  That curse, it must’ve been some kind of demonic possession.

The demon cocked Greg’s head, letting out a tiny whine at the sight of her.  Then it cried out, screaming in Greg’s voice as it doubled over, collapsing forward in Emilia’s restraining spell.  Wings erupted from Greg’s back, arching out as if he was turning into some sort of bird.  His legs blurred, turning into animal limbs.  Paws and fur and knees bent backwards, all the way up to his waist.  A tail lashed out from behind him, a cat-like tail topped with eagle feathers.

“Oh, my,” the brunette witch purred, strolling sideways to get a better look at the demon inhabiting her poor Greg’s body.  “A stable partial transformation.  I thought that was impossible.”  She tapped a nail to her lips.  “I wonder if he can fly.”

The demon growled at her, flexing those massive wings.

“Gryphon.  Have you a name?” Emilia inquired, drawing the demon’s attention.

It stiffened even further, growling louder as its tail lashed.

Emilia tisked.  “Such disregard he has for you, that he will not even grant you a name.”

Burning scarlet narrowed.  “Must earn.”  Greg’s voice, but not his soul, with a grating, raspy overtone that spoke of ill-use.  “You.  Hurt my human.”

“Regrettable, but most necessary, I assure you.”  Emilia bowed her head.  “I have Summoned you that you may Judge the actions of this woman.”  She flung a hand out at Marina, who shrank back as the demon’s horrible gaze landed on her.

The demon examined her, frowning with Greg’s mouth, fingers flexing open and closed like claws.  At last it rumbled, “Speak, Morgause, Daughter of Gorlois.”

For the first time, Emilia faltered.  “You know who I am?”

Scarlet flicked to her, savage amusement glittering in their depths.  “Obviously.”  In that moment, the demon was so very Greg that Marina gawked in renewed horror.

Emilia – Morgause – took a step back, then lifted her chin once more, regaining a haughty air.  “Very well.”  She gestured towards Marina again, only a little less dramatically than the first time.  “In the name of gaining your human’s devotion, this one pretended friendship.  Yet once she had secured your human’s attention – and, indeed – his affections, she plotted against your Fledglings.”

The demon growled.

“Oh, yes,” Morgause emphasized.  “Bit by bit, she stole your human from your Fledglings.  Robbed them of his time and attention.  Excluded them from family outings.  Pushed them towards the edge of the nest with no regard for whether their wings were strong enough to fly unaided.  And when at last she pushed them from their safe perch, they fell into most unsavory company.  A slavering wolf, greedy and eager, sought to take what he wished from your hatchling, forcing the tercel to defend his dear sister with tooth and claw.  Only to be savaged by the wolf and his mongrel pack.”

Scarlet burned and the demon thrashed in its bonds, snarling at her.

“You saved them – so intricate was her plot that your human no longer remembered your Fledglings.  But you would not let him be and so he snatched them away to safety before the wolves could maul them any further.”

Marina whimpered, cringing away from the rage in the demon’s eyes.  The hatred, the howl for vengeance.

“Yet even then, she would not let your human and your poor, injured Fledglings be!  She poisoned your human with a Love Potion, one which would’ve robbed him of his very humanity.  When even that attempt failed, she snatched your tercel from his nest as he lay recuperating!  Once she secreted him in a remote location, she stabbed him and poisoned him with a Suppression Potion.”

“I didn’t!” Marina screamed.  “You did that!”  She reached out towards her beloved, ignoring the demon’s outrage.  “Greg, please, you know what really happened.  I took him, but after Emilia attacked him, I called you.  I told you where we were!  Please, I never meant to hurt them!”

The demon’s wings flared wide, casting shadows on its face – all she could see was scarlet, burning into her with fury and hate and darkness.  Evil incarnate, possessing the man she loved most in the world.  Its muscles bunched and strained as it fought to get loose, to attack her.

“Oh, dear, we seem to have made him angry, haven’t we, Marina, dear?”

Marina glared as best she could at Emilia and her wretched sister.  “Greg won’t hurt me.  He would never hurt me.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” the brunette agreed.  “But that,” she gestured to the demon, “is not the Greg Parker you know.”  She smiled savage delight.  “That is his shadow, the darkest parts of his soul.  The gryphon that sleeps within, yet guides each and every one of his actions.”

Emilia waved her hand lazily and the demon dropped to the ground, stumbling as though it wasn’t quite sure how to move like a human.

“That is the deepest part of his magic and it will Judge you now,” Morgana le Fay finished.  “And so bring Judgment upon him.”

An instant later, she was alone with the demon possessing her beloved.  Her Greg.  As the magical barrier began to flicker, it growled and started towards her.

* * * * *

He could see.  Observe every move he made, as though standing outside himself, watching a movie or a Pensieve.  He winced as his body transformed, gaining wings and tail and even lion-like legs, but everything was muted and distant.  He was separate and aloof, with no real concern for what might happen.  Emotion tugged, slipping past this detached version of himself.

Whatever happened, happened.  The Judgment of Magic, enforced by the Goddess Herself.

He blinked.  That…that was wrong.  He didn’t answer to the Triple Goddess…did he?  A warm breeze touched his face, a whisper murmured in his ear, reassuring him.  Of course he did – all with magic answered to Her.

But that was wrong, too.  His Fledglings didn’t answer to the Goddess.  Neither had Artorius or Victoria.  Who did they answer to, he wondered, even as the detachment sought to soothe his mind.  To nestle him back into Her comforting embrace.

The woman was crying out, calling his name and begging for help.  Begging for his Magic to stop.  Pleading not to be hurt.  How foolish – did she think to escape Judgment?  He smiled as his Magic picked her up, slamming her into the wall.  Yes, yes.  Judgment for his Fledglings, at last.

Then she reached out and touched his arm – and he felt it.  “I forgive you, honey.  I know this isn’t you – that they made you do this.”

His Magic faltered – and so did he.  The High Priestesses?  They, they were just enforcing the Will of the Triple Goddess.  That was all.  Summoning his Magic to Judgment, just as he’d wanted.  This was right, this was just.  Wasn’t it?

“I want you to know, I never stopped loving you.”  He saw her close her eyes – a gasp tore through his detachment, sending emotion pouring through his being.  “I’ve missed you so much.”

‘Marina?’  He felt tears trickle down his face even as his Magic snarled offense.

The detachment snatched at him frantically, but he shook it off.  Marina.  She lifted her chin, brave in spite of the fear he could smell.  Her gray met his solid scarlet.  “Just, please, if you ever loved me, make it quick.”

His Magic roared, hurling her sideways and into the metal bars of the cage.  She slid to the ground and his Magic advanced, fury a living thing inside his chest.  Fully gryphon with no trace of humanity.

‘No!  Marina!’

Memory slammed into him with the force of ten-ton nuclear bomb and he collapsed, his spirit’s palms hitting the ground of the cell.  His head came up, bound to his Magic, yet separate like the half-alive ghost he’d been for a couple hours once upon a time.

‘Stop!  Don’t hurt her!’

On the cusp of seizing the front of Marina’s blouse, the gryphon froze.  Turning its – his – head, it growled, revealing fangs in place of his canines.  “Hurt my human.  Hurt my Fledglings.”

He staggered back to his feet, absently grateful that his spirit had defaulted to a fully human form, even if he could feel the weight of a ghost trap dangling off his belt.  SRU Team One Ghostly Ghostbuster, round two.

‘I know.  I know she hurt me and my kids.  But it wasn’t just her.’

Another growl rumbled.  “Explain.”

‘The Malfoys.  They tricked her into thinking they were the kids’ parents.  And Emilia tricked her, too.  She didn’t even know magic was real; she had no way of knowing what those love potions would do to me or the others.’

Solid scarlet narrowed.  “Morgause.”  A hand waved to the confused, bewildered, terrified Marina.  “This one claimed that Morgause stabbed my Tercel and poisoned him.”

‘Yes, she did,’ Greg confirmed.  ‘Used a Suppression Potion powerful enough to kill him.  Or he could’ve bled out from the thigh wound.’

“She pay, they pay,” the gryphon vowed.  “Judgment.”

‘No,’ Greg insisted.  ‘I cast Marina out of my life.  That was my Judgment.  She regrets what she did and she only came back because Morgause and Morgana threatened her family.’

About to turn back towards his victim, the gryphon paused.  Wings hiked a touch higher in interest.  “You Judge as human?”

‘Yes.  I broke up with her.  Banished her with no chance to ever become my mate.’

Intrigued, the gryphon cocked its head to the side.  “This.  Judgment?”

He nodded.  ‘Ask her.  Ask her how much it hurt when I broke up with her.’

“I ask.  You.  Not done.”

Ghostly hazel closed in pain.  ‘No, I’m not.’  He opened his eyes again, gazing right into the depths of his scarlet magic.  ‘Please, I’m begging you.  Don’t make me a murderer.  Even if you decide she does deserve it, please don’t make me do it.’

Silence hung.  They both knew that if the gryphon did not strike Marina down, Morgause would not.  She would taunt the gryphon endlessly, throwing Marina’s actions in its face for as many times as it took, but she wouldn’t risk losing the chance to force Greg into cold-blooded murder.

Then the gryphon let out a rumble and shook itself from head to wings to paws.  Its tail shook itself out, too, eagle feathers flaring wide.  “Hurt you.  Many times.  Not hurt again.”

He swallowed hard, dread curdling in his gut and settling into his Adam’s apple like a lump.

The gryphon turned, looming over Marina with spread wings, a wide, crouched stance, and fingers curled into claws.  “My human banish you?”

“What?”  Marina scooted back into the bars, staring up in abject terror.  “Greg?”

“Not Greg,” the gryphon snapped, wings flaring higher.  “My human?  He banish?  Cast out?”  It cocked its head to the side.  “Break?  Up?”

“Oh,” Marina breathed.  “Yes, he did.”

“Hurt you?  Inside?”

She sniffled hard, scrubbing at fresh tears in her eyes.  “Yes,” she whimpered.  Lifting her chin, she met the gryphon’s eyes.  “I love him, but…  He couldn’t forgive me.  Not after what I did.”

“Hurt his Fledglings,” the gryphon hissed, bristling.  “My Fledglings.”

Marina curled in on herself.  “I wish I hadn’t,” she sobbed.  “I wish I’d never met the Malisons!  Or Emilia!”

The gryphon reared back, then leaned forward, studying her.  “Make wet.  Why?”

Behind it, Greg laughed a hollow sounding laugh.  ‘When we humans are sad, we cry.’

It craned around, gazing at him with wide scarlet.  “What cry?”

“What?” Marina whispered, lifting wet, reddened eyes.  “Who…who are you talking to?”

A growl reverberated and she cringed back as the gryphon’s hard gaze landed on her once more.  “Why sad?”

“I lost someone I loved.”

“Your fault.”

‘Not helping!’ Greg snapped.  ‘That’s called rubbing it in!’

Eagle wings flexed and the gryphon craned back at him.  “Rub what in?”

“You.  You’re talking to someone.  Who?”

Parker crossed his arms, forcing himself to stay focused on his magical self.  ‘Salt.  If you rub salt in the wound, it hurts.  And you are pouring on the salt, big time.’

The gryphon considered this, wings flicking to and fro as fingers twitched and the lion’s tail lashed.  “Love.  Her?”

He winced.  ‘Yeah,’ he whispered, eyes dropping to the ground.  ‘I do.  Even after…’  He gestured helplessly.  ‘Everything.  But my kids, they’ll never trust me again if I take her back.’  Another hollow laugh echoed in thin air.  ‘I chose them.  I can never again choose the other.’

“Greg?  Greg, is that you?”

“Miss?  Her?”

Wild hazel shot back up.  ‘Oh, gee, ya think!  I love her and I can’t ever have her again!’  He crumpled even as the gryphon reared back.  ‘What can I do?  What can I say?  She’s all that I could ever hope for – she means everything to me.  But she hurt my kids.’

“Greg, are you still here?”

He looked at her, seeing her hand outstretched, emotion shining in her eyes.  Faith, hope, love.  He couldn’t help it, he reached back, ghostly fingers brushing hers, yet never grasping.  How could he bear what lay ahead?  Living without her with so much unsaid.  But…his kids…  He couldn’t let them down again.

He collapsed down on his knees, a whimper of anguish escaping.  Kids…or Marina…  He couldn’t have both, no matter how much he longed for her.  How much he missed her.  To remember their journey together…why was this where it had led?

Then he felt fingers curl around his wrist.  Familiar, even if he wasn’t used to feeling them as a third-party.  Greg Parker lifted his head towards his magic side.  The gryphon inhabiting his body – so out of place in a human world and unfamiliar with human customs.  His magic, fully unshackled and free to do as it pleased.

The gryphon tugged, pulling his hand back to Marina’s.  Then it clasped Marina’s wrist and turned her palm upwards.  He lowered a hair, wrapping his fingers around her wrist – and hazel widened in pure awe as she focused on him and grasped back.

“Greg,” she breathed, relief shining.  “You’re alive.”

A faint smile quirked his jaw.  “Yeah.  Just a little…divided…at the moment.”

His magical half cackled amusement.  “Human.  Soul.”  A feral smile lit his body’s face.  “Mine.”

“And you’re mine,” Greg murmured, unsurprised at the instant nod.  “What, not taking the chance to be free?”

A low rumbling growl, accompanied by a tail lash he felt.  And the first complete sentences the gryphon had managed this time.  “I am the power, but you are the soul.  My power is enriched by your heart.”  The feral smile widened, accented by fangs.  “Tolay cannot trick me into weakening myself this time.”

He blinked.  “You.  You need me?”  His gryphon half nodded somberly.  Greg swallowed nervously, but…  “So.  Can we just…rejoin?  Like last time?”

The gryphon hissed angrily, wings flexing in equal fury.  “Witches.  Want you to bow.  Want them to bow.”

Fresh dread curled.  “Something you can’t explain?  ‘Cause I got absolutely nothin’ outta that.”

Scarlet locked on his hazel and in an instant, he knew.  He knew what Morgause’s real plan was, beyond even her attempt to turn him into a murderer.  He opened his mouth to tell Marina and choked when Morgause’s spell wrapped around him, silencing him as razor-sharp red-gold talons wrapped around his soul and squeezed.

Dammit.  How the hell do we get outta this one?

His gryphon side nodded in perfect accord.

Chapter Text

“Greg!” Marina cried as she saw his ghost flinch back, free hand rising to his head.

Determination warred with pain as he locked eyes with her.  “Marina.  Listen.  I don’t have much time.”  He leaned forward, intensity glowing despite his wispy state.  “Tell Eddie he needs to remember everything I said the night we went to Houston.  Everything, understand?”

She nodded.  “Everything you said the night you went to Houston.  I’ll tell him, Greg, I promise.”

He doubled over, crying out, fading despite the demon’s grip on her and him.  Even so, the grimace was one of stubborn defiance.  “Tell him – where we go one, we go all.”  A scream cut the air and he almost completely vanished, save for the faintest outline of his form.  But she could still hear him, thrusting forth one last warning.  “Tell him that this time, he has to choose the other.”

She snatched for where he’d been as his voice cut off, outline winking out at the same instant.  “Greg, please!  Don’t leave me alone!”

He didn’t answer, but the demon reached out with its now free hand, pulling her chin around to face it.  “Not.  Alone.  Promise.”

Her lip trembled.  “But you…  What are you?”

It reared back, releasing her.  Though it nearly overbalanced from its crouch, the bird wings flared, going as flat and wide as they could, and it managed to rock forward onto its paws.  Its right hand fell, coming to rest on Greg’s gun, still tucked in the holster now fastened around the fur of the demon’s leg instead of the leather-like leggings her Greg had been wearing.  It blinked down at his weapon as if perplexed by its presence.  Two fingers stroked the very top – the slide?

When it glanced back up at her, she was taken aback by the almost shy expression in glittering scarlet orbs.  The nervous twitching from its wings and tail – and the furry, feathery lion ears she hadn’t noticed before, looking rather out of place in the remnants of Greg’s brown hair.  Although…hadn’t he had a little more gray mixed in with the brown before?  Resting its right hand on Greg’s chest, it said, “I.  Magic.  Shade.”  Its shoulders slumped, an unhappy whine escaping as its wings sank down and the feathers on its tail wilted.  “No name.  Must earn.”

Marina sucked in a breath, recalling that brunette’s last few statements before the sisters had left her all alone with the furious demon.  “You are Greg!”

It shook its head.  “Not my human.  Not…soul.”  It spread its hands.  “You?  Understand?”

She forced herself to hold that sinister scarlet gaze.  “But you are part of him, right?”

The demon – gryphon? – considered for a long minute before nodding.  “Darker.”  The furry, feathery ears flattened.  “Wild.”  It stopped, grimacing as it fought to speak clearly.  “When…he…talk…I…fight…”

“The darkest part of his soul,” Marina murmured.  “You…you’re the part of him that’s ruthless.  That does whatever he has to do to protect the people he loves.”

It perked up, nodding.

“And you’re…his magic?”

Another nod.  “I.  Gryphon.”

Well.  Gryphon might do for a name.  But…  Marina tapped her lip, thinking hard.  Recalling Greg’s stories of his undercover assignment and how he’d had to fight to maintain his authority over the criminals working for his alter ego.

“Would you mind if I call you Elias?” she ventured.

The gryphon jerked, scarlet going so wide that she could see the black pupil at the center.  “You?  Give name?  After I hurt?”

She met its gaze unflinchingly.  “Well, you don’t seem to like me calling you Greg.  You don’t have to keep it if you don’t like it, but I have to call you something.”

Silence hung as those feathery, furry ears pricked forward and the gryphon studied her with predatory intensity.  Not so much as a feather twitched during that scrupulous examination.  At last it said, “Hurt my Fledglings.”

Marina swallowed nervously, but forced herself to meet that burning gaze and nod.

“Hurt my human.”

Fresh tears budded as she nodded again.

“But…regret…?”  It – he – was suddenly hesitant, testing the uncertain waters between them.

“Yes,” she half-sobbed, lifting a hand to her mouth.  “I wish I could take it back.  I wish that so much.”

His ears flattened.  “Can’t.”  The word was condemning, but his tone held a hint of sorrow that echoed her own.  “My human.  He Judge.  Cast you out.  Yes?”

“Yes, he broke up with me,” Marina confirmed, realizing that this was the gryphon’s – Elias’s – Judgment.  Greg had interrupted the first one.  “He took back the engagement ring and we…we hadn’t spoken since until today.”

“Hurt?  Inside?”

“Every day,” she gasped, unconsciously clutching her chest.  “I never stopped loving him.”

Scarlet narrowed and Elias thrust himself up, whirling away as soon as he was on his paws, wings almost hitting her.  Stalking to the door of their cell, he glanced over wing and shoulder.  “My human.  Would take you back.”

Hope flared to life in her chest, but she held still.  Watching her Judge, Jury, and Executioner.

“Hurt my Fledglings and I Judge.”

She drew in a deep breath.  “Is that just Lance and Alanna or do you care about Dean, too?”

He snapped around, wings arching and a feral snarl resounding in his chest as he bared the vampire-like fangs in his mouth.  “Mine.  All mine!  My Flock.  My Pride.”

Marina cringed away from that furious gaze, wringing her hands.  “I can’t…  I can’t promise to be perfect.”

A snort.  “No,” he agreed.

She met his scarlet, refusing to flinch.  “But I promise I will never intentionally put them in danger again.  I won’t try to drive them out of Greg’s life and I’ll do my very best to regain their trust.”

Elias considered her words, studying her even more intensely than he had before.  It took so long for him to speak that when he did, she jumped.  “Promise.  Accepted.”

* * * * *

A part of Marina expected that Emilia and her sister would reappear.  After all, Elias had gone on a rampage, only to stop just short of killing her.  Not exactly the outcome the sisters had planned on, though she was very grateful her Greg had been able to negotiate with his…feral side.

Unfortunately, Elias had ripped the front of her blouse at some point during the tussle and the cell they were in was in a very drafty part of the building.  Once the…excitement…died down, she finally become aware of just how cold she was.  Then she had to explain what shivering was to her Greg’s animal side.  He wasn’t cold at all, a combination of his fur and his magic – apparently magic was a natural insulator?  Or perhaps an internal furnace of some sort; despite his broken English, Elias managed to insist on tucking her in on his left side.  With his arm around her shoulders and one wing curled around her whole body, she felt warm.  Safe.  Protected.

She leaned against his chest, listening to Greg’s heartbeat and wishing they were back in his apartment.  Somewhere safe, in a world where she hadn’t treated his niece and nephew so badly.  A world where she’d never even heard the name ‘Malison’ or met the sweetly vicious Emilia.

Elias rumbled, bringing her head up.  His eyes still sent shudders up her spine, but each time she looked at them, she saw another detail that just didn’t match with her idea of possession.  Once he’d calmed down and the scarlet glow dimmed, she realized she could still see the whites of Greg’s eyes.  The black pupil at the center of Elias’s scarlet irises.  Regular, ordinary eyes, even if they were colored red.

He tilted his head, studying the opposite side of their cell.  The corner jutted into the building, marked by two sets of bars welded together and lightly tacked onto the ceiling above.  At first, Marina had been confused – the bars were tall enough to keep them in without adding a ceiling, but if that witch had been right, if Elias could fly, then it made perfect sense.

Marina reached up, tentatively resting a hand on Elias’s arm.  Though wary of setting him off again, she was coming to realize that he was Greg – a wild, untamed version that relied solely on instinct, with instant recall of every slight, but at his very core…  He was Greg, plain and simple.  She would have to earn his trust before she even had a chance to earn Lance and Alanna’s.  “Do you see something?”

Scarlet examined her before he dipped his chin in a brief nod.  “Warm now?”

“If you need to get up, I’ll be fine,” Marina reassured him, already scooting away.

His wing pulled away and he drew his lion-like legs and paws up underneath him, taking her at her word.  Literal – without Greg’s innate understanding of human nature and language, his feral half took everything at face value and struggled to understand concepts that were second nature to her.

Gazing up at his winged back, Marina frowned as she realized something.  Greg.  Greg was trusting her to remember everything he’d said – and she did – but those weren’t the only clues to that…that curse that they had.  “Elias?”

Partway to the far corner, he turned back, arching a brow even as he cocked his head – he looked so much like Greg that her heart stuttered.

“Do you know why Greg told me to turn my phone off?”

His head tilted further to the side, a frown appearing.  Then his ears perked forward and he nodded.  “Magic.  Break.”

Oh.  “Will it break my phone now?” she asked anxiously.  “If I can turn it on, I could call…”

“Break,” he repeated, shaking his head.  Wings spread and he gestured around them.  “Wards.  Magic.”  She sank down in disappointment and he padded back to her, ears twitching.  “Why?  Need?”

She wrung her hands, but explained, “I thought I could call the barn and they could trace our location.  Or, um, write down all the clues we have.  So they can free you – and Greg.”

Lion ears flexed back and forth as he reached up and rubbed his chin.  His wings bounced for a moment before settling back in place and she caught a glimpse of his tail arching upwards.  “My human.  Have…phone…  You…use?”

“I can try.”

He nodded and reached into his armor, jaw furrowing as he dug around for a few seconds before scarlet lit up and he pulled Greg’s phone out.  He proffered it and she took it, holding her breath as she hit the power button.  If Greg had a PIN, she’d be out of luck – the odds of Elias knowing it…

But the phone came to life, opening right to the home screen.  One finger darted for the call button, only to freeze as her gaze snagged on the notification bar.  No signal.  Heaving an internal sigh, she cautiously navigated through Greg’s apps until she found a note-taking app.  If she couldn’t call for help, at least she could start documenting things.  She’d been in enough client meetings to know that detailed notes were invaluable down the road, even if ‘down the road’ was later that same day.

Elias studied her, but when she didn’t look up from the phone except to flash a grateful smile, he rumbled satisfaction and turned back to his examination of the cell they were trapped inside.

* * * * *

She’d forgotten just how frustrating it was to ‘type’ on a tiny digital keyboard.  Type – hah, more like Hunt-and-Peck 2.0, the Smartphone Edition.  Nevertheless, she persevered, growing ever more familiar with the Backspace key – she kept accidentally hitting the wrong keys and was forced to erase what she’d just typed.

Thankfully, she’d had the wit to start with Greg’s warnings, capturing those rather cryptic – but potentially most crucial clues.  Marina opted not to even attempt to remember Morgause’s spell; it had been in a foreign language babble and she’d never been particularly gifted with languages.  Instead the veteran consultant and computer programmer captured the highlights and then backtracked to start fleshing out her ‘skeleton’ of a report.

She’d just finished up adding details to the second section when she heard a snarl, followed by a whoosh and something clinking against metal.  She looked up to see Elias clinging to the roof of their cell – or was it the bars? – growling and slamming his feet-paws against the exposed corner of the cage.  His wings flared out beneath him, extended so wide that the outermost feathers were brushing the bars on both walls at the same time.

Over and over, he slammed his lion paw feet against the metal, snarl growing louder with each strike.  She was about to cry out for him to stop when she heard a groan of metal; freezing, she stared up at the ceiling, which was bouncing and vibrating more and more and more.

“Elias, the roof!”

He arched backwards, red eyes glittering from his upside-down position.  The snarl shifted to a triumphant screech-roar as he kicked, one last time, pushing off and spinning in midair to shoot right at her.  Before she could scream, he hit her, bowling them both over as his wings curled and metal collapsed around them.

* * * * *

Once the crashing and rattling stopped, Marina opened her eyes, swallowing down a yelp at the sight of Elias’s brilliant scarlet only inches from her.  The savage grin on his face widened and he eased back, thankfully pushing off the ground rather than her.  As he pulled away, Marina gazed upwards, gray widening at the way the ceiling was slanting downwards at a sharp angle.  She forced herself to take the time to tuck Greg’s cell phone away in a safe pocket of her light tan slacks before sitting up.

From her new vantage, she saw what Elias had done.  No longer were the walls of bars at a perfect ninety degree angle with the building’s concrete walls.  Instead they leaned outwards like inanimate drunks, bent at the bars and studs attached to the outer walls.  Without support, the metal ceiling was left to drape down, hovering only inches above the ground at the outermost point, where the barred walls had once been welded together.

Dust from the concrete and the walls coated the floor of the cell and some had landed on her clothing.  As Elias stretched and turned to and fro, inspecting his work, she saw that the majority of the dust had adhered to his wings, tail, and back.  There was probably dust on his legs, too, but his fur was a dark enough color that it was hard to tell in the dim lighting.  Before she could say anything, Elias advanced to where the ceiling hung down in front of him.  Reaching out, he pushed it upwards, rumbling satisfaction as it lifted easily, opening up a gap large enough for them to slip underneath.

Glancing over his shoulder and wing, he growled, “You.  First.”

Marina stared between him and the ceiling, realization dawning.  His inability to speak proper English had led her to believe he was simple.  Brutish, unintelligent, and incapable of anything beyond violence.  Foolishly, she’d assumed Greg had retained all the intelligence, leaving Elias with mere instinct, ruthless resolve, and perhaps some of Greg’s SRU expertise.  She’d been so very, very wrong.

His tail lashed and a subvocal snarl rattled the air.  “Now.”

Broken free from her stupor, Marina nodded and pushed forward, rocking onto her feet and then back onto her palms.  Wary of the metal’s sharp edges, she crawled underneath, inwardly cringing at every bounce it made, but Elias kept it well up and away from her.

Once she was clear, Marina stood up, ignoring the coat of dust now on her hands, shoes, and slacks.  Elias examined her, nodding approval before he walked forward, still pushing the ceiling up as he moved.  The metal rose higher and higher in the air until he reached the very tip, right where it had been tacked onto the bars now sagging towards the floor.  He halted, wings twitching as he calculated his next move.  Marina hastily moved sideways, determined not to block Elias’s path – she had no idea how strong those wings of his were, but she was betting it would hurt if the metal managed to catch them.

He tipped his head in thanks, then focused back on the metal.  With a snarl, he thrust it upwards and darted forward, tucking and rolling in his haste to get away.  The metal let out a groaning sound as it arched upwards for the merest instant.  Then it crashed back down, only just missing the feathers on Elias’s tail.

Marina scrambled to Elias, anxiously scanning him for any injuries.  His wings flared, the feathered tail lashing, and he bounced in place with a rumble that almost sounded like a purr.  The savage grin reappeared, out of place on Greg’s face, but perfectly matched with the triumphant glow in Elias’s scarlet eyes.

“Free,” he declared, satisfaction mixing with feral delight.

“Now we just have to get out of here,” Marina agreed.  About to take charge, she paused and studied Elias.  “How did you know that would work?”

He shrugged, the movement emphasized by his wings making the same motion.  “Strong.  Just knew.”  Turning, he lifted his head, examining their surroundings.  Then he snorted and started to walk.  “Follow.”

Well, there went her chance for taking charge.  Nevertheless, Marina hurried to catch up with her Greg, unwilling to risk being left behind by his wild counterpart.

* * * * *

As the pair moved through the building, Marina kept most of her attention on Elias.  It was the easiest way to keep herself from panicking – and he intrigued her.  Broken English and operating on pure instinct, yet he clearly understood everything that was happening.  He’d been able to figure out the one weak spot of their cell and exploit that vulnerability without either of them getting so much as a scratch, demonstrating complex reasoning she’d thought beyond him in the absence of ‘his human’ – her Greg.

He moved with confidence, head up and eyes scanning their surroundings, yet whenever his right hand brushed Greg’s gun, it shied away, as if he was afraid of his one real weapon.  Which wasn’t good – if the witch sisters caught them escaping, they would need Greg’s gun and she certainly couldn’t fire the thing.

Speeding up a bit more, she dared to reach out and tug Elias to a halt.  His ears flicked in confusion as he turned, studying her.  “Marina?”

It was the first time he’d said her name and it was so tentative.  So uncertain.  So much like Greg.  She forced her emotions down, swallowing hard.  “Elias, why are you scared of Greg’s gun?”

He whined, ears flattening and his wings curling inwards.  “My human’s.  Not mine.”

“I know, but it’s our only weapon,” Marina reminded him, earning another whine.  “You said when Greg talks, you fight.”

Elias nodded, cocking his head to the side.

Gently, Marina grasped his right hand and pulled it down to the gun.  “Well, this is how Greg fights when he has to.  If you’re the fighter, then you’re who fires this, right?”

He pulled his hand away, but the blink in her direction was thoughtful.  Considering.  Reaching down himself, he ran one finger over the gun grip.  “My human fights?”

Marina nodded.  “When we were still together, he told me that he trains with his gun several times a week to keep his skills sharp.  Every year, his team has to requalify and part of that is fighting.”  A faint smile peeked through.  “The SRU may be talk before tactics, Elias, but if they have to fight, they make sure they win.”

“But…my human…?”

She almost laughed at the disbelief in his voice.  “You have Greg’s memories, right?”

Scarlet eyeballed her for a moment as he rumbled and nodded.  Then it unfocused for several seconds, going wider and wider.  When he refocused on her, his eyes were so wide, she could see the whites even with the glow.  “My human fights.”

“Yes,” Marina whispered, wistful.  “He’s really very good at it, isn’t he?”

Elias grinned, fangs glinting, and he nodded once.  His right hand wrapped around Greg’s gun with all the confidence he’d been lacking before.  “Yes.  Protects his own.”  Another nod.  “Protect my Pride.  My Fledglings.”  He tugged the gun up an inch before releasing it and letting it settle back in the holster as his attention fixed on her.  “Marina.  Thank.  You.”

She bit her lip, uncertainty surging.  “I, um…  I just knew we needed it if they come back again.  That’s all,” she finished, gaze dropping to the floor and her shoulders hunching.

She was caught off guard when one hand gently pushed her chin back up.  The shy, tentative glitter in scarlet was so Greg that she felt tears trickle out.  He cocked his head.  “Make wet.  Sad?”

Marina surged forward, grabbing him and crying into his armored chest.  She heard a chirrup of surprise and felt a twitch under her fingers where she was touching the base of his wings.  Then his arms came around her, pulling her close, and his wings folded forward, sweeping around her whole body as he rested his forehead on hers.

Chapter Text

If he hadn’t already been bald, he would’ve ripped all his hair out.  They’d been right behind them!  Not even five minutes – and the place had been vacant.  Just an eerie sense of something and a bunch of second-hand clothing on racks in a store that had been way too dim for shoppers.

Lou had been running a trace on the Sarge’s phone even before Ed could bark the order, but as soon as the screen started getting jittery and bouncing from place to place, they’d known.  Wards.  Again.  The goblins really needed to fix that problem.  Soon.

Roy, Giles, and KITT had been close enough to swoop in, but neither their resident supercar nor their resident wizard had had any better luck.  About the only additional clue they had was confirmation that an Old Religion transport spell had been used on the building’s second floor.

Giles called in the patrol Aurors and Team One left them to rip the clothing store apart from top to bottom while they returned to the barn, hoping beyond hope that there would be options.  Some how, some way, to trace Greg and Marina’s location – after all, this was hardly the first time Latin magic had been forced to contend with the Old Religion.  Surely someone had been researching how to defeat the Old Religion’s inherent advantages.

Apparently not.  Locksley turned up long enough to wring her hands, then vanished back to the magic-side of the barn after voicing her total confidence that Greg and Team One would prevail in this latest challenge.  Ed hadn’t been the only one on the cusp of spitting nails after that charming declaration – even Giles had been visibly annoyed by the commander’s response.

With no help from their usual sources, Ed dug out his cell phone and flipped to a particular number in his contact list.  Praying, he tapped the call button and brought the phone up, jaw clenching as the other side rang.  And rang.  And rang.  When it finally went to voicemail, he said, “This is Ed Lane.  Call me when you get this; it’s an emergency.”

Kira looked up from her keyboard when he lowered the phone with a muttered curse.  “Sir, we’re going to find them.”

“How?” Jules inquired from the other side of the dispatcher desk.  She held up her hand, ticking points off on her fingers.  “We’re dealing with the Old Religion, so magical tracking is out.  We’ve got wards, so tracking Sarge’s phone is out.  Marina’s phone is off and magic would fry it anyway if she tries to turn it on.”  A grimace.  “And Ed just tried to call Merlin, but I guess he’s outta town.  Again.”

“For all we know, they’re already dead.”  Levering the words out of his gut hurt, but…  They were dealing with Morgana.  Plus their twisted, vengeful unknown – a name, a description, and a list of crimes did not a profile make.

“No.”  Wordy’s voice dragged him out of his misery, pulling his eyes up off the countertop.  “They’re alive until proven otherwise, Boss.  I am not writing Sarge off just ‘cause he got kidnapped.  Again.  He’s a lot tougher than he looks.”

When he had full access to his magic, sure, but with the ‘team sense’ down…  The Sergeant’s fingers curled and he forced the ‘what-if’s away.  No.  Greg was alive, he was staying that way, and they just had to keep looking until they found the first clue they needed.  Giving up was not an option.  Never again.  Which meant they needed another angle.  One Morgana wouldn’t – couldn’t – anticipate.

His fingers drummed on the countertop, a sudden memory surfacing.  Greg, calling him not long after he’d broken up with Marina and asking him to wrangle Team One in to cover for Team Four’s shift.  Of course he’d asked why.  Greg had been…evasive…not wanting to betray any privileged information, but eventually Ed had wriggled some of the facts out of the other man.  Including the fact that Greg had found another relative, this one, quite ironically, in the ranks of the SRU itself.  He’d promised to keep quiet about it, but if there was any chance…

Lane straightened, already turning towards the locker room.

“Ed?”

“Boss?”

“Sergeant?”

He shifted back, regarding his teammates and Kira seriously.  “I might have another angle, but I promised Greg.”

Understanding filtered in, earning him several nods.  “Go to it, Boss,” Sam called, tossing him a thumbs up.

“I’ll keep working on the trace,” Lou added from right next to the sniper.  “If Sarge and Marina get away from the wards, it’ll work.”

“Keep me posted,” Ed ordered.  Turning away again, he stalked down the ramp and angled for the locker room.  Pushing his way in, he found Team Four, right at the start of gearing up for their shift.

“Sergeant Lane?” their team leader Leon inquired.

Ed’s blue landed on one man in particular.  “Parker’s missing,” he announced, watching hazel recoil as the dark-haired man paled.  “Onasi found traces of an Old Religion transport spell, but Greg and another hostage are behind wards.  Lou can’t get a lock on ‘em and the Auror Division still hasn’t figured out how to track anything other than Latin.”

“And you are hoping that I might have some options?” Constable Lancelot Cabrera inquired.

“Worth a shot,” Ed confirmed.  “The kids won’t be able to help; wards block the family magic.  I know Lance was trying to figure out a way to track even with wards in play, but there’s a lot he’s just doesn’t know.”

Lancelot sighed, running a hand through his hair – Ed swallowed down pain at how alike the young constable was to Greg in that moment.  “Sergeant Lane, I know even less than Parker’s kids do.  I’m still working on mastering basic spells.”

Oh.  Discouragement slumped his shoulders.

“Who are we dealing with, do we know?”

Startled, Ed’s gaze flew to Team Four’s bomb tech.  The man eyed him with a shrewd, knowing gleam in his dark gray eyes.

“We know Morgana’s in play, but she may not be our primary.”

“Who else?” the tall, brawny Percival inquired, frowning.

“First name is Emilia,” Ed reeled off.  “Possibly related to Morgana, but we don’t know for sure.”

To his surprise, every man in the locker room went rigid.  “Description?” Leon barked.

“Tall, slim, brown eyes, blonde.”  Only his sniper training kept him from stuttering as Leon stiffened more and more with each word, a deadly gleam shining in the constable’s darker shade of blue.  “She was involved with the attack that landed Greg and his nephew in the hospital for a week.”

“I remember that,” Lancelot put in, scowl fierce.  “Leon, she dosed the boy with a Suppression Potion strong enough to kill him and stabbed him in the leg.”  The scowl deepened.  “Parker told me that she invoked the Triple Goddess during the attack.”

“A High Priestess?” another member of Team Four asked, dark eyes gleaming from within a face several shades darker than Lou – Elyan, Ed thought his name was.

“Yes,” Lancelot confirmed, tone slow with calculation.  “If she is related to Morgana…”

“Morgause,” Leon declared, crossing his arms.  “She was Morgana’s half-sister.”

Was, not is…  Ed felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle and realization dawned as he stared at Sir Leon.  Flicked his gaze to Sir Percival.  Lancelot he’d already known about, but…  His mouth opened without his consent.  “I thought you went back.”

Most of the men startled, but Leon grinned and Percival chuckled.  “We did,” Leon confirmed, amusement glowing.  Sobering at the question in Ed’s eyes, he said, “We went back, but…”

“The hydra got us,” Percival explained, ignoring his teammates’ horrified reactions.  “Just like in the original timeline.”

“Then…what was the point?” Ed demanded.  He’d nearly been written out of history for no reason?

Leon’s smile was sad.  Knowing.  “We – I – had to learn that magic wasn’t what Uther claimed it was.  I grew up in the shadow of the Purge; by the time I was an adult, I believed with every fiber of my being that magic was a choice.  That choosing magic made a person evil.”  He shook his head.  “Even when Geoffrey told me the truth, I would not believe it.  I could not see him as evil, but I couldn’t accept the idea that magic… wasn’t…”

“And then you ended up in Toronto,” Ed breathed.

Both former knights nodded.  “Sergeant Parker,” Leon began, expression faraway.  “He has Geoffrey’s eyes.  Lancelot’s eyes.”  Blue sharpened, focusing back on Ed.  “That is how I figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

The smile brightened.  “That he has magic, of course.”

* * * * *

Marina trailed after Elias, very aware of her hand in his grasp.  Her right palm tingled and her soul thrilled in the contact between them.  He was using his left hand, leaving his right free if they ran into any trouble, but even that shade of protectiveness was enough to send hope shooting through her veins.

His scarlet eyes darted about, constantly scanning their surroundings for anything out of the ordinary as he led them onwards, always trending upwards.  She would’ve thought down would be a better direction – the only thing up was the roof – but if he really was Greg’s ruthless, tactical side, then he knew what he was doing.  She could trust him to see them safely to freedom.

Then, in between one step and the next, Elias halted, right hand rising to his chest.  Before she could say anything, she heard a soft whimpering whine.  Scarlet flew to her as he began to pant, jaw twisting in pain.  He pulled his hand free from hers, wrapping both arms around his middle as he folded over, letting out those pathetic little whines.  When he sank down onto his ‘backwards’ knees, she followed him, uncertain of what was wrong now or how she could help.  He keened, the sound tearing at her hearing and so sorrowfully pathetic that her own chest ached in sympathy.  One huge heaving pant later, it was over and he leaned his head against hers, whimpering in the aftermath.

Gently, Marina carded a hand through his hair, rubbing right behind his lion ears.  “Greg?”

He whined, but didn’t protest.

“Sweetie, are you alright?”

His arms tightened around his chest.  “Pride.  Not there.  Should be there.”

“Honey, I don’t understand.”

Elias shook his head.  “Can’t tell.  My human.  He not tell.”

Oh.  “Something Greg wants you to keep secret?” Marina ventured, earning a nod.  She frowned.  “But it’s hurting you!”

A soft keen reached her ears.  “Hurt him, too.”  Lion ears flattened.  “Must heal.”  Cautiously, he unfolded.  “Is healing.”

“What, like a broken bone?”

He considered, ears twitching.  “Is like,” he agreed.  “Hurts, but…heals…?”

She blinked.  “Greg’s never had a broken bone?”

His ears flattened again.  “Ribs.  Arm.”  The ears went flatter, right along with his tone.  “Collarbone, once.”

Marina winced and changed the subject.  “Are you alright now?”

His wings flexed a moment as he thought.  Then he nodded and clambered back to his paws.  “Follow.”  He paced forward, glancing back as she scrambled up and after him.  “Close now.”

She swallowed down her questions and followed Elias up the last set of stairs to the roof.  An idea swirled in the back of her mind and she forced it down.  No.  He wouldn’t…would he?  No, surely not; she knew her Greg wasn’t comfortable with heights.

But as he stepped outside, she saw him freeze an instant before his wings partially spread and he inhaled, catching every scrap of the breeze running over the top of the building.  He turned his head and she saw the excitement in his scarlet eyes as he reached back and grasped her hand, pulling her along.  She followed, letting him lead her through the small rooftop maze to the edge of the roof.  There was a railing and she saw the city beyond that.

She sucked in a breath of her own, eyes wide as she gazed up at the skyscrapers of her home, shining and glittering in the light of the setting sun.  Glowing like a beacon, beckoning them towards safety, if only they dared.

Marina turned, lifting a hand.  “Greg, no,” she insisted.

He rumbled, tail lashing amusement.

“No,” she repeated.  “We can go back down, find a way onto the street.  Don’t you dare.  Don’t you daRE…!!!”

She screamed; his body hit hers in a tackle, taking them over the edge.  Pointing them straight down.  She screamed again as his wings curled around, twirling them around twice as they spiraled towards the street below.  Then they spread out and he caught the wind, rising just as fast as he’d fallen.  Soaring upwards, flying as his arms cradled her body, holding her tight against his chest.

Air rushed around her, chilling her from the inside out, but she could only stare, eyes wide as she understood.  Her Greg could fly.

* * * * *

“We got ‘em!” Lou roared, bringing Ed and Team Four at a run from the locker room where they’d been brainstorming options.

“Location!” Ed snapped, sliding to a halt with an effort.

“Feed you on the fly; they’re on the move,” Lou retorted.  “Go!”

Team One sprinted for their trucks and Ed hit the streets only a breath after KITT, the black Trans Am already hooked into their comms and flashing his headlights like police lights as an eighties siren wailed in his wake.  Lou’s voice was in their ears, guiding them on the most direct route through evening rush hour towards their target.

Ahead of them, KITT looked set to dispense with subtlety, but they had to do this right.  So Ed keyed his comm in between Lou’s orders.  “No stunts,” he rapped out.  “We don’t need trouble.”

They had to pause as Lou called another change in direction, but once the convoy made the turn, KITT’s Bostonian accent came over the radio, tone rather subdued.  “Acknowledged, Sergeant Lane.”

Fixing his attention on the road, Ed prayed that decision wouldn’t cost his best friend his life.

* * * * *

Within a few minutes of beginning their flight, Marina began to shiver.  Not even Greg’s closeness and warmth could counteract the chill of the winds aloft or her torn blouse.  The speed and noise of the wind prevented her from telling him that, but he must’ve felt her shivers because only a minute or so after they started, he angled downwards, finally headed towards the safety of the ground.

It took another couple minutes before he landed on one of Toronto’s darkening streets.  As soon as he let her down, Marina ushered him towards a nearby alleyway, praying she could get him there before any passersby saw his wings.  He let out a rumble that sounded unhappy, but let her push him along, as if understanding that they were now in her realm of expertise.

Partway there, Marina spotted a café.  Unfortunately indoors, but if she could purchase something hot for both of them…  Reminded that they were free, she reached in her pocket and pulled out Greg’s phone, fully intending to call the SRU, but stopped at the sight of the screen flashing.  A bronze maple leaf like the one on Greg’s uniform, with his initials.

Elias peered over her shoulder at the screen.  “Pride.  Will find.”

“They’re coming for us?”

He nodded, reaching out to tap one finger against the phone.  “Find.”

Her breath caught.  “They’re tracking us?”

He nodded again.

Well, then.  Their rescue was already assured, but it was evening.  Rush hour.  It would take time for Team One to reach them and in the meantime, Marina was willing to bet Greg needed food after all his exertions on her behalf.  Not to mention her growling stomach.  If it went on much longer, she was going to be competing with Elias’s growls.

So Marina finished ushering Elias over to the alleyway entrance, picking the side that was already in deep shadow.  “Stay here and I’ll go get us some food.”

He whined protest, reaching out to grab her arm.  “Protect.”

She reached up, cradling his jaw for an instant.  “I know, honey, and you’ve done more than I ever could’ve imagined, but we have to wait for your team to find us.”

Another whine and his grip shifted to her hand.  “Stay.  Protect.”

“I won’t leave you, I promise, but we need something to eat,” Marina explained.  “The people inside the store, they won’t understand about your wings, Elias.  Humans aren’t supposed to have wings.”

The whine shifted to a whimper.  “Marina come back?”

“Yes, I’ll come back as soon as I’ve gotten the food,” she promised.

His stomach rumbled audibly and he let out a chirrup, ears standing straight up as he stared down at his stomach in pure betrayal.  Marina struggled to keep from laughing at his expression.  Instead, she stroked his arm in reassurance and gently pulled loose.  Turning away, she lifted her head, set her jaw, and strode towards the café, already calculating how much she could carry and wondering if she could wrangle both a bag and a drink carrier with her order.

* * * * *

Ed bit down on several curse words as Lou guided them onto another road.  He knew the general area of their destination and it wasn’t known for being a friendly part of the city.

“Could be worse,” Wordy put in, ignoring the hawk glare from his Sergeant.

“We’re not too far from Shiloh,” Sam put in over the comm.  “Maybe Sarge and Marina will head for there.”

“I don’t think so, Sam,” Jules disagreed.  “It’s not too far by car, but they’re on foot.  We found Marina’s car at the clothing store, remember?”

“Lou, any movement?” Roy asked.  “Comin’ up on another light if we need to turn.”

“I see,” Lou reassured them.  “Some movement, but still the same general area, guys.  Keep going straight.”

“How far?” Ed barked.

“Two, three kilometers, but…”

Lou trailed off and Kira picked up.  “We got an accident ahead of you, Team One,” she reported.  “Only one lane blocked, but it’s slowing traffic in both directions.”

“Can we turn?”  Sam.

“No, it’s a bunch of one way streets,” Lou replied, glum.  “You turn and it’s another hour, easy, even with lights and siren.”

As KITT braked for the traffic ahead, Ed turned down his comm long enough to hiss several choice phrases in a variety of ancient languages.  Listening from the seat next to him, Wordy didn’t even glare.

* * * * *

Coffee, Marina decided, had been an exceedingly poor choice.  Her Greg enjoyed coffee, but Elias had no concept of something being hot enough to burn.  She had to quickly snatch back the coffee and replace it with the wrapped sandwich before he could spill it on himself – and then he’d bitten right into the waxed paper.  The wide-eyed look of helpless incomprehension severely tested her self-control and Marina coached him in how to hold a drink carrier before displaying the traditional human process for unwrapping a sandwich before trying to eat it.

Instead of giving him back the sandwich, she eased her cup of coffee out of the drink carrier and demonstrated the safe way to drink the hot beverage without ending up with a scalded tongue or burns on one’s hands, arms, or legs.  He watched her closely, imitating her with Greg’s coffee, though his expression twisted as he tasted coffee for the first time.

From there, things went smoother, though they had to trade off eating due to the drink carrier and the lack of a table nearby for it.  Even so, the pair had finished their sandwiches and were sipping the last of their coffee by the time a small convoy of vehicles arrived, still running lights and sirens.

Elias straightened, ears perking up and wings flexing in his excitement.  “Pride.  They find.”

Marina stepped right in his path, blocking him; his wings wilted down a hair and he whined in confusion.  “Yes, sweetheart, they found us, but they don’t know what happened,” she reminded him.  “They don’t know what that woman did to you and Greg.”

“Pride not understand?” he ventured, a tiny keen behind the words.  “Pride…angry…?”

“Not with you,” she reassured him.  “But let me go talk to them first.”

He whimpered, torn between believing her and longing for his Pride.

“Greg.”  He swung down to stare at her.  “I’ll bring Ed back, okay?  They won’t be angry at you, I promise, but if you just go over to them now, you’ll scare them.”  She grasped his left hand, leaving his right free.  “Please, Greg, we’re almost there.  Just…let me help you.  Like you’ve helped me.”

He reached up, touching the side of her face.  “Trust.  Bring Eddie.”

Marina smiled.  “I will.”

* * * * *

Ed swung out of the truck, already scanning the area for his best friend.  Deep inside his chest, his heart was beating at twice its normal tempo, every bump and throb begging for his friend.  His brother by heart, by spirit, by blood and magic.  Even without the ‘team sense’, he could feel the same desperation from his teammates.  They needed Greg.  Needed him back and safe and one of them.

Then hawk blue fell on a figure hurrying towards them.  Squinted, making out a lighter shade of hair, a womanly figure.  Professional clothing paired with semi-sensible shoes.  His heart sank, but he moved to meet her.  “Marina.”

Team One whipped around and they had her surrounded in an instant.  “Where’s Sarge?” Wordy demanded, a breath before anyone else.

She swallowed hard, lifting her eyes to his.  “He’s here, but…  Ed, just you, please.”

His constables protested, but he raised a hand, signaling for quiet.  “How bad?”

Marina bit her lip.  “He…he’s not physically injured.”

Dammit.  “But?”

She shook her head.  “It’s…  It’s easier to show you.”

Mentally, he added a tick under ‘very bad’ and forced a jerky nod.  “Okay, Marina.  Show me.”

The blonde guided him straight towards a nearby alleyway and he couldn’t help the frown.  Why would Greg lurk in an alley?  Especially in this poorer, somewhat rundown part of town.  Even alleys in the best parts of the city tended to be havens for Toronto’s unfortunates.  The homeless, the downtrodden.  The drug addicted.

Then he spied a pair of red eyes, lurking right in the shadows and fixed on him.  Fear shot up his spine, but he kept walking closer.  Right at the edge of the newly lit streetlamps, the figure perked up and shot forward, leaving the sheltering darkness and Ed froze.

Wings.  Glowing scarlet eyes.  Feathery lion ears and lion-like legs.  The flash of a tail topped with eagle feathers.  The gryphon, but not.  Because it stood upright, as tall as Greg ever had.  It wore his armor and Ed’s eyes snagged on Greg’s gun in its holster, strapped to the gryphon’s right leg.  Human hands, human arms, human torso, and even a mostly human head.  As if Greg had started to transform, only to end up caught halfway between.

“Eddie!”

His heart spasmed in agony.  Greg’s voice, but there was a childlike quality to it.  Innocent joy untainted by human worries or concerns.  Greg…but not.  He opened his arms anyway and the gryphon barreled into him, seizing him in a bear hug.  Massive wings folded around both of them and he shivered, caught between the warmth of Greg’s protective nature and the chill of knowing this was the gryphon, right down to the rumbling purrs he could hear and feel.

Oh, dear Gawd, I want my friend back…

Chapter Text

It felt like forever, but it was really only a few seconds before the gryphon pulled back with a soft, uncertain whine.  It studied him, scarlet eyes boring into him as if it could read his thoughts – Ed pulled his mental shielding as close as he could, suddenly grateful beyond measure that the ‘team sense’ was down and not all the magic in the world could bring it back up until the links healed.  The gryphon might’ve taken over Greg – again – but it couldn’t command them.

The whine grew louder.  “Eddie…angry…?”

“No,” Marina replied before he could even think of a response.  She moved to the gryphon’s side and something inside him burned as it looked to her at once, faith shining.  “Elias, he’s scared for you, I promise.  He’s not angry at all.”

His sniper mask slid into place as the gryphon – Elias? – glanced back at him, cocking Greg’s head to the side and anxious hope glimmering in the depths of scarlet eyes.  “Pride?  Come?”

Marina glanced around, her mouth tightening as she did so.  Ed followed her gaze and spotted a number of rubberneckers, already gathering in clumps near their trucks.  None of them had spotted the gryphon – yet – but it was only a matter of time.  They needed to get the gryphon back to the barn before they ended up busting the Statute of Secrecy in front of every last man, woman, and child in Toronto because a half-human, half-gryphon was going to be headline news.

“Ed.”  He shifted back towards Marina, arching a brow.  Her mouth went a little tighter.  “His wings.  Can they…?”  She darted another glance towards the trucks and his throat went dry as he caught her second train of thought.  Not good.  Not good at all.

Locking down everything except what needed to happen next, Ed nodded to the blonde and turned back towards his team.  One hand lifted to his comm.  “Giles.  Need you to Side-Along Greg back to the barn.”

“Copy,” the wizard acknowledged.

Behind him, the gryphon’s whine grew louder and he shifted back in time to see its wings slump down, sorrow and anguish a living thing on Greg’s face.

“Hey.”  He stepped closer to his friend, doing his best to ignore the gryphon traits.  “It’s okay; Marina’s right.  We aren’t angry at you, but we gotta get you back to the barn before you end up on the evening news, buddy.”

Scarlet darted away, avoiding him as the gryphon whimpered and edged behind Marina.  “Pride not want.”

Ed couldn’t hide the wince.  They’d been burned by the gryphon too many times to ever trust it.  Greg, they wanted.  Greg, they trusted.  But the gryphon?  After everything it had done to them, done to Greg…  To see the thing loose again was his worst nightmare come to life.  To see it trusting Marina…  That was a horror unto itself, especially if Marina talked the thing into never letting Greg come back and staying with her.

Giles reached them before the Sergeant could come up with a response, letting out a low whistle at the sight of their lieutenant.

“Can you get him back to the barn?” Ed asked, sticking to practicalities.

The wizard examined the gryphon from head to wings to paws, frowning.  Then he nodded.  “Won’t be the easiest Side-Along I’ve ever done, but not the hardest either.”

“Good.”  The sniper shifted back towards the gryphon.  “Lou’s still at the barn, buddy.  He’ll take care of you till we get back.”

The gryphon cast him a hurt, betrayed glance.  “Pride sending away.”

“No, I’m sending you to where we’re goin’ anyway,” Ed countered.  “You get to skip rush hour traffic.”

Gryphon wings twitched.  “Sending to bronze…?”

Oh joy, they were back to the colors.  “Lou,” Ed emphasized, scowling.

The wings twitched again, joined by a flick from feathery, furry lion ears and the gryphon looked away without responding.  It held still as Onasi moved closer and grabbed its left arm.  The wizard closed his eyes, jaw knitting tight in concentration, and then the pair vanished with a crack that was louder than usual.

Ed sucked in a steadying breath and turned his attention to Marina.  Ignoring the scowl on her face, he held out a hand.  “Greg’s phone.”

“Oh, by all means,” she spat, pulling it out of her purse.  “Worry about the phone and not Greg!  I thought you were supposed to be his best friend!”

She thrust it into his hands and stalked past him, heading towards Team One’s trucks.  Left alone, the sniper forced himself to unlock the device, ignoring the tremble in his fingers.  It opened right to a note-taking app, one they had on all their phones, but rarely used because the digital keyboards were such a pain to type on.  Which meant…  Marina had typed all this…

He scanned through the notes, noting that she must’ve been interrupted partway through – the bottom sections had highlights, but precious few details.  Scrolling back to the top, his eyes snagged on two areas.  One was a list of three warnings, supposedly from Greg.  And the other…  His breath caught, horror swirling in his gut.

Marina’s account of how the gryphon had gotten loose again.  How it had attacked her, only to be stopped by Greg.  How it had chosen not to hurt Marina because Greg didn’t want it to.  Even a quote from the gryphon itself, declaring that Greg was its soul, necessary for its power and very survival.

He didn’t want to believe it, wanted to power down Greg’s phone and call Marina ten kinds of fool and liar, but…  She was their best source for information and he’d already managed to alienate her.  If they were going to save Greg, then he needed the knowledge she hadn’t written down yet.  That meant taking everything she said at face value until proven otherwise and mending the bridge he’d just burned his way through.

Grimacing, the sniper turned and jogged back towards the trucks, cradling the smartphone in his hands like the precious treasure trove that it was.

* * * * *

His brother and teammates were already back in their vehicles, so all he had to do was swing up into the driver’s seat, pass Greg’s phone off to Word, and pull out after KITT.  The sniper buckled himself in one-handed as the Trans Am ahead of them made the first turn back towards SRU Headquarters.  Rush hour was beginning to die down, but their trip back would take another hour, easy.

Pulling in a slow, steadying breath, Ed ordered his strategy, sorting it out in his head before he could get them any further into hot water with the crucial witness glaring at him from the backseat.  He was aware of Wordy’s anxious expression and the expectant silence over the comm, but he had to play this right.

“Word, give Marina Greg’s phone.  Unlock it if you have to.”

“Copy,” the big man acknowledged, tapping at the device before twisting in his seat and passing it back to Marina.

“Marina, if you could finish up those notes, we’d really appreciate that,” Ed tacked on.  He glanced up into the rearview mirror, doing his best to meet the blonde’s eyes.  “I’m sure Greg would appreciate it, too.”

She huffed.  “Don’t negotiate me, Eddie.  It doesn’t suit you.”

He winced at the direct hit.  “Marina, I’m sorry, but…” he trailed off, searching for the words.  “Look, it’s…  It’s not the first time, if you know what I mean.”

The blonde stilled.  “This has happened to him before?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, sorrowful.  “And, um…  It’s never turned out…well.”  Understatement – and he was scaring his teammates, but it couldn’t be helped.  They needed Marina’s help, which meant getting her to understand just how dangerous the gryphon was.  So he pulled in another breath and said flatly, “The only reason nobody died last time is ‘cause by the time Greg lost control, he was dangling off the edge of a scoreboard a couple meters up.”

“The gryphon’s loose?” Wordy blurted, horror ringing loud.

The Sergeant nodded once, expression grim.

 “Eddie, has…”  Marina hesitated.  “Has Elias killed?”

“Yes.”  Blunt, unvarnished.  “First time was like this, only Greg was fully transformed.  Gryphon went lethal on four subjects in a row; one of ‘em was the same guy who’d hit him with the spell.”  Again, he met her gaze in the rearview mirror.  “Once we got Greg back to human, he spent the next couple months tryin’ to keep that thing in a cage.  Every time he slipped, it got worse and worse.”

“Until Fletcher Stadium,” Wordy murmured.  “Sarge spent almost a week in a coma after that, but he finally got the gryphon under control.”  The constable shivered.  “Ed, this shouldn’t be possible; the gryphon only got loose before ‘cause Sarge’s magical core was outta whack.”

“I know, but it’s the gryphon, Word.  Wings, tail, paws – ‘bout the only thing he doesn’t have are talons.”  His fingers flexed on the wheel.  “Marina, I didn’t read all your notes, but it was a spell?”

“Yes,” she whispered, subdued now that she understood why he’d reacted so badly.  “It hurt him, Eddie.  He was screaming and struggling the whole time and then…”  She choked.  “He just went limp and when he looked up again…”

“It was the gryphon.”

“Yes.  Elias.”

Wordy blinked and twisted in his seat.  “Elias?”

Marina nodded.  “He…he didn’t like me calling him Greg.  Before they left, they said he was the darkest part of Greg’s soul and he said…”  She trailed off a moment.  “He said when Greg talks, he fights.”

“So you thought he was like Sarge’s undercover identity?” Wordy questioned.

Another nod.  “I needed to call him something, Wordy, and he certainly wasn’t going to pick a name.  He told those witches that he had to earn a name.”

Both officers blinked.  A name was…a name.  Given by default, simply because everyone needed a name, either given, chosen, or nickname.  The idea of having to earn a name…  It just wasn’t on their radar.  And yet…  Ed traded glances with Wordy – if the gryphon was claiming it had to earn a name, then maybe it had…learned its lesson?  Figured a few things out since its last appearance?

“Eddie?”

He stiffened at her hesitant, yet insistent tone.  “Yeah?”

“He’s still Greg,” Marina insisted.  “He’s wild and he’s violent and he can’t talk right and he doesn’t even know how to unwrap a sandwich, but he’s still Greg.  The whole time we were escaping, he was putting himself between me and anything that might’ve scratched me.  Heck, he’s the one who figured out how to get out of our cell.”

Wordy whistled low, impressed, but all Ed could see was those blazing scarlet eyes in Greg’s face.  And all he could hear was the snarl from when the gryphon’s theft of his best friend’s body had forced Greg into committing suicide.

* * * * *

As they landed in the small room that lay in the no-man’s-land between the techie and magical sides of the barn, Giles Onasi was incredibly relieved to see that he hadn’t splinched (2) himself or the partially transformed Lieutenant Parker.  Especially since he’d been lying through his teeth when he claimed this wouldn’t be the hardest Side-Along he’d ever done.

Surprisingly shrewd scarlet eyes examined him and Parker flashed a grin that revealed fangs surprisingly well suited to his partial Animagus form.  “Not tell Eddie.”

The wizard pasted on an innocent look.  “What’s to tell, Parker?”

It was the wrong thing to say; the massive brown wings sank down, right along with the furry, feathery ears on top of Parker’s head.  He couldn’t see the tail, but he was betting the feathers on it had wilted.

“Not my human,” the other said, averting his gaze.  And was that a tear…?  “Pride not want…”

“Like hell,” he snapped, not even waiting for wide scarlet to jerk back.  He jabbed the other man in the chest, ignoring every last one of the animal accessories.  “They want you.  All of you, Parker.  And yeah, you are Parker, so stop denying it.”

Parker growled, pushing his hand away.  “Not my human.  Not have soul.”

“Oh, they dragged a dementor in?” Onasi demanded, sarcasm ringing.  “Got a hint for you, Parker; if you’d lost your soul, there wouldn’t be anything left.  Just an empty shell.”

That.  Got a reaction.  Parker backed away, ears flaring up, then laying back as he shifted to a partial crouch.  The wings on his back flexed outwards, right in time with a scree! of alarm and the officer’s right hand landing squarely on the grip of his gun.

The Auror froze in place, spreading his hands in a peace gesture.  “Easy, Parker, easy.  No dementors here; you’d probably sense ‘em before I could.”

Parker remained where he was, still in a combat-ready stance with his fangs bared and those eerie scarlet eyes fixed on Giles’ every move.

“Look, I just Side-Alonged you back here.  I don’t know what happened between you and Lane or what happened after you and Marina disappeared from that clothing store, but here’s what I do know, Parker.  If I was still me when I was half-dead, half-insane, and suicidal after Revan died, then you’re still you, even like you are right now.”

The lion-like ears twitched and the lieutenant cocked his head to the side, intrigue joining the caution.  “Divided.”

“Yeah, maybe so, but two halves of a whole are still part of that whole.”

The wings relaxed back towards their original folded position.  “Why Eddie not see?”

Giles sighed.  “They’re too close,” he explained.  “And you burned ‘em a couple times before.  Your ‘human’, too.”

Parker whimpered, sorrow and regret ringing in that plaintive sound.  “Not tainted.  Not twisted.  Not again.”  The ears flicked back.  “Want my human…”

“We’ll figure it out,” Onasi promised, though a frown tugged.  “Wait…”

Parker’s head cocked the other way, his ears rotating forward again.  “Pride-Friend?”

“You remember everything your ‘human’ does?”

A shrewd, calculating gleam joined the intrigue in those scarlet eyes.  “Yes.”

“You think you could give us a Pensieve memory?” Giles blurted.

The stocky, winged figure reared back, hand leaving his gun.  “What that?”

“Come on, Parker, I know you know what a Pensieve is…”  The wizard stopped, examining the puzzlement on his companion’s face, and his heart dropped.  “You don’t remember that?”

“Divided,” the lieutenant reminded him, frustration leaking into his voice.  “Have memories, but not my human.  Not think like him.”

Merlin’s beard; he’d been hoping the broken English was the worst of their problems, but apparently Parker’s mental incapacitation went deeper than that.  Sighing, Onasi nodded and gestured for the other man to follow him.  Once they were out of the room, he waited for Parker to fall in step next to him, then explained, “Marina’s not magical, so she can’t give us a Pensieve memory.  A Pensieve is a magical artifact that allows you to view any memory placed inside it from a spectator’s point of view, even if it’s your memory.”

“Let Pride see?” Parker asked hopefully.

He shook his head.  “Sorry, Parker, but as far as I know, you gotta be a full wizard to use a Pensieve.  The Pensieve does most of the work, yeah, but viewing a memory, especially somebody else’s, uses some of your magic.”

The lionish ears drooped and Parker heaved a sigh.  “You?  View?”

“That’s my plan,” Onasi confirmed.  “The Unspeakables can’t get us back inside the Ministry ‘cause none of ‘em are the Secret Keeper, but they managed to smuggle out a bunch of supplies, includin’ testimony Pensieves.”

“Special?”

He shrugged, rotating one hand in a so-so motion.  “They work like most any Pensieve, but they’re designed to hold and document one memory for evidentiary purposes.  And they’re enchanted to hold a copy of the original memory; regular Pensieves, once you take the memory out of your head, the Pensieve holds it till you take it back.”

“Lose?”

“Technically, yeah, you forget that memory till you take it back.  Unless you watch the memory, then you’ve kinda got a copy of it.  I hear older wizards like to use ‘em for that, ‘cause they have a hard time sorting through all the memories they’ve got.”  Another shrug.  “But even when the memory’s in the Pensieve, you still know what it is.  Some kinda magical connection, I guess; Pensieve theory’s way over my head.”

Parker frowned, a touch of savage behind that usually thoughtful expression.  “Magic knows.  But…”  His tail lashed, the feathers ghosting over the back of Giles’ leg and drawing a tiny jump.  “…am Magic…”

Oooh, boy, maybe he hadn’t thought this through.  But it wasn’t like they could ask the whole, undivided Parker.  The version of Parker trailing him through the barn was the best they were gonna get.  The Auror forced an extra note of confidence in his voice.  “And like I said, once the testimony Pensieve’s got the memory, it makes a copy and the original goes right back to you.  Easy.”

Two turns later, they reached the office that he shared with Simmons and Revan on those rare days when he worked in the Auror Division itself instead of being in the field with Roy, KITT, or Team One.  Ducking in, the brunet headed for the supply closet they shared and pulled out one of the testimony Pensieves his old training Auror liked to keep on hand for office interviews.

It was small, made of German silver (3), and shaped like a simple chalice with a lid that could be fastened down to protect the memory within.  Turning, he gestured Parker into the office; if he could get the memory before Parker got distracted by ‘his Pride’, he could hopefully have their next lead lined up by the time Team One made it back.

“Focus on your memory of everything that happened between when you and Marina got kidnapped to when you two got to that street we found you on.”

Parker nodded once, sharp and decisive, and closed those eerie scarlet eyes.  His jaw scrunched in concentration; behind him, Giles saw the feather-topped lion tail lash.

“Got it?”

“Do it, Giles.”

He jumped – that sounded like Parker, the whole, undivided Parker – but brought his wand up and rested it against the other man’s temple.  Gently, with the greatest of care, he pulled the tip away, gratified by the sight of the typical wispy form of a Pensieve memory attached to it.  Once the memory was free, he lowered his wand and slipped the silver wisp into the testimony Pensieve, left hand tapping against the runes to activate the device.

A soft blue light shone from the runes as they came to life with a subtle hum of power.  Magic thrummed, imprinting the memory into the liquid already inside the Pensieve before the original memory was ejected, flying back towards Parker.  He reared back, eyes snapping open as the wisp was absorbed into his chest.  For an instant, white tinged with blue overlaid the scarlet, then the light faded as his magic reclaimed the memory.

Parker blinked, a faint grimace appearing as he relived his own memory.  Then he shook his head and refocused.  “Have now?”

“Yep,” the Auror confirmed, flipping the Pensieve’s lid shut and latching it down to protect the evidence within.  “Let’s get you to Lou and Kira; then I can take a good look at this.”

Parker literally perked up, lionish ears and wings rising at his words.

Onasi choked back a laugh and was about to point the other man out of his office when a last second thought occurred.  He hesitated, curious, but unsure if he should ask.

Gryphon wings flexed and Parker cocked his head to the side.  “Pride-Friend Giles?”

“What does my magic look like?” he blurted.

The wings flared a touch, but Parker didn’t jump.  Instead, his expression turned…thoughtful.  Scarlet examined him from head to toe for an instant, evaluating what the lieutenant alone could see.  “Orange,” he finally replied.  “Dark, for grief and sorrow and loss.”

The Auror’s throat closed.  “Dustil,” he rasped.  “Morgana.”  Revan…

“Yes.”  The word held a gentleness that was so very Parker, yet jangled against his scarlet gaze and feral stance.  Onasi shivered at the compassion in the other man’s eyes, so very out of place in his current predatory mindset.  And yet…  The gryphon, the magic, that was Parker’s core, somehow present even with half his mental capabilities ripped away by the Witches’ spell.  His essentials, untouchable by any magic, no matter how old or powerful.

* * * * *

With every word over the comm, Lou felt himself tensing up more and more.  Kira hadn’t seen the gryphon herself, but he remembered that awful day in Fletcher Stadium like it had been yesterday.  Sarge’s farewell, relayed by his captor-turned-captive.  The heartbeats when he’d hated Ed, ‘cause his team leader was about to give the order.  The order to murder their own Sergeant.

Only for the whole team to stare in disbelief as an arrow cut through the rope and Illishar dropped from the ceiling like a gryphon avenging angel, shooting down and catching Sarge before the fall could kill him.  A miracle had saved Sarge that day – a miracle and a group of Halloween Shades willing to sacrifice their own existence to heal the breach between Sarge and his own magic.

Then he heard bootsteps, coming closer, and his spine straightened so quickly he almost heard it crack in protest.  Mental shielding, instinctive after so many months – years – when they’d had to do it manually, slid into place, locking down tighter than Fort Knox.  The gryphon was not going to get inside his head and take advantage of his trust in Sarge.

The two officers turned, Lou wary and Kira curious, just in time to see Auror Giles Onasi stride into the SRU atrium with a semi-familiar figure right behind him.  Kira let out a tiny gasp at the pure scarlet of their lieutenant’s eyes while Lou struggled to keep from gawking at the wings.

He’d seen them before, of course, back when Sarge had first been struggling with his gryphon instincts right after McKean, but it hadn’t really sunk in at the time since they’d been trying to keep Sarge from taking a header over a cliff.  Later on, after it was all over, Sarge had apologized for scaring them and explained why he’d been so close to that cliff, but none of them had been impressed with his ‘fear-as-a-weapon’ solution to the gryphon problem.

Now, though, the less-lethal specialist stared at the huge, human-sized eagle wings jutting up proudly over his lieutenant’s shoulders and back.  Brown, with a darker hue along the leading edges of the wings.  Past the gap between the wings and Sarge’s lion-like legs, he could see the gryphon’s tail, topped with a fan of eagle feathers – dark brown where they connected to the tail, but fading to a lighter brown as they extended out.

The black of his lieutenant’s Narnian armor was somewhat jarring against the varying browns of wings, tail, and legs, but once he got over the initial shock, it didn’t look half-bad.  In fact, it took Lou almost a minute to spot medium-brown lion-like furry, feathery ears perched atop Parker’s head, tucked in the remnants of his brown hair.  Out of place, yet they fit in the blend of human and gryphon.

Dark eyes fell to his boss’s hands, but they hadn’t acquired the same talons as last time.  Which was a good thing, considering the gryphon’s only real weapon was the gun still tucked in its holster and strapped to Sarge’s right leg.  Although Lou was less than pleased that Onasi had let the gryphon retain a weapon.

Finished with his inspection, the constable forced himself to meet those scarlet eyes – and blinked.  Beneath the sinister hue, the gryphon’s expression was…hopeful.  Tentative, with fear buried in the depths, but earnestly seeking a second chance.  Waiting for Lou himself to make the first move.

Moving out from behind the dispatcher desk, Lou said, “Hey Sarge.”

The gryphon tilted its head to the side, studying him.  Then it canted a glance at Giles.  “My human…?”

“He’s got a lot of nicknames,” the Auror filled in.  Shifting towards Lou, he added, “I got him used to Parker, but he still won’t let anyone call him ‘Greg’.”

“Marina’s been using ‘Elias’,” Lou offered, keeping one eye on the gryphon as he spoke.

“What, like Parker’s undercover identity?”

“Yes,” constable and dispatcher chorused; the gryphon churred a laugh in the background at Onasi’s startled expression.

Lou bit back a smile of his own and shifted back to the gryphon, pulling his shields a hair tighter.  “So…stick with Elias?”

Lionish ears flicked back and forth for several seconds before the gryphon nodded.  “Yes, Bronze…”  Wings and ears wilted.  “…Lou…”

“How come names are so tough for you?” Lou demanded, crossing his arms.  “You wouldn’t like me callin’ you Scarlet or Red.”

Confusion glowed.  “Is…right…  Why mad?”

His jaw dropped open.  “Wait a sec…you wouldn’t mind?”

Elias’s shoulders shrugged right along with his wings.  “My magic.  Why bother?”

“And he can see the colors, remember,” Giles pointed out.  “Prolly can see magic easier than he can remember his human memories.”

Oh.  Lou hadn’t thought of that.  If Sarge – Elias – was operating with a simpler, restricted frame of mind, then maybe he really was doing the best he could with what he had.  Even if it meant he was calling them by their magical colors instead of their names.

Sighing, Lou scrubbed a hand through his buzz cut.  “Okay, okay.  We’ll lay off, Elias.  Just…could you try to remember our names?”

The gryphon perked up and nodded.  “Will try,” he promised.  “Remember Lou.”  Scarlet darted sideways.  “Remember Pride-Friend Kira.”

Wait a sec…they hadn’t told Elias that…

Even as a suspicious glare landed on Giles, the Auror spread his hands.  “I said he had a harder time remembering his human memories, not that he couldn’t do it.”

“Just for that, smart guy, I wanna know your color,” Lou snapped.

Mischief shone in scarlet and Elias smirked, so much like Sarge that Lou had to double-take.  “Dark orange,” the gryphon proclaimed, tail lashing in a very smug fashion.

Onasi groaned.  “Parker, your gryphon side is a total troll, you know that, right?”

The smirk widened.  “Yes…” Elias agreed, crossing his arms.  One wing arched out and the gryphon pointedly examined its outer edge.  “You splinched my favorite flight feathers.”

[2] If an Apparition is unsuccessful, clothing or body parts can be left behind in the starting location.  The severity can range from minimal (loss of hair) to life-threatening (loss of flesh, muscle, or entire body parts).

[3] An alloy of copper, nickel, and zinc (typically 60, 20, 20) that looks like silver.  Named after its development by 19th-century German metalworkers.

Chapter Text

Lou was briefing his teammates on Giles and Elias’s safe arrival at the barn – though he left out the bit about splinching – when several Team Four members wandered out of the workout room.  All of them gawked at the half-human, half-gryphon Elias; he fidgeted at the stares, though his wings perked up when he spied Constable Cabrera – Lancelot.

One foot slid forward, only for Elias to stiffen and glance towards Lou.  Then his ears flexed back into a relaxed position and he sidled backwards a hair, wings held in a forcible at-ease pose.

“Something wrong, Elias?” Lou questioned, arching a brow at the gryphon.

“Nothing.”  But beneath the careful nonchalance, Elias was stealing glances at Lancelot, a faint sense of longing in scarlet depths.  Sarge’s gryphon side was a lousy negotiator; from the Team Four side of the atrium, Constable Macken – Gwaine – rolled his eyes and elbowed his teammate, all of them easily seeing through the denial.

Leaning on the dispatcher desk, the less-lethal specialist hiked his other brow.  “Keeping secrets again?”

Elias squirmed, catching the unhappiness.  Eagle wings flinched and lionish ears laid back for an instant.  But he nodded, holding firm.  “My human…not tell.”

The tan-skinned constable blinked and he straightened.  “Wait a sec.  You’re holding back ‘cause you think your human wants you to?”

“Know,” Elias corrected.

“Kinda the opposite of last time,” Lou drawled, unable to completely hold back the underlying sneer.

The gryphon cringed, as if Lou had struck a physical blow.  Eagle wings flared, flapping twice in agitation.  “Yes,” he whispered.  It took a moment for him to lift his head again, focusing on Lou with eerie scarlet eyes.  “Not tainted,” he said firmly.  “Not twisted.  Not hurt my human again.”  A beat.  “Not hurt my Pride again.”

Their audience stared, but Lou found he had nothing left to say.  No more accusations that he could hurl at the gryphon.  At Elias, at Sarge – because now he saw.  Without the tainting, without the demonic twisting, Sarge’s magic was Sarge.  There was no real difference between the magic, the gryphon, and the man – this was Lieutenant Gregory Parker.  Stripped down to his bare essentials, yes, but still him.

Straightening to his full height, Lewis Young nodded to his lieutenant.  “Copy that, Sarge.”

* * * * *

Lancelot waited a few minutes for the tension to disperse – and for Gwaine to get bored and go back to the workout room – before he glanced at Mordred in silent question.  The druid-constable frowned, considering, then nodded back.

Stepping forward, the Wild Mage sniper inquired, “What do we have?”

On the other side of the dispatcher desk, Auror Onasi flicked a question in Young’s direction, earning a nod of his own.  Permission given, he turned back to the two Team Four constables.  “Parker was able to give me a Pensieve memory.  I was thinking maybe Revan and I could take a look once Team One gets back.”

Mordred’s frown deepened.  “Why involve another person?” he pressed.  “Does this Revan know the Old Religion?”

“He knows more than I do,” Onasi countered.  “And there’s no way I’m dragging Parker’s kids into this mess.”

“A fair point,” Lancelot conceded drily.  “But I rather doubt Revan knows more than Mordred does, Auror Onasi.”

The brunet blinked; behind the dispatcher desk, Young and Kira traded startled glances.

Drawing in a deep breath, Mordred nodded agreement with his teammate and reached up, unbuttoning his uniform shirt enough to pull the fabric away from his left shoulder, revealing the triskel tattoo beneath.

“You’re a druid?” Onasi blurted.  “I thought druids shunned any form of violence.”

Mordred flinched, swallowing hard as he buttoned his uniform back up.  “Yes, they do,” he agreed, soft with remembered pain.  Nevertheless, determination shone in his gray eyes as he met the Auror’s gaze.  “But what better way to maintain peace than to be a peacekeeper?”  Lifting his chin, he added, “If the spell cast on Lieutenant Parker is of the Old Religion – and it probably is, with two High Priestesses involved – then I can at least identify it and perhaps even counter it.”

“Worth a shot,” Constable Young offered from his position.  “And waiting for the others is pointless, Giles.  Rush hour traffic, plus a couple fender-benders tonight.”

“We should go out to the training building,” Lancelot put in.  Addressing his…cousin, he added, “I can see you are doing your best, Elias, but I’m sure so many humans around is getting overwhelming for you.”

Lionish ears flexed, wings jouncing right along with them as the lieutenant looked torn between relief at the offered peace and quiet, and longing to stay with his Pride.  A soft keen erupted as he glanced to Constable Young, seeking approval.

“Lou, go with them,” Kira ordered, overriding any response.  “I can guide Team One back here just as easily as you can.”

The constable quirked a grin at their dispatcher, accepting her solution with a wry salute.  “Copy that, Kira.”  Leaving his laptop where it was, he strode around the dispatcher desk, grin widening at the way Elias immediately fell in step right behind him, the rumbling purr from his chest only just audible to the group.

Lancelot smiled himself at the sight and briefly ducked back into the workout room to let his Sergeant and team leader know where he and Mordred would be.  Then he rejoined the unusual procession out to the SRU’s primary training building.

* * * * *

Mordred peered curiously at the testimony Pensieve in Auror Onasi’s hand as Lancelot went to retrieve the night’s on-duty Healer from the magic side of the barn.  Right after they’d gotten out to the training building, Team One’s Constable Young – Lou – had noticed blood on Parker’s left leg.

At first, they’d all been concerned that it might’ve been more splinching, but the cuts they’d found buried in lion fur had looked more like they were from flying debris than the results of Onasi Splinching a few of Lieutenant Parker’s flight feathers.  Still, even if they were only small injuries, there was no reason to make their lieutenant wait for treatment, especially with Healers on-site.

The Auror kept the Pensieve in his left hand and drew his wand with his right.  He flicked it at an open area of the training building, muttering something under his breath.  Three plain wooden chairs appeared, all of them looking very uncomfortable, and the wizard huffed a sigh, shaking his head.

Before he could Vanish the chairs, Mordred moved to his side and tapped his shoulder.  “You have to give the magic a firm intention.”

Onasi blinked at him.  “I know you have to visualize to Transfigure anything.”

“But do you hold the image until the conjuration is done?” Mordred asked.

“Only if it’s something I haven’t done before,” the wizard admitted.

The druid swallowed down any disapproval.  “Go ahead and Vanish them.”

Brown eyes narrowed at him, but then the other man shrugged and flicked his wand at the chairs; they disappeared in a puff of smoke.

“Now visualize the exact chairs you want to make,” Mordred instructed, turning Onasi back towards the same corner he’d conjured the first set of chairs in.  “Start with one, actually; don’t try and conjure all three at the same time.”

“Got it,” the wizard replied, a faint unhappiness in his voice at Mordred’s lecturing tone.

“Don’t even use a spell,” Mordred coached.  “Just keep that image of a chair in your mind and let your magic flex.”  As he said ‘flex’, the constable gripped Onasi’s wand-hand and tugged on it.

The wand flicked, letting the magic out, and a chair appeared out of thin air in the corner.  A simple wooden chair, like the first three, but it sported a leather cushion and the wood was smooth, unlike the roughness of the original chairs.  Not the best chair Mordred had ever seen, but a perfectly usable one nonetheless.

“Wow, you’ve been practicing,” a new voice remarked, drawing the duo’s attention to the wizard following Lancelot into the training building.  Junior Auror Nealan Queenscove grinned at the older wizard, brushing a stray lock of brunet hair out of his eyes.

Auror Onasi grumbled something under his breath and turned back, flicking his wand twice more to conjure two more chairs.  Mordred was pleased to note that they were near-identical to the first chair and quietly signaled Young and Parker to keep quiet.

He needn’t have bothered.  “How ‘bout you focus on Sarge,” Lou interjected, frowning at the young wizard.

“Sure thing, Auror…whoa!”  Queenscove jumped at the sight of wings, red eyes, and lion-like legs.  “Parker, what happened to you?”

Lionish ears laid back.  “Morgana.  Morgause.”

“We’re workin’ on it, Queenscove,” Onasi put in, gesturing with the testimony Pensieve.  “Need you to take a look at the cuts and bruises while we check this memory out.”

The young Auror squirmed, but nodded resolutely and marched over to the half-human, half-gryphon.  “Okay.  Show me where, Parker.”

“I got it, Sarge,” Lou said before his boss could reply.  Speaking quietly, he guided the Healer and Parker away from the others, already pointing towards some of the cuts they’d found.

Left alone, Mordred drifted to the conjured chairs, choosing one at random.  He lifted it and turned it inwards, nodding as Lancelot did the same with another one.  Auror Onasi took the third and the men sat down at the same time, all of them facing each other.  Holding his breath, the wizard flicked his wand towards the floor between them, letting it out in a sigh of relief as a small knee-high table appeared.  Hardly elegant, but it would do.

Onasi set the testimony Pensieve down in the middle of the table and carefully unsealed the lid, flipping it open.  “One finger is all you need,” he explained.  “You two go first and I’ll join you.”

The constables traded a glance and nodded before they reached out, each resting a hand on the Pensieve and dipping their forefingers into the liquid.  Mordred felt a jerk in his mind and vision glazed over as his body slumped in its chair.

* * * * *

He landed in a small room that looked like it was inside some kind of warehouse or industrial building.  Concrete floors and drab gray walls, so out of place next to the two women he could see.  Inside, his heart lurched – Morgana – it was her.  She was standing over a kneeling Lieutenant Parker, the latter wreathed in her emerald magic while another woman – blonde, slim, and with brown eyes – stood over a third woman in professional attire, red-gold magic surrounding her with an aura of palpable menace.

A hand touched his shoulder and he jerked around to see Lancelot; his teammate bore a grave, serious expression.  “Morgause.”

Mordred glanced back towards the still scene.  “Leon was right?”  Not that he’d doubted it, but there had always been a chance that Morgana had found herself a new ally.  A modern one.

“Yes.  We will need to keep him away from her if possible.”  Lancelot sighed at the startled question in his teammate’s eyes.  “The first time Morgana took over Camelot, Morgause recruited King Cenred and his mercenary army.  They stole the Cup of Life from a group of druids and used it to make Cenred’s men immortal.”

Mordred shivered.  “But they’d lose their souls,” he blurted.

“I imagine Morgause did not mention that particular detail to them prior to the ritual,” Lancelot replied drily.  “She certainly did not inform Cenred that his men would be bound to her and her alone; in the aftermath, when the new king of Escetia (4) claimed the castle, he found Cenred in the throne room, stabbed through with a sword from one of his own mercenaries.”

Mordred shivered again.  “Leon fought them?”

Lancelot nodded.  “Fought them and was one of the few Knights to survive the invasion.  As First Knight, it fell to him to rally the captive Knights against Morgana and Morgause’s cruel reign.”  His expression fell even further.  “When he and the other Knights would not bow to Morgana as Queen, the Witches had the mercenaries fire upon the citizens of Camelot in front of their captives.”

The druid-constable swallowed convulsively.  To fire on civilians – how on Albion were Morgause and Morgana any different from the Butcher?  What was the difference between a peasant of Camelot and a common druid fleeing the bloodcloaks?  He knew the difference – one had magic and the other did not – but that was no difference at all.  To Judge by magic and magic alone – it was wrong.  Racism of a different stripe was still racism – and Mordred was ashamed that his past self had never truly learned that lesson.

“Ready?”

The two constables turned towards their Auror guide, though Mordred kept quiet, letting Lancelot answer for both of them.  “Whenever you are, Auror Onasi.”

“Giles,” the wizard corrected.  “This is gonna get long if we stick to the formalities the whole night.”

Lancelot quirked a grin.  “True.”

All three men turned towards the still image in front of them and Giles frowned, waving a hand to set the memory in motion.  None of them spoke as it played out, the magic of the memory tugging them along without needing to walk after the participants as they moved from the initial landing point to a larger room, one with a cell built into the wall.

Mordred’s brows rose as he studied it; the ceiling was a few meters higher than the cage’s roof, making the cage a near free-standing structure, save for the fact that two of its sides were the building walls.  It was large enough for several occupants, making him wonder if the Witches had constructed it themselves or if it had been there prior to their ownership.

His focus snapped to Morgause as soon as she started chanting, years of lessons allowing him to automatically translate her spell into modern English.  Horror surged through his being as he listened, because he knew this spell.  Cerdan had taught him the original version as part of his training to become his clan’s next chieftain, before he’d chosen to leave and attend the Academy.

The druid-constable mouthed Morgause’s spell to himself, fists clenching.  How dare she alter a Judgment spell!  How dare she invoke the Triple Goddess for personal revenge!  Judgment was reserved for the very worst of crimes or when an offender could not be corrected by any other means.  It was a solemn, serious ritual, invoked in view of the entire clan and with their blessing after a full trial.  To take it behind closed doors and use it like this…  Not even a High Priestess had the right to single-handedly pronounce Judgment!

As Parker was dropped to the ground, snarling at the woman he’d fought so very hard to protect, Mordred gestured sharply.  The memory froze and he growled, rage a living thing in his chest.  But this time, it was neither ancient nor directed at his friends.

“I’ve seen enough,” he announced, icy cold.

Onasi frowned.  “We haven’t seen the whole thing.”

“We’ve seen the spell,” Lancelot interceded.  “If we need to view the rest of the memory, we can always re-enter the Pensieve.”  He flicked a glance at Mordred.  “You need to calm down, though, or we’ll have Gwaine and Elyan up in arms again.”

“Let them,” Mordred snapped.  “She dares.”  A low, poisonous hiss, coupled with another furious gesture.  One that accidentally put the memory back into motion.

“That is the deepest part of his magic and it will Judge you now,” Morgana announced.  “And so bring Judgment upon him.”

“No…” Mordred breathed, anger fleeing as he stared at the scene in fresh horror.  “Morgana, what have you done?”

Onasi snapped towards him even as the memory froze again.  “You know her?”

Lancelot shook his head, moving between the two.  “Another time.”  Hazel shifted back towards Mordred.  “What do you see?”

“They’ve corrupted Judgment,” Mordred whispered.  “It is meant to only be directed at one person, but they’re…  They’re trying to Judge an entire group of people.”

His teammate frowned, but nodded.  “Let’s go back.  That way you can write down the spell and everything you’ve picked up.  We’ll need help to troubleshoot this anyway.”

Mordred nodded, but dread was creeping up his spine.  Ye gods, a Judgment spell.  One that had invoked the Triple Goddess Herself.  His lessons with Cerdan had been clear.  Once the Triple Goddess Herself was called upon, Her will was absolute.  As was Her Judgment.

* * * * *

Once Team One and Marina Levin arrived back at the barn, Lou took charge of their lieutenant’s phone while his teammates and Marina descended on the takeout that Team Four had gotten for them from a nearby restaurant.  The part-time computer tech extracted the notes from the smartphone, meshing them with Mordred’s notes on the spell itself, along with the constables’ observations of their two subjects.

Though Lou wished he could’ve viewed the memory himself, he’d seen Giles and the two Team Four constables after they’d come out of the Pensieve.  Even though the wizard admitted they hadn’t watched the entire memory, whatever they had seen had been bad.  Maybe it was better not to know, much as the thought burned.

After the first blush of dinner-hunger was sated, the combined group migrated out to the training building.  Elias perked up as soon as he saw the rest of Team One and Lou hastily descended to smooth out the initial introductions.  Ironically, it actually helped when, only a few minutes into the reunions, Elias suffered a core spasm.  Ed and Wordy caught him before he could collapse, their magic shining in their eyes as Elias instinctively pulled on it, keening and whimpering the whole time.  Sam and Jules crowded in, their need to help their boss overriding wary fear of the gryphon.  Lou settled a hand on Elias’s back, right between his wings, and felt the difference as scarlet magic gently tugged at his own, so much like their Sarge that his remaining doubts faded away like mist.

Fortunately, neither Giles nor Team Four seemed to notice what was going on in the Team One corner of the training building; once Elias was steady again, Lou headed back to his laptop and tapped in the commands to project their notes on the far wall.

For several minutes, there was silence as the officers read through the notes, all of them frowning as they absorbed the material.  Finally, Gwaine broke the quiet.  “What happened the night you went to Houston?”

Ed sighed, rubbing his bald dome.  “A lot, but if I had to guess, Greg was talking about when Morgana was using him to lure us all in.  He was basically under her control, but there were a couple moments when he broke free.”  A breath.  “The first time, he screamed that it was a trap.”

“And you still went in?” Gwaine demanded.

Their Sergeant stilled, but Wordy jumped in.  “It was already too late,” he explained.  “We were too close and couldn’t get away.”

“What about the other two warnings?” Team Four’s team leader asked, sticking on point.

“More of the same,” Sam put in.  “ ‘Where we go one, we go all’ – that’s Sarge emphasizing that Morgause is targeting us.”

“And choosing the other means Sarge doesn’t want us to save him,” Jules added, subdued.  “He thinks if we try to save him, we’ll get hurt.”

“That’s entirely possible,” Constable Vlachos announced, a pensive frown on his face.  “They used a Judgment spell, one which invokes the Triple Goddess Herself.”

A host of puzzled looks were cast in the druid-constable’s direction.  “Details, Mordred,” Leon ordered.

The frown deepened.  “Morgause altered the spell, in two places.”  He stepped to the front, gesturing, and a line of emerald magic appeared under one part of the spell.  “Animal heart.  This allowed Morgause to supplant Lieutenant Parker’s conscious mind with that of his Animagus form, thus splitting him into two as Miss Levin and Elias reported.”  The sorcerer turned, a grave expression on his face.  “Until Judgment is complete, Parker will remain divided.”

“There’s no way to end it prematurely?” Elyan asked, a plaintive note in his voice.

Mordred shook his head.  “Not as far as I know, Elyan.  Once the Triple Goddess is invoked only She may deem Judgment complete.”  He drew in a deep breath.  “And it gets worse.”  Without waiting for anyone to ask, he turned back to the projected screen, his magic moving to a second phrase.  “This means that the object of the spell is a liege lord or king, meaning that Judgment is meant to be imposed on those under his authority as well as the spell’s initial target.”

“Us,” Ed concluded, earning a nod from their Old Religion expert.  The bald sniper scowled.  “So where does Marina come in?”

“If Parker had Judged her, he would’ve fallen under the Triple Goddess’s own Judgment,” Mordred explained.  “Judgment cannot be inflicted upon the non-magical; to do so is in violation of the Old Religion’s most ancient tenants.”  His mouth tightened.  “In other words, that was the first trap, one Parker managed to avoid.”

All eyes swung to the gryphon-human hybrid; he whined, fidgeting.

“First trap,” Leon mused.  “Mordred, what are the others?”

To Lou’s dismay, the constable shook his head.  “I don’t know, Leon.  If we were dealing with the original spell, I would, but Morgause’s alterations are more than just the words of the spell.  Intention is just as important and we have no way of knowing what intentions she’s programmed into the magic itself.”  His mouth tightened.  “It must be bad, though, or Parker wouldn’t have fought against the spell’s bindings to give us three warnings.”

“Does that mean Elias knows?” Marina ventured.

A grim nod.  “I’m sure he does, but Morgause’s spell and the Triple Goddess would prevent him from speaking,” Mordred replied.

Wordy cleared his throat.  “What about Morgana?” he questioned.  “We know she’s involved in this too, but you’re just talking about Morgause.”

Lancelot lifted a hand before Mordred could reply.  “I agree that Morgana is involved, Wordsworth, but Morgause was clearly running the show.  She cast the spell and she was the one who taunted both Elias and Marina.”

“Morgana bantered with Lieutenant Parker,” Mordred put in.  “She went along with Morgause, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s got her own agenda in the middle of all this.”

“Which is?”  Ed.

Both constables shrugged.  “Unknown at this point,” Lancelot admitted easily.  “I did notice that she kept a very close eye on Parker’s actions up until the spell itself was cast, but for what?”  He shook his head.  “Only she knows.”

“Maybe I could ask her.”

All eyes flew to Mordred and Lou spied identical expressions of dismay on Leon, Gwaine, Elyan, and Percival.

“No,” Lancelot intervened, frowning at Mordred.  “Morgana may have been willing to banter with Parker, but she is clearly searching for us.  If you go to her, then she’ll find us.”

Mordred opened his mouth to argue, but a low growl cut him off.  Elias slipped past their teammates, moving right up to the Team Four constable.  “Not right,” the gryphon insisted.  “You…bright…untainted…”

“Say what?” Mordred blurted, jaw dropping open, shock so blatant that Lou was hard pressed to keep from snickering.

Elias rumbled a laugh, tail lashing.  Then he sobered.  “Friends anchor.  Morgana…she know you.  Can twist you, like before.  Make you dark again.”

Lancelot slipped up on Mordred’s other side, resting a hand on his teammate’s shoulder.  “I know she was your friend once, but we cannot risk it.  Not now.”  He squeezed a moment.  “If she should continue her new pattern, perhaps we might consider it in the future.”

It took a minute, but the druid-constable nodded acceptance, dropping his gaze.  He rubbed at his eyes, swiping away a suspicious shine, before looking up again.  “If we can’t go to Morgana, then the only other option I know of is my father, Cerdan.”

“But…?” Leon ventured, rubbing his beard.

“But,” Mordred agreed.  “Most druids are loyal to the Triple Goddess and Her High Priestesses, even if we shun violence.  My clan is no different.  Even though Morgause has altered the spell, Cerdan may decide that since the spell worked, the Triple Goddess approves of her actions.”  His jaw tightened with old pain, arms moving briefly in an aborted self-hug before he forced himself to continue.  “And my clan does not trust law enforcement at all; when I made the decision to attend the Academy, I was cast out.”

Elias’s growls weren’t the only ones; Team Four descended on their bomb tech – Leon and Percival even elbowed the gryphon out of the way and back away from their teammate.  Far from being offended, Elias nodded approvingly and fell back to Ed and Wordy, wings spreading out to curl protectively around both men.

“Um…I might have an idea…”

Startled, Lou turned, both eyebrows rising at the speaker.

Junior Auror Nealan Queenscove fidgeted from his spot next to Marina – he’d been treating her cuts and bruises just like he’d already treated Elias’s – but bore up under the scrutiny with all the aplomb of a well-bred pureblood.

“Neal, what do you got?” Sam asked when the silence dragged on a little too long.

Neal twitched again.  “There’s an old friend of my father who’s interested in all sorts of oddities.  Muggle stuff, old stuff – you name it, he’s researched it.  Maybe he’s researched your Old Religion thing?”

Team One traded glances, deliberately dragging out the silent conference to give Mordred some breathing room.  Finally Ed shifted towards the young Auror and asked, “Who is this guy?”

“His name’s Gaius Wilson.”

There was a sharp inhale from every member of Team Four.

Then Gwaine blurted, “You know Gaius?!?”

[4] Merlin’s home country does not have a canon name in BBC’s Merlin; this name comes from the “A Question of…” series by Alaia Skyhawk on Fanfiction.net.

Chapter Text

The evening was beginning to deepen as Junior Auror Queenscove made his way through a Magical Toronto shopping area that catered to lower income wizards.  Though many of Toronto’s pureblood families refused to patronize any shops not located in the most exclusive of shopping districts, Neal’s family had never been so short-sighted.  There were many shops that offered quality items just as good as products from those exclusive stores – and charged far less, to boot.  From their youngest days, he and his brothers had been taught the art of sifting good shopkeeps from the bad, studying at the knee of the master – their mother.

A wistful smile stole across Neal’s face at the memory of his older brothers – it always hurt to remember them, but it was getting easier to focus on the good times rather than their deaths.  Shaking away the memories, he scanned the street for his destination, a small apothecary tucked deep in the heart of the district.

The proprietor, an old friend of Neal’s father, had opened his apothecary after losing his position at St. Mungo’s.  From what the young Auror could remember, Healer Wilson had been fired after a high-class pureblood witch discovered the treatment he’d prescribed her was Muggle.  The irony, buried deep in the gossip between Healers, was that the treatment had been cheaper and more effective than the potions typically recommended by the hospital.

Nevertheless, in the wake of the scandal and unable to find work as a Healer, Gaius Wilson purchased an old apothecary, named it Hunith’s Place, and proceeded to make his living selling potions, potion ingredients, and Muggle remedies to the poorer residents of Magical Toronto.  As many of those residents were half-bloods and tech-borns, none of them objected to Gaius’s odd interests – they were far more concerned with stretching what little gold they had as far as possible than with protecting the ‘purity’ of the Wizarding World.

Among those poorer residents were many Healers who worked at St. Mungo’s and trusted their former colleague to mix his potions without the shortcuts and ‘tricks of the trade’ common to larger, more prosperous apothecaries.  Even Neal’s own father patronized Gaius’ shop and the elderly wizard was one of the few who knew how to brew Baird Queenscove’s most exclusive potions – a coup his competitors envied fiercely, particularly since Gaius also held his clients’ privacy in the strictest of confidences.

When Neal reached the apothecary, there were three witches already present as well as a wizard browsing through the potion ingredients for sale.  One of the witches was attempting to haggle Gaius down to a lower price – for a potion that Neal knew for a fact cost twice as much in other apothecaries.  The young wizard bristled, but the old man behind the apothecary counter never turned a hair as he smoothly diverted each one of her attempts to cut another few Knuts off his income.

One of the other witches finally stepped in, demanding that the first witch pay for her purchase or leave – judging by her tone, the haggling had gone on much too long.  The blonde witch turned up her pert nose at the other witches, but huffed and slapped down her coins for the potion.  The entire store seemed to breathe a sigh of relief once the woman left, singed ego drifting in her wake.

A serene Gaius shook his head and moved onto his next customers, greeting them warmly as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.  Neither witch tried to haggle and the elderly shopkeeper wrapped up their purchases in thick brown wrapping paper while the women laid out their Sickles and Knuts.

As the witches left, Gaius looked up at Neal, a white brow rising, but the Junior Auror shook his head, tilting his chin towards the wizard still browsing through the potion ingredients.  Divining that his newest customer desired a private conference, the apothecary nodded and moved to his front door, flipping the sign from Open to Closed.  Both men waited until the final occupant of the shop made his choices, purchased them, and departed before Neal approached the counter.

“Another order from your father?” Gaius inquired.

“Not tonight,” Neal replied.  “Actually, we need your consult on an old spell.”

Both brows rose as the elderly wizard studied his customer.  Neal fidgeted under that piercing blue gaze, but held his ground.  At last, Gaius gave a harrumph and gestured for the young man to follow him.

Ducking under the section of counter that was actually a panel laid across a walkway, the brunet trailed his host into a back room filled to the brim with bookcases.  Every single one of the bookcases was overflowing with tomes and notebooks documenting Gaius’s many scientific endeavours.  Esoteric instruments marched along the tops of tables crammed into the space – the presence of plates, silverware, and a drinking cup on one table was almost out of place, an afterthought of human necessity.

In the middle of the room, Gaius turned to face Neal again, folding his hands together in front of his chest.  His scarlet red robe with its simple – but colorful – banding that ran up either side of the zipper and up around the robe’s collar was accented by his open dark teal over robe which sported the same branding.  The old man’s impeccably groomed, wavy white hair descended to his collar, framing a face that sagged with age, but remained as resolute and studious as ever with Gaius’s strong nose, stern expression, and raised eyebrow.

“Now then,” Gaius began, “What sort of spell is this, young Neal?  I know very well that you have access to much better resources than this old man.”

Rather than reply, Neal held out a piece of paper, one that had the spell written in the Old Tongue, but not the modern translation.  From what Constable Vlachos had said, if Gaius could read the writing, then there was a chance he could help.

Lifting a finger in silent request, Gaius turned to the nearest table, picking up a pair of spectacles.  Square and banded with bronze rims, they settled on his nose and he peered over them as he accepted the paper, frowning thoughtfully as he inspected the contents.  Then he stilled, blue widening in shock.

“Where did you get this?”

“Can you read it?” Neal countered.

“Nealan Queenscove, where did you get this?”

The young Auror blew out a breath, brushing his hanging fringe out of his face.  “It was used on a member of the Auror Strategic Response Unit.  We managed to get the spell from a Pensieve memory.”

“The spell is still active?”

“Yes.”  Neal’s emerald locked with Gaius’s blue.  “Can you read it?”

For a long moment, silence draped the tiny room.  Gaius considered the paper in his hand as well as the earnest Junior Auror waiting for his answer.  At last, he closed his eyes, removed his spectacles, and nodded.  Without waiting for Neal to speak, he tucked the glasses away in his robe and moved to another table, picking up an old white canvas bag.  Slipping its strap over one shoulder, the wizard hurried to a bookcase, pulling several tomes from two different shelves.  A third stop allowed Gaius to collect a number of potions and ingredients tucked in glass vials.

Turning back to Neal, he said, “I cannot promise anything but the attempt.  This is very powerful, very ancient magic.”

Neal’s face fell, but then he lifted his chin, meeting Gaius’s gaze with every bit of the confidence he possessed.  “We’ll find a way, sir.  Parker and his team don’t know the meaning of the words, ‘Give up’.”

A faint smile curved the elderly wizard’s jaw.  “Well said, lad.”

* * * * *

Due to the fragility of several reagents in his bag, Gaius Wilson and young Nealan Queenscove could not Apparate to the Auror Division’s current headquarters.  As the Muggle building had never been added to the Floo Network prior to the hostile takeover of the Canadian Ministry of Magic, the two wizards were therefore obliged to take the Knight Bus.  Gaius was not best pleased by the idea, but could see no alternative.

Then, partway towards the gateway into the Muggle world, Nealan slipped up alongside him, an odd device in hand.  “I called the barn, let ‘em know we can’t Apparate; they’re sending Braddock to pick us up.”

One eyebrow rose.  “The barn…?”

Neal grinned at him.  “That’s what the techies call their headquarters.”

The second brow joined the first, though Gaius did not speak immediately.  “Techies.  What is it short for?”

“Technologicals,” the young man replied.  He made to continue, only to stop as the elder wizard lifted a quelling hand.

Tilting his head, Gaius considered, a smile working its way across his face.  “Quite appropriate.  Technology versus magic, indeed.”  He cast a glance at Neal.  “I take it Auror Braddock is a techie?”

“Squib-born.  They’ve actually got a couple Squibs and Squib-borns in their unit.”

Most intriguing.  The wizard inclined his head and folded his hands together again, adopting the placid expression he’d perfected over the many decades of his life.  Inside his mind, he reviewed the spell young Nealan had shown him.  A spell written in a language he’d never thought to see again – outside of his collection of ancient tomes – for a system of magic long extinct.

For a moment, he allowed himself to think of the past.  The many countless hours he had spent in service to Camelot, first under King Uther and then under King Arthur and Queen Guinevere.  Gaius the Court Physician.  Gaius the Sorcerer.  Gaius the Traitor.  Traitor to his own kind, for the countless lives he’d watched go to their deaths in the Great Purge as he stood safe and secure under his pardon from Uther.  Not even his mentorship of Emrys could make up for his sins of omission.  His failure to act, to stand against King Uther’s vengeful genocide of his fellow sorcerers.

Grimly, the former Court Physician set aside his ancient guilt and returned his attention to the spell.  A Judgment spell, unless he was much mistaken.  Altered, but clearly accepted by the Triple Goddess if young Neal’s report was accurate.  He could examine the target of the spell and document as many of the effects as possible, but it would take a great deal of time and research to discover how to end the spell if Judgment could not be completed.

Of greater interest – and concern – was the sudden reappearance of the Old Religion.  To successfully use a Judgment spell would require a High Priest, High Priestess, or the chieftain of a druid clan.  Throughout his long modern life, he had never encountered any – while that did not preclude the possibility that practitioners of the Old Religion had survived into the modern age, it was rather disconcerting that such had reappeared without prior warning.  In an era where most magicals used Latin or the native magic of their home countries, the study of the Old Religion was largely restricted to historians and those interested in esoteric magic.

While he himself could still practice the Old Religion, Gaius knew that was due to his past as Camelot’s Court Physician and pardoned Sorcerer.  Modern magicals would have no such advantage – and much of the knowledge required for a Judgment spell had been lost over the ages.  Primarily, Gaius had to admit, in King Uther’s Great Purge.  Why, by the time of his death, there had been no one left alive – save perhaps Merlin – who possessed enough influence with the Old Religion to pronounce Judgment, much less invoke the Triple Goddess’s own Judgment.

Caught up in his musing, Gaius allowed young Neal to take the lead through the gateway, trailing the Junior Auror to the technological streets beyond.  Long practice after years of wandering through the castle in Camelot whilst planning his next remedies, experiments, and even a few plots kept him firmly at Nealan’s side, even when the young man halted right next to the road.  Gaius looked up in time to see a large black vehicle rolling towards them, flashing blue and red lights to part the surrounding traffic.

How very interesting.  Young Neal was working with police officers.

* * * * *

Gaius inspected his surroundings with great curiosity as he was led from the Strategic Response Unit’s garage into the main building.  As a very young man in his modern life, he had briefly considered a career in law enforcement before rediscovering his love of healing and scientific research.  More, as a half-blood, he and his siblings had been raised alongside his father’s nieces and nephews, learning the technological world just as well as the magical one – the state of the family finances mitigated against any misplaced arrogance on the part of his mother and father.

The old sorcerer was, therefore, keenly interested in the inner workings of the police building around him and yearned for the chance to explore and ask questions.  Perhaps once the immediate issues were tackled, he might inquire about a tour at the very least.  It would be fascinating to compare these modern day knights to their Camelotean predecessors, for Gaius was quite sure that membership in an elite unit such as this one would’ve required a knighthood – at the very least – in the days of King Uther.

His two guides rounded a corner, heading up a short ramp towards what appeared to be an atrium – Gaius wondered briefly if he would be asked to sign-in, to satisfy the ever-present bureaucrats.  Then his eye fell upon a group of men already in the atrium, all of them dressed in black and gray uniforms akin to the one Auror Constable Braddock wore.  One of the men, a tall fellow with curly brunet hair, was turned away from him, but snagged at Gaius with a sense of the familiar.

Then Braddock whistled, pulling all attention towards the three new arrivals – and Gaius’s world came to an abrupt and sudden halt.  Because that was Sir Leon facing him, bracketed by Sir Gwaine and Sir Percival.  To Gwaine’s left, Sir Lancelot – to Percival’s right, Sir Elyan.  The Court Physician was vaguely aware of his jaw dropping open as he stared at the impossible.  The Knights of the Round Table, come back to life and united once more.

Another man joined the group, unfamiliar to Gaius, but wearing the same uniform as the knights, with a sergeant’s chevron on his shoulder.  Dark eyes regarded the elderly sorcerer with a mix of curiosity and wariness under sharp features and close cropped black hair.  He glanced towards Leon, one brow rising.  “Old friend of yours, I take it?”

The former First Knight of Camelot blinked twice, shedding his state of shock, then nodded.  “Yes, Sarge.”  A smile broke through and he stepped forward, gesturing for Gaius to join him.  Once the physician hastened to the knight’s side, Leon made a half-turn and said, “Sergeant Troy Vio, may I introduce Gaius Wilson, Healer and apothecary.”

Mischief glinted in the knight’s eyes, particularly when Gwaine muttered, just loud enough for the Sergeant to hear, “And Court Physician of Camelot.”

One white brow rose, coupled with an unimpressed glare.

Gwaine blanched, hiding behind Percival’s bulk.  “He’s still got the Eyebrow!”

Sergeant Vio snickered, a smile of his own appearing.  “You think you could teach me that one?  Might come in handy.”

The second eyebrow joined the first.  “You are not surprised?”

The other man shook his head.  “Nope.  That was a couple months back, when I first found out.”  He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.  “Soon as my guys recognized your name, I figured you’d be exactly who they thought.”  Skewering a glare in Gwaine’s direction, he added, “Stop hiding; the kid Auror’s already curious.”

The roguish knight pouted, but didn’t protest as Percival moved away, stretching out a brawny arm and clasping Gaius’s in a warrior’s grip.  “Good to see you again,” the quietest of Arthur’s knights said.

The elderly man was forced to swallow down a lump, for he remembered, all too well, when Merlin had returned to Camelot with Leon and Percival’s bodies, broken by the deaths of the last remaining Knights of the Round Table.  The numbness in Merlin’s voice as the young warlock disavowed the ancient prophecies, declaring that they’d brought him nothing but pain and anguish.  Taken everyone he knew and loved in return for the worthless lie of Albion.

Clearing his throat and banishing any thought of the many losses that had marked his final days in Camelot, Gaius focused on the here and now, with the alive knight-constables of Toronto.  “Perhaps you might explain more of the circumstance which has brought me here?”

All smiles vanished and Leon nodded, a grim expression emerging.  He glanced towards his Sergeant, earning a nod before the other man shifted out of the way and fell back into the midst of his constables.  Turning, the tall former knight started walking, waiting until Gaius fell in step beside him to speak.

“Lieutenant Gregory Parker, formerly the Sergeant for SRU Team One.”

“Your team?”

Leon chuckled.  “No.  We’re Team Four.  Braddock’s Team One, though.”  He sobered again.  “Morgana’s been crossing blades with Team One for at least a year.”

Alarm shot through the old physician.  “Morgana?”

To his further alarm, Leon met his gaze and nodded once.  “She has yet to prevail, though; no matter what she throws at them, they’ve found a way to turn it right back on her.”

“Not alone,” the blond Braddock pointed out, having caught up on Gaius’s other side.

“You haven’t lost anyone, mate,” Gwaine put in.  “That’s impressive.”

Indeed it was; encounters with Morgana in Camelot had nearly always been marked with the bodies of her victims, peasant and knight alike.

Gaius allowed a thoughtful hum.  “And this latest attempt?”

“She’s involved, but…”  Leon trailed off, gathering himself.  “Gaius…  This time, it’s Morgause.”

An icy feeling washed down the sorcerer’s spine.  “You are certain?”

“Yes.”

The response came not from Leon, but from Lancelot.  Gaius shifted his attention to the former knight, wary until he saw familiar hazel gazing back at him.  Not the pitch-black of the Shade that had returned to Camelot after the Isle of the Blessed.

A wry smile briefly quirked the dark-haired man’s jaw, as if he knew exactly what Gaius had been looking for.  “We have a Pensieve memory of her casting the spell on Lieutenant Parker.  Morgana was present, but did not participate beyond a few…pointed…taunts.”

Gaius frowned.  “That does not bode well; Morgause was raised from birth as a High Priestess and extensively trained in all the secrets of the Old Religion.  She passed much of her knowledge onto Morgana, but not, I daresay, all of it.”

“There simply wasn’t time,” Leon murmured.  “She does not appear to have changed at all.”

“Agreed,” Lancelot put in.  “Neither she nor Morgana ever seemed to realize that their attacks only hardened the general attitude against magic.”  He shook his head.  “Truly, in the here and now, it is sheer insanity; Team One is the sole reason that ‘Muggle’ police officers can even work magic-side.”

To Gaius’s private shock, Leon didn’t even twitch at the open reference to magic – or the implication that he was working alongside magic wielders.  Instead, he nodded sober agreement with Lancelot’s point.  “We maintain the Statute of Secrecy,” he explained, “but everyone in the know on our side knows that the Statute can’t last much longer.  Not with the way technology is advancing.”

“But if Morgana and Morgause force Magic out into the open like they’ve been trying, we’ll have a modern day Purge on our hands,” Elyan interjected, speeding up enough for Gaius to see him over Lancelot’s shoulder.

“Either that or open war,” Percival rumbled, scowling.

Most disturbing; Gaius knew well that the magical community did not have the numbers to survive either eventuality.  Returning to the matter at hand, he inquired, “So Morgause cast the spell on Lieutenant Parker in hopes of targeting this entire unit?”

“Parker hasn’t been a lieutenant long enough for it to be our whole unit,” Leon countered dryly.  “Although we and Team Three work magic-side, we’re not as well known as Team One.”  He shook his head.  “And Morgause and Morgana locked Parker’s former fiancé in with him before casting the spell.  She’s not magical at all.”

Gaius inhaled sharply.  “Is she still alive?”  He was astounded when the officers all nodded, but before he could inquire further, the group reached their destination – an outside building that appeared to be some sort of training area.  Inside, there was another group of people and several tables and chairs set up, but Gaius saw none of that as his gaze zeroed in on another familiar figure from the days of Camelot.

Sir Mordred.

* * * * *

Constable Mordred Vlachos was not looking forward to meeting Gaius again.  Leon and Elyan had expressed their doubts after Junior Auror Queenscove left – surely there were other men named Gaius in the world – but Mordred had long since realized that the ancient prophecies were playing out once again in the World of Men.

The Once and Future King, accompanied by his Court, would once more do battle with the Old Religion and its followers.  Morgana, Morgause…himself…  The villains of Camelot were rising just as surely as the King and his Knights.  For now, he stood at the King’s side, but the young constable dreaded the day when Kara reappeared.  Her appearance would herald his own downfall, his descent into hatred and vengeance as Camelot’s history repeated itself.  His friends – his teammates – they maintained hope.  They believed that they could defy Fate and forestall Destiny.  Mordred longed to be that sure.  That naïve.

But he knew; his life had been marked by the Triple Goddess from the very start.  Not even Wild Magic could defy Her Will – Parker’s current state was proof enough of that.  Once they figured out how to save the lieutenant – if they could – he had a very difficult decision to make.  Would he let Fate and Destiny have their way with him once more?  Or would he deny them King Arthur’s prophesied killer with a single bullet?

Caught up in his misery, the young constable forgot to keep an eye on the training building’s door.  His only warning of Gaius’s arrival was a sharp inhale and a shout of, “Oferswinge!”

The attack caught him from the side, picking him up and hurling him headfirst towards the nearest wall.  A distant part of his brain pointed out that this solved all his problems neatly even as he closed his eyes, bracing for impact.

Only for something to slam into him in midair, sending him in a new direction right before his world flipped over and his rescuer landed hard, hissing outrage next to one ear.  Mordred glimpsed feathers.  A flash of brown fur.  Spread wings.  Gray widened in shock.  Parker, no, Elias.  But why?  As far as Parker’s gryphon side was concerned, he was just a member of the SRU.  A Pride-Friend at best.  Not someone to be protected as if he actually meant something.  As if he was part of Elias’s Pride.

“Mordred!”

“Mate!”

He was panting.  Gasping with his knees collapsing underneath him.  The gryphon-human hybrid eased him down on all fours, crouching next to him as he fought to regain a semblance of composure.  Then an arm was around his shoulders, tugging him away from Parker even as the owner of that arm inspected him from head to toe.

“Sarge,” he rasped.

Sarge yanked him close in a hug, startling him.  Mordred knew Sarge cared about all of them, but he wasn’t the touchy-feely type.  More likely to express his affection with humor and sarcasm.  Maybe a ruffle of hair or a light punch to the shoulder.

“Don’t you dare scare me like that again, rookie,” Sarge ordered.  “I swear I lost a decade when you flew back like that!”

He sucked in another lungful of air, then joked, “Only a decade, Sarge?  Thought I was at least worth two.”

Gwaine laughed and reached over Sarge’s shoulder to ruffle his hair.  “That’s my rookie; comes right back with a quip and a grin.”

“Shut up, Gwaine,” Mordred dared, though inside he quailed.  It was the first time since…

But Gwaine just smirked at him with that familiar ‘make me, rookie’ glimmer in his eyes.  Then he glanced over at Elias, still hovering and shooting nasty glares in the direction of the door.  “No touching Gaius, Parker.  Leon forgot to warn him about Mordred being on Team Four with us.”  The roguish knight-constable sobered.  “Far as Gaius knows, Mordred’s a subject.”

Elias growled, low and angry, a pair of fangs flashing.  “Not subject.  Team Four.  Mine.”

Sarge jerked in surprise and Mordred felt his own eyes bug out.  “Did you just adopt the whole SRU?” he blurted.

Amused scarlet landed on him, inspecting him for any damage before the gryphon-human replied.  “Am lieutenant.  Like my human.  SRU mine.”

“Like to see you pull that with Team Two,” Gwaine muttered.

Parker frowned, then rumbled and shook his head, though Mordred couldn’t be sure if Elias remembered Team Two or not.  Reaching out, he rested a hand on the bomb tech’s shoulder.  “Stay.  Troy protect.”

He wanted to obey.  Wanted to stay with his Sarge – the man who only knew Camelot as history and not reality – but he was the one who knew the Old Religion.  The one who’d identified the spell and studied under a druid chieftain, one of the few left in the modern world.  He couldn’t just hide behind his Sergeant and his teammates and risk Gaius missing any of the nuances.  Not before and especially not now that he owed Parker his life.

So he shook his head and forced himself to pull out of Sarge’s hold.  It took another few seconds to straighten up enough that he could lock his knees and stop most of the trembling.  Looking Elias in the eye, he said, “Thanks, Boss, but I got to see this through.”

Wings and furry, feathery lion ears flexed in consideration.  Then Parker nodded acceptance and approval.  Glancing to either side of the constable, he ordered, “Troy.  Gwaine.  Protect.”

“Copy,” Sarge acknowledged.

“You got it, Boss,” Gwaine drawled, offering only a lazy salute.

Mordred rolled his eyes.  “You’re not fooling him, Gwaine.”  Or me, either.

The team joker grinned, showing off his best devil-may-care nonchalance.  “What’s to fool, rookie?  I just don’t wanna have to break in a new bomb tech.”

“Right…  So that’s why you’re over here instead of cheering on Gaius.”

Gwaine straightened, shedding the humor like the act it had been.  “Mordred.  Maybe I would’ve a couple months ago.  But not now.  I trust you and so does Elyan.”

His jaw dropped open, shock engulfing him even more than it had when Parker had called him bright.  Untainted.  “You’re not worried?”  His voice was small.  Fearful.

Completely serious now, the other knight-constable grabbed his shoulders.  “Sure I am.  I hate losing friends, ‘specially to that Witch.  Which is why I’m not.  Losing any friends, that is.”  He shook Mordred lightly.  “You are staying right where you belong this time, no matter how hard we have to fight for you.”  A hand rose, gently cuffing the back of curly locks.  “We lost you once, mate.  Lost two for the price of one.  It’s not happening this time or my name’s not Sir Gwaine.”

“It’s not,” Sarge put in, straight-faced.  “Last I checked, you haven’t been knighted.”

Gwaine smirked.  “If the princess is the Once and Future King, that’s gotta be worth somethin’, Sarge.”  He winked.  “Kinda makes us the Once and Future Knights.”

Mordred laughed, but inside, dread curled.  The Once and Future Knights, huh.  That made him the Once and Future Traitor.  And all of a sudden, he wished Parker had missed.

Chapter Text

Lancelot swung outwards in a blocking motion, cutting Junior Auror Queenscove off at the pass, though a dark part of his soul longed to let the young wizard act.  What gave Gaius the right to attack his teammate on nothing more than mere suspicion?  But he knew.  Camlann.  A name every member of Team Four hated – and ironically, Mordred hated it most of all.

Watching his Sergeant and Gwaine race for Parker and Mordred – bless his cousin’s lightning-quick response – the constable cocked his head.  “How long, do you think?”

Percival sighed.  “At least two.  Three if Gwaine is stupid.”

“It’s Gwaine,” Elyan put in, dejected.  “Of course he’ll say it.”

“Say what?” Junior Auror Queenscove demanded.

Leon grumbled something under his breath and rubbed his beard – the one he kept even though it was technically against SRU policy.  “The Once and Future Knights.”  Blue flicked towards Gaius and narrowed.  “That wasn’t necessary.”

The Once and Future Court Physician sputtered.  “Wasn’t necessary?”

He opened his mouth to continue and Leon cut him off with a deadly glare.  “We know.  We remember.  So does he.”  A step forward, looming over the elderly sorcerer.  “And the last time one of us was stupid enough to bring up Camlann, we spent a week keeping Mordred away from his off-duty firearm.”

Lancelot shuddered – the only reason Mordred’s suicide attempts had stopped after that week was his solemn promise that Wild Magic could defy Fate and Destiny.  That so long as Mordred had even one Wild Mage on his side, the Old Religion could not twist him into a murderer again.  A promise that now seemed rather hollow in the face of what Morgause and Morgana had done to Parker; Squib-born his cousin might be, but he was every inch a Wild Mage.

“Gaius,” he interceded, tone soft.  “What happened, happened.  We can’t change it, but if we let it taint the now, we’ll lose him again.”

The Court Physician glared.  “That is easy for you to say.”

“No, it’s not,” Lancelot countered, still firm.  “I was at Camlann.  In her shadow, just as I’d been every single day after what happened between me and Gwen.”  A breath.  “And Arthur was my friend, too.”

The old man recoiled, a dawning horror in his eyes.  Pity, too, which Lancelot wanted no part of.  He’d made peace with his centuries-long exile to the Netherworld, but had no desire to revisit the memories.

So he brushed past the old physician and angled for his teammates, praying Gwaine wasn’t being stupid.  But gryphon hearing caught the roguish former knight’s voice and he cringed.  “Point to Elyan,” he muttered, jerking to the side so Sarge would see his hands moving.

Dark eyes snagged on him, then widened as the Sergeant realized what a colossal screw-up their jokester had just committed.  Mordred was laughing, but there was a look in his eyes that Lancelot knew well.  He’d seen it in the mirror a few times as he’d struggled to come to grips with his own actions as a Shade – and that betrayal hadn’t even been voluntary.

* * * * *

Gaius took a step after Lancelot, only to halt when Leon gripped his arm.  “Don’t,” the former knight murmured, though not with the anger of before.  “He doesn’t want pity.”  There was a wealth of knowledge in that sentence, knowledge that Gaius knew he would do well to take heed of.

He forced himself to pause.  To nod.  “And Mordred?”

“Sees himself as the Once and Future Traitor,” Elyan supplied, sotto to keep young Neal from overhearing.  “We know the legends they have today, but we don’t talk about the prophecies.”

The old physician grimaced, hearing what the knight-constable wasn’t saying.  Deliberately, he skewed his gaze back to Lancelot and hopefully safer ground.  “What else are you aware of?”

Percival snorted, catching on at once.  “We don’t talk about Shades, either.”  Beside him, Elyan gave a solemn nod.

About to return the nod, Gaius stilled.  He would not – could not – trust Mordred, but if there was even a chance that the Knights were right about him, then it was Gaius’s duty to make amends for his poor reaction.  And if, perchance, his amends also resolved a long-standing issue – or two – so much the better.

Gently, he removed Leon’s restraining hand.  Then he folded his hands together in front of him, deliberately interlacing his fingers.  Inside, his heart pounded – he’d just disarmed himself – but the former Court Physician let not a whisker of that fear show as he strode across the room, angling for Mordred, the knight-constables, Sergeant Vio, and the winged figure who’d snatched Mordred out of thin air.

The winged figure saw him coming; scarlet gleamed and a growl rumbled in its chest as it stepped in his path, fingers curling into claws.

“It’s alright, sir,” Mordred interceded.  “We need his help.”

Scarlet flicked back towards the treacherous knight as the growl grew louder.  Then the figure moved aside, though it jabbed a finger at Gaius.  “Not subject.  Pride-Friend.  Mine.”

Taken aback, Gaius studied the winged figure more closely – and stilled.  Clearly, this was the individual under Morgause’s curse.  Animal-heart – an Animagus form?  A bird, perhaps?  No, the transformed legs were all wrong for a bird.

“Gryphon,” Lancelot supplied from off to the side.

The old sorcerer frowned.  “Magical Animagus forms are unheard of.”

“Not for Wild Mages,” Lancelot corrected.  “Our Animagus forms are familial and typically magical in nature.”

Our forms, not their forms.  Gaius turned away from the winged figure to stare at Lancelot.  “You have magic?”

Hazel met his blue without flinching.  “Yes,” the knight-constable confirmed.  “All my life.”

There was so much he could say.  So much he wanted to say.  To ask, to probe.  To explore the whys.  Instead, Gaius dipped his head.  “You hid it well.”  Perhaps too well.

Lancelot heard the unsaid, flinching ever so slightly from it.  Gesturing towards the winged figure, he said, “This is Lieutenant Gregory Parker.”  The man hissed, but Lancelot merely arched an unimpressed brow at him.  “He prefers the name Elias at the moment.”

“Certainly,” Gaius acknowledged, bowing to both of them.  Lifting his head, he met Mordred’s gray.  “You identified the spell?”

The young man nodded.  “We still have the Pensieve memory if you want to see,” he offered.

“I will,” Gaius confirmed.  “But first…”  He deliberately trailed off, waiting for Mordred to fidget.  “It seems I must apologize for my hasty reaction to seeing you.”  The old sorcerer lifted a hand when the men around him would’ve interrupted.  “More, I understand that your fellow knights are concerned for you.”

Mordred cringed, forcing a jerky nod.

“I have not changed my mind about you.  Yet.  But I must caution you against any permanent decisions.  Such would not be as irrevocable as you might imagine.”

Gwaine and Sergeant Vio glared, but Lancelot froze, a dawning realization on his face.  “No,” he whispered, stricken.

Gaius inclined his head to the dark-haired knight-constable.  “Yes.  Morgana might hesitate, knowing, as she does, what that entails for the… victim…  Morgause would not.”

Mordred frowned, glancing between them.  “What are you talking about?”

The Court Physician faced the young druid directly, each word precise.  “If history should repeat itself, Arthur would stand a much better chance against a human versus a Shade.”

Mordred recoiled, gray widening in utter terror as he absorbed the implications.  The idea that his suicide would make it easier for the Old Religion to manipulate him.  That, far from removing Arthur’s prophesized murderer from the stage, he would be creating an even more lethal killer.

“You would still be aware,” Lancelot cut in, pulling horrified gray to himself and ignoring the way Gaius blanched.  “A part of you would know what you were doing, but you would not be able to stop.”  He stopped, visibly battling with himself.  The final words slipped out, as if wrenched from the depths of his soul, fleeing the iron façade he’d maintained for so long.  “No matter how loudly you scream.”

Gaius felt himself pale, for this…  This was far, far worse than he’d ever imagined, even in his worst nightmares.  When he and Merlin had planned the latter’s confrontation with the Shade which Lancelot had become, he’d taken consolation in the knowledge that Lancelot could not remember.  His soul was bound to the undead conjuration, yes, but at least he didn’t know what he was doing.  Once freed, he would return to his rest, unaware of Morgana’s treachery.

To hear Lancelot now, to see the suppressed anguish on his face as he fought to smooth his expression out, the Court Physician wished he’d known then.  Wished he’d told Merlin to throw caution to the winds and use his magic to stop the Shade, even if it meant revealing himself to the whole court.  Perhaps they could’ve found a way to free their friend, restoring him to life in the process.  Arthur would’ve been angry, of course, but once he knew what Merlin had done for him, the horrors Merlin had spared Lancelot’s soul from…

The elderly man moved to Lancelot’s side, burying any trace of pity.  Only genuine regret and grief shone on his wizened face.  Reaching up, he rested a hand on the knight’s shoulder.  “Oh, my boy,” he murmured.  “Would that we had known, we would’ve never left you to that fate.”

Lancelot stiffened, even started to pull away.  But then the other knights were there, surrounding their teammate – Mordred tugged Sergeant Vio in when he tried to withdraw – and Leon was gripping Lancelot’s other shoulder.

“This isn’t Camelot,” he said, firm, with no give.  “You’re allowed to fall sometimes.”  A tiny, sorrowing smile.  “We’ll catch you.”

There was a recoil.  A choked off noise.  Then Gaius found a headful of knight in his arms, not sobbing or crying, but mourning nonetheless.  It rather reminded the old man of young Arthur, back before Uther had taught him that any display of emotion – besides anger – was shameful.

* * * * *

While Troy Vio knew himself to be a good leader – a good Sergeant – he’d never aspired to be a father to his men.  Parker had that all sewn up, anyway, and there was no way he’d ever be able to match a man who’d gone to the mat for his guys as often as Parker did.  So the SRU sniper stuck to what he’d learned from his own Sergeants and team leaders – professionalism and team building exercises, along with an open door policy for any intra-team issues.

That didn’t mean he was blind – he knew a father when he saw one, however unconventional.  As Lancelot trembled in the old sorcerer’s arms, Troy understood.  He understood why Gaius had been so very quick to lash out at Mordred – the angry father defending his sons.  Trying to avenge the one he’d lost at Camlann.

The Sergeant stayed where he was, leaving his wrist in Mordred’s grasp, though he made a mental note to have Percival collect the bomb tech’s off-duty weapon ASAP.  Maybe the old guy had gotten through to Mordred about how stupid the suicide move was, but Troy wasn’t taking any chances.  He might be violating SRU policy by not reporting his youngest constable, but that was as far as his forbearance went.  Besides, the thought of trying to explain why his bomb tech was suicidal…  That made his head hurt.

A minute or so later, Lancelot pulled back, out of Gaius’s grasp, already scrubbing away any hint of moisture.  Troy stepped on Leon’s foot before his team leader could say anything and cast the rest of his constables a warning glare.  Gwaine and Elyan moved away, followed by Percival once the big man figured out the same thing his Sergeant had.

Mordred shuffled in front of Lancelot, uncertain, but determined as he faced the old Court Physician directly, with no one between them.  Lifting his chin, he said, “I hear you, sir.  I wish I could promise you it won’t happen again, but I can promise that I won’t give them a Shade.  Not voluntarily.”

Intense blue skewered the bomb tech, examining him intently.  Then, slowly, the white-haired head nodded.  “I believe you.”

The two faced off for a moment longer, then Mordred allowed a slow exhale.  “Then…will you help us?”

Gaius inclined his head.  “I believe you said there was a Pensieve memory of this event?”

“We got the info from it, though,” Gwaine interrupted.  “Why start with that?”

“So that I may judge the casting of this spell for myself,” Gaius replied.  “I also wish to see the immediate aftermath, if the memory includes that.”

“It does,” Mordred said.  “We’ll need Auror Onasi, then.”

“And Lancelot goes with you again,” Leon interjected.

The bomb tech glanced back, already opening his mouth to argue, but stopped when Lancelot slid into place at his side, expression determined.  “Copy that,” he acknowledged instead.

* * * * *

Sam towed Junior Auror Queenscove over to the Team One corner, shaking his head.  At least they’d been able to talk Marina into going home with a female Auror qualified to set up short-term wards – they’d need to arrange for better ones, both at Marina’s apartment and for her family, but first they had to get Sarge out from under Morgause’s little Judgment spell.

In the meantime, Team Four had just blown their Big Secret to heck and gone.  There was no way to explain to Neal why his father’s old friend had just attacked somebody he’d never even met – or why he wasn’t going to be arrested for it – without explaining everything.  Tack on that idiotic ‘Once and Future Knights’ line and Sam was wondering if Neal even needed an explanation.

Nevertheless, the sniper didn’t speak until he’d reached his teammates and gotten Neal in the center of their group.  Then he glanced up at his Sergeant.  “So much for that.”

“No kidding,” Ed agreed, shaking his head.  “Why didn’t Leon warn him?”

The blond shrugged.  “Too busy catching up on the good ole times?”

“Okay, what’s going on?” Neal demanded.  “Gaius attacked an Auror and you guys aren’t even mad?”

Sam held up a hand to keep his teammates from replying and focused on the brunet Junior Auror.  “You’ve already got most of the pieces.  See if you can put ‘em together.”  A finger went up.  “Leon, the idiot, just gave you the biggest piece.”

Neal frowned, confused.  “I thought that was just a joke from that guy Gwaine.”

The sniper smiled mirthlessly and shook his head.

“You mean…he wasn’t kidding about that Once and Future Knights thing?”

Wordy snorted and Jules laughed even as Ed rolled his eyes.  The Sergeant cleared his throat.  “Hint number two.  The first name of Team Four’s bomb tech is Mordred.”

“And if you leave their Sergeant out, the others are Leon, Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan,” Jules put in.

“Third hint, back when Sam was kidnapped by his old squad, Giles found an old tome from the time of Camelot, written by Camelot’s Court Physician.  That’s how we figured out one of Sam’s kidnappers was a Shade.”  Wordy paused, waiting for Neal’s wary nod.  “The Court Physician’s name was Gaius.”

Neal’s eyes bugged out, jaw dropping open.  “But that’s impossible.  The legends are only about the Once and Future King!”

“Tell that to them,” Sam countered, grinning at the Junior Auror.  Then he shot a glance at Ed.  “Why didn’t you tell us?”

The Sergeant huffed.  “I didn’t know all the details,” he admitted.  “Remember a couple months back, we needed to cover Team Four’s shift once?”  At the nods from his teammates, he shrugged.  “The Boss told me about Lancelot, but that was it.  All I knew till tonight is that Team Four was having trouble and he needed us to cover for ‘em while he helped Troy straighten some stuff out.  I thought it was ‘cause they were having trouble with the whole ‘magic is real’ bombshell.”

“But why would Lieutenant Parker tell you about Lancelot?” Neal asked, confused.

Lane felt a smirk creep across his face.  “Because, back in the day, Lancelot’s last name was different.”  The smirk widened, waiting for maximum impact.  When Neal crossed his arms, he announced, “Sir Lancelot’s last name was Calvin.”

“No way,” Neal countered.  “That would make him a Wild Mage.  I haven’t seen him use magic even once.”

Ed hiked one shoulder.  “I don’t think he uses it much.  You’d have to ask him why, though.”

“Later,” Lou put in.  “I think they’re goin’ back for round two with the Pensieve.”

The constables and their Sergeant glanced over just in time to see the former Court Physician conjure a plush, comfortable chair to add to the circle of chairs around the testimony Pensieve.  Soft, Sam whispered, “Let’s hope the old guy comes up with somethin’.”

“Copy that,” Jules agreed.

* * * * *

Gaius did not permit himself to sigh, rub his forehead, or show any other visible sign of disappointment.  Outside of a dire situation, the Court Physician did not believe in doing anything that might discourage a patient.  And while Lieutenant Parker’s situation might indeed fall into that category, it was sheer folly to make assumptions before he’d even had a chance to research the situation.

The old sorcerer did allow a thoughtful hum as he regarded the results of his diagnostic.  Latin-based, of course, but his knowledge of the Old Religion permitted his Latin spellcasting to pick up valuable details that would’ve otherwise gone undetected.  That was really the trick to using Latin spells around the Old Religion – so long as one understood the type of magic they were trying to examine, it didn’t matter if the spells were cast in Latin or the Old Tongue.

Unfortunately, despite examining the Pensieve memory from beginning to end, thoroughly dissecting the notes collected by the officers, and then analyzing the spell itself with a variety of diagnostics, Gaius was no closer to a solution than he’d been when he’d first arrived.  He and Mordred had debated the altered Judgment spell right down to the syllables used by Morgause, but their ultimate conclusion remained the same.

Invoked by a High Priestess of the Old Religion and backed by the full might of the Triple Goddess, there was no way to end the Judgment spell before it ran its course.  Nor was there any way they could discern what actions were required to complete Judgment.  Lieutenant Parker’s animal side knew, but the geas (5) Morgause had included in her variant was preventing him from relating anything beyond the hints his human side had already relayed at great cost.

Robbed of Parker’s knowledge by default, their only option was to research the Old Religion and perhaps locate a counter-ritual, one which would allow them to plead their case before the Triple Goddess.  Even if She refused to end Judgment, perhaps She would be merciful enough to grant them knowledge of the Judgment’s requirements.

Or perhaps Sergeant Lane’s phone call to Merlin would bear fruit – ideally, Merlin would come himself.  Gaius paused, permitting himself to imagine the expression on his former ward’s face, and an unaccustomed sense of mischief and glee welled up.  Oh, that would be a reunion to behold and he very much hoped he could recruit one of the officers to photograph the scene.  Perhaps even videotape it.

And after that?  Gaius knew Merlin well; his ward would never allow Judgment to stand, even if he had to bully the Triple Goddess into renouncing Her claim on Parker’s soul.  Amusing, perhaps, but if anyone could bully a goddess, Emrys could.

They might well need him to.

[5] Literally ‘taboo’, this is a form of magical compulsion that forces those under it to obey or suffer the consequences.

Chapter Text

Ed felt his fists clench as Team Four and their Court Physician left, chattering away like a bunch of college co-eds!  As if it was all about them, catching up with each other and renewing their friendships, rather than helping a man trapped inside his own mind, bound to his Animagus instincts and stuck in a half-human, half-gryphon form.

It had only been a few hours, but his soul was howling.  The partially healed link thrashed inside his core, adrift without its true anchor.  Without his best friend, his brother by blood and magic – Elias couldn’t take Greg’s place, the lesser half of a much greater whole.  Sure, Elias had tactics and combat sewn up, mixed in with a dash of empathy and sure, he’d saved Team Four’s bomb tech from a nasty introduction to the nearest wall, but he wasn’t Greg.  He didn’t have an ounce of Greg’s intellect, couldn’t profile a subject or explain to Lou why one approach would work – and not another – in the latest practice negotiation.

And maybe he didn’t know all the magical mumbo-jumbo, but from what he could tell, the old guy hadn’t been able to come up with anything different from Mordred.  Which meant the only way to free Greg was to let the spell run.  Let it play itself out and fix Morgause’s mess afterwards.

Ideal – heck no.  But they’d have Greg back.  And once they had the Boss back, Ed knew they’d be able to find a solution to whatever Morgause’s scheme was.  After all, they’d beaten Morgana, hadn’t they?  More than once, even – how much worse could her sister be?

* * * * *

He turned his head at the footsteps, one ear flexing back at the determination on Yellow’s face.  No, they didn’t like that; they didn’t like him using their colors.  He didn’t understand; didn’t they know their colors reflected their very souls?  Every trait, every belief, every experience, every thought, it was all written in their colors.  Human names were pale imitations of the colors, hardly any more unique than the square stones of the building they were inside.

But his Pride preferred plain, ordinary sounds to the vibrancy of their colors.  Maybe, a thought whispered, they couldn’t see them?  Couldn’t understand what they were missing?  The other ear flicked back, a whine burgeoning at the idea.  To be robbed of the colors – it would be like being crippled again, only worse.  Even when he couldn’t fly, he’d always had the colors.

He shifted, meeting Yellow’s approach with an inquiring head tilt.  Was it time to go to his human’s den?  He hoped so – the takeout had been interesting, unusual and so very different from meat – but now that his belly was satisfied and the sun was gone, bedding down for the night was just the thing.

And yet, there was a gleam in Yellow’s eyes that sent a nervous shiver up his spine, from the part of himself that he didn’t understand.  His human’s tactics, alien and familiar to him all at the same time, embedded so deeply with an understanding of his Pride that the Witch hadn’t been able to take it.

Yellow waited for the rest of their Pride to circle up, all of them gazing at him with a sense of expectation.  He cocked his head further to the side, waiting for Yellow to speak.

“You know how to make this Judgment thing run, right?”

Wings flared an instant, then folded as scarlet widened.  “Know.  Yes,” he admitted, wary as he examined his Pride.

Yellow crossed his arms.  “Then let it run.  We’ll fix it afterwards.”

He shook his head, fear twisting inside.  “No.  Should not.  Will not.”

“Why?” Silver pressed, one brow rising.  There was something to his tone, something he should recognize, but recognition slipped away even as he reached for it.

A whimper-keen broke free.  “Won’t hurt.  Promised.”

Bronze moved closer, resting a hand on his shoulder.  “Sarge.  We get it; you don’t want to hurt us again.  But if that’s the only way to free you, it’s worth it.  We can take a little pain.”

He shook his head again, ears flattening.  “Not understand.  Must unbalance.  Pride not right anymore.”

“What, we’d be split in two like you?” Blue probed, frowning.

His wings flinched, cringing down.  “No,” he replied.  “Not split.  Unbalanced.”  Desperate, he scrambled for better words, only to feel red-gold talons digging into his mind.  He keened, hands lifting to his head without thought.

“Easy, guys, we must be right on the edge of the geas,” Pink cautioned, slipping up on his other side.  “It’s okay, Sarge; we understand.”

But they didn’t.  They couldn’t.  “Can’t,” he rasped, straining against the binding.  “Must not unbalance!”  The words rose, but when he tried to speak, red-gold dug in harder, carving bloody tracks through his thoughts.  And for all his struggle, he could not warn them.

“Buddy, we’ll find a way.  We always do,” Yellow insisted.  “Once we got you back, we’ll turn this right around on her.”

But they didn’t understand – once they were unbalanced, they couldn’t.  Couldn’t control their animal-spirits.  Couldn’t fight against their Mistress or Her High Priestesses.  Couldn’t get free, either, not without those of his blood.  And if they were freed, his human would be gone.  Forever and ever.

“No,” he whimpered.  “Won’t hurt.  Won’t unbalance.”

“Sarge, you gotta trust us,” Blue urged.  “We know what we’re doing.”

They didn’t, they didn’t.  He shook his head wildly, wings flexing open and closed.  Pink and Bronze were hemming him in, letting Yellow and Blue and Silver loom over him.  All of them talking, all of them insisting.  Wanting him to hurt them, thinking it would bring his human back.  And it would, but they didn’t understand the price.  And red-gold wouldn’t let him tell them.

He’d promised.  Promised not to hurt his human ever again.  Promised not to hurt his Pride ever again or even the human who’d hurt his Fledglings.  Why?  Why did his Pride want him to break his promise?  It would hurt his human more if he did.

But…but…  But Yellow knew his human.  And Blue, too.  If they said it was okay, maybe it was?  Maybe his human could find a way to free them without being lost?

He pulled back, whimpering as Bronze and Pink followed him, step for step.  Close, they were too close!  Too loud, too insistent.  Not letting him think.  Human.  He needed his human.  But red-gold had taken his human away.

“Would you just do it!” Yellow roared.  “Shouldn’t be that hard for you!”

Wide scarlet turned upon Yellow, a fresh keen building up.  “Not want to hurt.”

“Well, then do it!” Yellow hissed.  “The longer you won’t do it, the more you’re hurting us.  Hurting your human.”  He paused, smelling of hurt and desperation and need.  “Just, hurry up and do it.  Give us Greg back.”

He whimpered, wings flexing and he reached out.  “Eddie…”

“No!”  Yellow jerked away.  “You don’t get to use that name!  You’re not him!”

Hurting them.  Hurting them, no matter what he did!  It wasn’t fair – he’d promised.  How could he hurt them by not hurting them?  He didn’t understand.  Human.  His human would understand.  His human would know.  But red-gold had taken his human!  It wasn’t fair…

He backed up another step and a fresh scent caught his nose.  Air.  The wind – somewhere above him.  He turned his head and spied them.  Wood stones, leading upwards.  Up to the sky.  Away from humans he didn’t understand.  Couldn’t understand, even though they were his.  His Pride, who wanted him to break his promise.  Hurt them, so bad they’d lose their colors.

“Sarge!  We can take it.”  Bronze.

“Lou’s right,” Pink agreed.  “We’ll find a way, we always do, Sarge.”

“Won’t hurt,” he insisted.  “Promised.”

Hands.  Landing on his shoulders.  He looked up into Yellow’s eyes.  “We got that, but this is the only way.  The only way to get him back.  It’ll be okay.”

No.  It wouldn’t be.  It would never be okay.  But he couldn’t say that – she wouldn’t let him.  And his human was gone.  He lurched back, left arm pushing Yellow away.  Then he whirled and ran for the wood stones.

* * * * *

Ed darted after the gryphon, fury boiling in his veins.  He’d known this was gonna happen.  Sooner or later, the gryphon would get sick of playing nice and make its move.  About the only surprise was that it hadn’t tried to pull Greg’s gun on them!  Or maybe it was trying to stall until the links healed – good thing that would take another couple weeks, more than long enough to pin the thing down until they could get Greg back.

Two steps in front of him, Lou managed to hit the top of the stairs and reverse on his heel inside of a single stride.  “He’s goin’ for the roof!”

The Sergeant’s heart stuttered in his chest.  If the gryphon reached the roof, there was nothing to stop it from flying away.  No way for any of them to go after it, either; his hawk form’s nighttime sight was nonexistent, but Greg had been able to travel almost exclusively at night when he’d been coming home from Colorado.  That meant the gryphon could travel after dark, too.

But their fastest runner was trapped behind him and Lou – and the gryphon had way more practice in using his abilities than any of them did.  Worse, Greg’s phone was still sitting next to Spike’s laptop, the one Lou had been using to compile all their information.  Without the phone or the links, once the gryphon escaped, there’d be no way to track the thing.

As he pounded after Lou, the rest of his team on his heels, Ed could only pray the gryphon stopped.  Even though he knew it wouldn’t…

* * * * *

He reached the top, glancing up at the blackness above, speckled here and there with white points of light.  The ground beneath his feet was flat, with no big metal barriers like the building he and Marina had escaped.  There was a small wall running around the edges of the high ground, to keep the humans from falling onto the strange, hard ground far below.

Hurling himself to that wall, he flung his wings as wide as they would go, keening as loudly as he could with a human throat.  Crying out for his human, pleading for guidance only his human could give.  Begging for help, for some way to make his Pride see what he couldn’t say.

* * * * *

In the space between worlds, harsh laughter rang out.  Claws rubbed together in anticipation, dark red eyes gleaming in the vulture-headed demon’s face.  Next to him was another creature, very like a woman in appearance and possessed of an unearthly beauty.

So beautiful was she that Men had slaughtered each other, fighting wars to gain her hand and esteem, pledging all their treasures if she would but grant a single night of her ‘divine’ favor.  Over the eons of human history, she had borne many faces and names, but the one to which she had now returned was that of Morrigan, the Triple Goddess.

And it was the Morrigan who bent a cruel smile towards the motionless figure hanging suspended in her High Priestess’s Judgment spell, oblivious to his surroundings or the danger that threatened those he called his own.  Unaware that his friends were ignoring the warnings he’d sacrificed his own awareness to give them.  Unable to stop them or his feral half from sundering their authority over their feral sides, thus surrendering their free will to the demoness masquerading as a goddess.

So the demons laughed, secure in their triumph, for they knew their prisoner’s animal side could not long withstand the pleas of his friends.  A few minutes more and they would possess the humans’ souls for all eternity.

Then something growled and they turned, terror filling them at the sight of what had invaded their sanctuary.  He glowed, with power they coveted, but could not touch, shining from within with a horrid light they despised, but could never extinguish.  In Him was every Righteousness they had perverted, all the Justice they sought to twist to their ends, and Holiness they had long since forsaken in their quest to conquer the Throne of His Father, the Emperor-beyond-the-Sea.

They cowered from His wrath, neither able to muster so much as a faint protest as He surveyed them and their captive.  Then He threw His head back and roared.

Behind them, Greg Parker’s eyes snapped open, glowing with the same white Light they so coveted, despised, and feared.

* * * * *

For a split second, he saw darkness and a demon realm far, far worse than the Netherworld.  Saw creatures so horrid and twisted that his mind could not comprehend their malevolence.  In that moment, he knew he was their captive, a hostage to ensure those he loved fell into their ancient snare.

Then he heard the Lion’s roar, echoing within him and around him.  Shattering the chains around his wrists even as he regained awareness.  He heard Evil Incarnate wail in the face of the Lion’s Wrath, quailing before His unsheathed claws.

Light blazed through his ethereal form, coming from the depths of his soul – an undeniable affirmation that he belonged to Aslan.  In the space of a heartbeat, he saw and heard all the inhabitants of the demon realm in full retreat before the Lion.  Then the Light engulfed him, pulling him away from a realm he never could remember afterwards, even in his deepest, darkest nightmares.

* * * * *

His knees hit the ground, palms landing an instant later; he inhaled as deeply as he could, somehow surprised to feel air filling his lungs.  Surprised by his own awareness – how was he aware after battling through Morgause’s binding magic three times?  Distantly, he knew he was still under her curse, split in twain and stuck as a ghost.  So what had brought him back?

Staggering back on his heels, he looked around, trying to figure out where he was – and what the heck was going on.  Less than two meters away, he saw a vaguely familiar figure.  Himself, except partially transformed into his gryphon form.

More memory filtered back and Greg Parker cringed, scanning for Marina.  What had his wild side done to her once it was alone with her?  She wasn’t anywhere in sight and…  This place looked familiar, as if he’d been here before.  His wild side was standing right at a low wall, keening to the night sky above and gryphon wings fully extended – but where were they?

Then Lou ran onto the roof, right in front of Eddie and Sam, with Jules and Wordy bringing up the rear.  Oh…  It’s the training building…  He blinked once.  Twice.  How’d we end up here?

* * * * *

He heard a roar, right on the edge of hearing, and felt his power writhe, torn between him and his human.  He snapped around, scarlet widening at the sight of his human, gazing up at him with eyes that still glowed with the Lion’s power.  Dazed, confused, but free of red-gold’s binding!

He churred delight, wings bouncing as he seized Yellow’s wrist and towed him towards his human.  Once he was touching both of them, his human could explain everything to Yellow.  It only took two strides to reach his human and he crouched, reaching for his human’s wrist, just like before.

His human shook his head; when he hesitated, whining, his human lifted one hand towards him.  ‘Sorry; just…gimme a moment…’

Oh.  His human was free now, but red-gold’s imprisonment had hurt him.  He rumbled a growl, tail lashing as his human folded over, clutching his head.  Without releasing Yellow, he rested a hand on his human’s shoulder, tugging at his essence.  He belonged with his human, surely he could help his human now?

His human sucked in a breath, lifting his head again.  The Lion’s light was fading, but scarlet filtered in, swirling around his human’s chest.  His human grimaced and he felt a shiver of pain ghost through their connection, but after a few seconds, his human relaxed.

‘Thanks.’

He rumbled a purr and adjusted his stance so he could grasp his human’s wrist, tugging Yellow’s hand close.  His human blinked, then nodded, twisting so he could grab hold.  Only for his fingers to go right through, as if he was the wind and Yellow’s hand a wing.

They both blinked and his human tried again.  And again.  And again.  A fifth time, but now desperation was shining, ghostly tears trickling down as human and gryphon realized just how cruel the curse around them was.  For free Greg Parker’s soul might be, but the geas had solved that quite neatly.  If their Pride could not hear him, then it didn’t matter in the slightest that he was no longer bound to silence.

* * * * *

With his wrist held captive in the gryphon’s grasp, Ed couldn’t do anything except crouch, trying to keep his balance with his remaining free hand.  Much longer and he’d have to go down on one knee, an idea that burned – he wasn’t going to kneel before the gryphon – the monster that had stolen his best friend and wouldn’t give him back!

Then the gryphon’s wings quavered, one of them tapping against his back, and the thing let out a soft whimper-whine, keen building up in its chest.  “See…?” it pleaded, glancing towards him.  Hope shone, but it was a futile, desperate hope – distantly, he wondered how he knew that.

“See what?” he snapped, tugging against that iron grip.

The gryphon’s left wing struck his back again, but not violently.  More like an involuntary movement, born of helpless plea.

“My human,” it insisted.  “Free, but…”  It broke off, grabbing at thin air.  “Pride.  Can’t see.”

The sniper growled, finally yanking his hand away.  “Then let us see him!  Let the stupid Judgment run!”

* * * * *

‘Eddie, no!’ Greg blurted, a spike of icy terror shooting up his spine.  ‘You can’t choose me this time!’

His wild side whimpered, but Ed never twitched, staring right through him – as if he wasn’t there.  Nothing but empty space.  It hurt, even though he knew it wasn’t Eddie’s fault.  No, it was Morgause’s fault.  That demoness’s fault.  The lieutenant clenched ghostly fists, wrestling with emotions that were far too close to the surface.  Threatening to send him into a blubbering, quivering mess – his team couldn’t afford that.  Not when they were so close to convincing his other half to hurt them.

But the ruthless resolve that was normally his closest ally in these situations…  It wasn’t there, as if it had been ripped right out of him.  Without it, his fear was teetering right on the edge of hysteria.  Self-control slipping away even as he struggled to regain it.

Marina.  How had he saved Marina without his ruthlessness?  Fear?  Terror?  Desperation?  He knew he had every bit of his intelligence, but that was a poor, ineffective weapon against emotion.  So how…?

Then he felt it.  Faith, trickling in and oh-so-small, but rock solid in its belief that the Lion wouldn’t let the darkness win.  Love, for his teammates, his friends, his family by blood and magic.  Love that acknowledged the fear, but pushed it away, refusing to permit it a foothold.  Hope, that there was a way out.  A way to end Morgause’s twisted Judgment without hurting the people he cared about.

With a sharp nod, Greg Parker turned towards his gryphon half.  Okay.  So his friends couldn’t see or hear him, but they could hear and see the gryphon inhabiting his – their – body.  The stakes might be higher than a typical TPI negotiation, but if the gryphon had even half his stubbornness, then Eddie and the others didn’t stand a chance.  Especially since the other half of that stubbornness was right there to back the gryphon up.

‘Tell Ed that Judgment’s not an option.’

* * * * *

So close.  They’d been so close – Ed could feel it.  And then the monster wearing Greg’s body had shut them down.  It was staring all of them down, lifting Greg’s chin in an achingly familiar stubborn tilt, shaking his head at each volley.  Every so often, it would glance towards the thin air it had towed him over to, but then it would turn back to them, arms crossed and wings folded tight in defiance.

Jules was trying now, patiently walking the thing through why they had to let the Judgment spell run.  Why it was their only chance to get Greg back.  It cocked Greg’s head in a listening position, tail lashing every so often.  But when the brunette negotiator was done, it simply shook his best friend’s head, refusing without even giving them a reason.

Enough!  He stalked forward, rage coiling as pure scarlet lifted to him.  The monster whined, but this was all its fault!  It didn’t have the right to whine.

* * * * *

Greg sighed, rubbing at his eyes as Eddie loomed over his gryphon half.  Under his breath, he muttered, ‘Unstoppable force meets immovable object, round two.’

Then he blinked.  Hazel widened with an impossible, improbable idea.  Tricky, but maybe, just maybe…

‘Can you repeat exactly what I say?’

His gryphon side glanced towards him, ears perking forward at the hope in his voice.  “Can try.”

“Can try, what?” Eddie demanded.

Staring straight at his wild side, Greg forced himself to go as blank as he could, focusing just on the words he needed to say.  ‘OMAC Maxwell Coulson.’

“OMAC?” the gryphon echoed, flexing its ears in confusion.  Good.

‘Just say it!’

Scarlet orbs turned sullen, but the gryphon nodded and turned towards the rest of Team One.  “My human say OMAC Maxwell Coulson.”

“Gee, thanks, as if we didn’t know that already!” Lou snapped.

Parker cringed – without Spike, he needed Lou to pick up on what he was saying, but if the less-lethal specialist wasn’t listening…  Still, this was the best idea he had.  ‘Agent, manager, same difference.’

His teammates, to a man, bristled, all of them glaring as hard as they could at the gryphon as soon as it repeated his words.

“You’re not him,” Ed snarled, jabbing a finger into the gryphon’s chest.  “Stop acting like you are!”

Focus, Parker.  Breakdowns later.  ‘Xanatos Gambit.’  When the gryphon hesitated, he stepped forward, setting his jaw with every ounce of determination he had left.  ‘If you hurt them, I swear I’ll get my kids to free them and commit suicide before I lose control again.’  He waited for wide, terrified scarlet to swing towards him, then hissed, ‘Now say it!  Xanatos Gambit.’

The gryphon whined, but obediently said, “Xanatos Gambit.”

Greg Parker stared at Lou, willing him to figure it out.  ‘Come on, buddy, I know you know this…’

“Whatever you’re up to, it’s not going to work,” Ed snapped, pushing the gryphon backwards.  “Now would you just do it?!?”

“Xanatos Gambit…” Lou whispered suddenly, eyes widening.  “That’s when all paths lead to…”  He shoved past his Sergeant, grabbing the collar of the gryphon’s armor to haul his head down.  “Are you playing Xanatos Speed Chess?”

He exhaled relief.  Almost there.  ‘Yes.’

One lionish ear flicked towards him, then the gryphon whimpered, “Yes.”

“Yes or no.  Is this the Window or the Stairs?”

Checkmate!  ‘Yes.’

His wild side opened his mouth to reply, then keened, both hands rising to his head.  Lou had to catch the gryphon before he collapsed.  The constable eased the gryphon down, wrapping his arms around the armored chest and letting the gryphon lean against him, moaning in pain.  Even as the invisible ghost hastened to his other half, regret a living thing on his face, the less-lethal specialist was turning to their teammates, a grim expression on his face.

“Guys, it’s Sarge.  He’s the one who’s sayin’ no.”

“That thing has Greg’s memories,” Ed snapped.  “Of course it knows the OMAC codes!”

“I know,” Lou acknowledged.  “But only Sarge would know what a Xanatos Gambit is.”  He took a deep breath.  “And only Sarge would think of getting around that geas thing by using TV Tropes.  Spike and I showed him the site once and he thought some of ‘em were really funny.  Guess he looked up a whole lot more afterwards.”

The tan-skinned constable reached up, tucking the gryphon’s head down a little further into his uniform and gently rubbing behind the furry, feathery ears.  At the soft whimpering whine, he shook his head.  “No, Sarge, don’t try to talk.  We get it.  We really get it this time.  Promise.”

Haunted dark eyes shifted back to the rest of Team One.  “The Window or the Stairs means we’re in a no-win scenario, guys.  What looks like the easy answer is actually the worst possible outcome.”  A sardonic grin tipped his jaw.  “So, just in case you’re not getting it yet, letting Judgment run is exactly what Morgause wants us to do.  And if we do it, I’m betting there isn’t a way out of it.  Not one we’d like, anyway.”

There was a long, horrified silence as the officers absorbed their teammate’s explanation.  Then Eddie swore as vilely as he knew how and finished up with a defeated, broken, “Dammit, Greg.”

Chapter Text

Neal and Giles were waiting when they brought the gryphon – Elias – back down the stairs.  Elias was still clinging to Lou, though he’d consented to let Wordy hover almost as close.  Ed planted himself at the front of the group, deliberately staying away after he’d nearly ruined everything.  Hurt his best friend’s wild side for nothing.  Almost destroyed his whole team for nothing.

If Greg hadn’t – somehow – managed to get free enough to sneak a real warning through Morgause’s stupid geas, they would’ve kept right on badgering Elias until he gave them what they wanted.  Which apparently amounted to tickets straight to hell, judging by Lou’s detailed explanation of every single one of the TV Tropes Greg had invoked.

Shame was a living thing in his gut, pushing the need and desperation back enough for him to think.  He hated his own guilty feelings, but he wasn’t going to put his team – or Greg – at risk again.  Besides, there had to be a third option.  There just had to be.  Some factor in play that would spike Morgause’s little Judgment plot and give them their friend back.

As he hit the ground floor, he glanced over at the two wizards, seeing their exhaustion and feeling his own.  He wasn’t sure how long they’d been on the training building’s roof, but he knew none of them could keep going much longer.  Rubbing his head, Ed came to a decision.  If this situation couldn’t be a sprint, then they had to treat it like a marathon or a relay.  They’d burned up their first day with a sprint, which meant they’d lose the whole night and part of day two, but that was just the price they had to pay for their own stubborn stupidity.

He waited until everyone was down the stairs, then arched a brow at Neal.  “Tell me we can take the Boss to St. Mungo’s for the night.”

“Bad idea,” Giles replied before Neal could even draw breath.  “He’ll get dumped in Janus Thickey inside of a minute.”  The veteran Auror grimaced.  “He goes in there, Lane, and you’ll be fightin’ a war to get ‘im out.”

Elias whimpered, hiding behind Lou as much as he could.  It was an impressive feat, considering the wings and the fact that even after losing all that weight, Greg was still bigger than Lou.  Ed kept his eyes away, but fresh guilt squirmed in his gut; Elias hadn’t spoken at all since that geas thing had cut off his attempt to answer Lou’s ‘stairs or window’ question.

Sighing, the Sergeant nodded once.  “So.  That’s out.  What else have we got?”

“Take him home?” Neal suggested.

Wordy shook his head while the others grimaced.  “He’s mentally incapacitated, Neal.  Danger to himself and others.  Sarge would kill us if we let him near his kids while he’s like this.”

“Well, he can’t stay here, either,” Jules pointed out.  “It’s the training building; Team Two might find him.”

“Even if they didn’t, who here wants to make the Boss sleep on concrete?” Sam questioned, sarcasm ringing.

“What about a sleeping potion?” Giles suggested.  “Let Parker sleep in his own bed, but use a sleeping potion so he’s not a threat to anyone.”  The discomfort on his face implied he’d been a victim of the very tactic he was proposing, but there was determination beneath that unhappiness.

Ed turned towards him, fixing him with an expectant gaze that demanded elaboration.

The wizard squirmed, but didn’t back down.  “Maybe he’s not all there.  Maybe he’s a threat.  But if it were me, I’d want my own bed, just to have something familiar.”

The sniper knew enough to read between the lines.  There was nothing on Earth that could take away the pain all of them were going through, but the smallest things could build up and make a difference.  Even something so insignificant as a bed.

So he nodded.  “Okay, but we need to get him home first.  Lance and Alanna should be able to Switch the sleeping potion in, but we’re gonna need something to get us that far.”

“Drowsiness Draught,” Neal replied at once.  “Won’t send him off to sleep, but should keep him groggy enough that he can’t hurt anyone.”

Blowing out his breath, the Sergeant nodded again.  “Copy.  Sounds like a plan.”

* * * * *

It had taken a quite a bit of fast talking to convince his wild side to let Wordy close, but Lou alone wasn’t enough to anchor him.  Them.  Whatever.  Point was, even with the ‘team sense’ down and in a ghostly form that couldn’t touch anything, Greg knew his limits.  Knew his own signs for exhaustion and stress and what he needed when the world just got to be too much.

Most of the time, he never got that far.  And when he did, he was usually home and his kids didn’t mind clinging like limpets to him – outwardly for their benefit, but really for his.  Even when Lance and Alanna had been pulling away from him because of Marina, they’d never, ever refused to anchor him when he needed it.

And this time…it was the oddest sensation because once his gryphon side permitted Wordy to touch, he felt them.  Both of them – Lou and Wordy’s combined magic filtering into his and soothing the agitation.  The places where his core had rubbed itself raw fighting against Morgause’s geas.  Where the press of humanity was smothering his soul.

When his kids did it, he always felt soothed.  Comforted – protected by them, even as he was the protector.  But he’d never been able to tell their magical presences apart or sense how their separate magic bolstered each other.  This time, though…he could feel Wordy’s magic mixing with Lou’s, filling in the gaps like puzzle pieces fitting together to form a larger picture.  Not the whole picture, he knew – that would require his whole team, not just two of them.

One ghostly hand drifted to his chest, soaking in the affection he could feel from his friends’ magic.  Regret and shame stung at both halves of his soul; he was grateful when his gryphon side rumbled a purr, freely offering pardon for their perceived crimes.  The relief he felt immediately afterwards was almost overwhelming, swamping the torn bits of his psyche with their faith in him.  Their belief that they would get him back, despite all the enemy’s plots.

Drifting in the warm, soothing currents of his friends’ magic, Greg scarcely heard the conversation.  He felt the gryphon’s fear when St. Mungo’s was brought up, but Wordy and Lou’s magic immediately reassured him – them – that it wouldn’t happen.  Distantly, he was aware that he should be paying more attention, just in case his wild side needed advice again, but he was just so drained.  His friends understood now, they wouldn’t risk their own sanity in a hare-brained attempt to free him.

He blinked as Neal approached, coaxing his wild side into drinking down a potion.  Had his other self been injured?  He hadn’t noticed any injuries, but he wasn’t exactly at the top of his game right now.  Concerned, he straightened, shaking off the lethargy as he drew on his friends’ magic to keep himself alert.

It took another minute, but then another feeling crept in.  He wavered on his feet as fatigue crashed down, multiplying by the second as his mind went pleasantly foggy.  He heard his wild side let out a contented thrum, one he found himself imitating even as his eyelids grew heavier and heavier.

Mere seconds later, he toppled sideways, hazel sliding completely closed, and he vanished before his slumbering spirit could hit the ground.

* * * * *

They snuck Elias home in the Wordy express; Ed and Sam stayed in the far backseat, holding the half-gryphon, half-human in place while Wordy drove as defensively as he could and Lou preemptively hacked into the security cameras inside Greg’s apartment complex, setting up all the cameras on their route to loop for the next half-hour or so.

Fortunately, it was late enough that most people would be tucked away in their homes instead of roaming the apartment complex hallways, but Ed remained on edge as Wordy scouted ahead and Sam handled the rearguard.  He wound up stuck right next to Elias, physically guiding the groggy, pliant figure through the building and around any obstacles.  The gryphon leaned into him, purring so loudly that he could feel the sound vibrating against his ribcage – shame writhed at the instinctive faith inherent in the gesture, but he kept his focus ahead, fixed on Wordy as he trusted Sam to have all their backs.

The sniper exhaled relief when they reached Greg’s apartment; Wordy unlocked the door and Ed hustled Elias inside to avoid any last-second observers.  Sam caught up, slipping through right before Wordy closed and locked the door; the trio of officers glanced at each other, silently debating who was going to go where.

The blond’s shoulders slumped after a moment or two and he nodded, turning towards the living room area so he could brief the kids while Ed and Wordy maneuvered Elias into the master bedroom.  Ed tuned out the soft chatter and stayed under Elias’s arm while Wordy handled the door and pulled the sheets off the bed – they couldn’t risk the sheets or covers getting tangled up in Elias’s wings while he was sleeping.

It took both of them to lift Elias onto the bed; he ended up in the middle of the king-sized mattress and immediately curled in on himself, purrs slowing down as the potion in his system tugged him towards slumber.  Wordy reached forward, carefully unfastening the tactical holster and working it off the gryphon’s leg; they’d finally confiscated the Glock after the Rooftop Revelation, but they’d been wary of possibly setting Elias off again and let him keep the holster itself.

Studying his friend, Ed bit back a grimace.  Aside from the tactical holster, there wasn’t much else they could do to make him more comfortable.  Greg’s armor was blended right into Elias’s half-human, half-gryphon form, making removal impossible.  Well…almost…  Ed set to work on the leather-like gauntlets, unlatching the buckles, undoing the straps, and gently easing the armor pieces off his friend’s arms.  He set them on the bed stand closest to him, a tiny smile pushing through his stern mien when the drowsy figure on the bed instinctively rubbed against him, sleepy purrs still rumbling.

The sound of someone tapping on the door brought him ‘round; on the other side of the bed, Wordy looked up.  The three teenagers gawked at their guardian’s appearance, eyes wide as they took in the truth of what Sam had just told them.

Straightening, Ed focused on his constable.  “You got the potion?”

“Yeah,” Sam confirmed, tugging it out of his tactical bag.

Blue flicked down to the teenagers.  “Who’s gonna Switch it in?”

“I will,” Alanna volunteered, but there was a fearful uncertainty in her eyes.  “But, um…”

The Sergeant stepped forward, crouching down to meet all three sets of eyes.  “Hey, hey.  We are not giving up on him.  We’re not gonna stop until he’s free.  But this one’s harder; we got to give our researchers time to chew on it, okay?”

They didn’t brighten entirely, but there was a hope that hadn’t been there before.  Uncertainty, but also determination.  They wouldn’t back down any more than Team One would.

“All right,” Ed breathed.  “Neal said that potion should keep him under till morning.  But once it’s in, you guys don’t come in here, understand?  This is not the Greg Parker you know and he’ll never forgive any of us if his wild side hurts you by accident.”  Or on purpose.

Dean nodded immediately, but he had to stare Lance and Alanna down for a few seconds before they reluctantly followed suit.  Before he could continue, Alanna asked, “Can he still talk?”

“Yes, he can, but it’s hard for him right now,” Ed replied.  “He wasn’t talking at all right before we brought him home.”  Blue hardened.  “And he cannot talk about the spell those witches put him under.  Physically can’t.”

The teens recoiled, fear burning brighter than before.  He hated that, but he didn’t want them making his mistake and accidentally pushing Elias farther than he could go.

Standing up, the Sergeant gestured towards the bed.  “Okay, Switch that potion in and we’ll leave you guys alone for tonight.”  He fixed them with a stare.  “Don’t stay up all night.  We’re gonna need everyone as fresh as possible, including you.”

Dean’s expression turned mulish, but his cousins nodded at once.  “Copy that, Uncle Ed,” Lance said.

* * * * *

Once the adults left, Alanna towed her brother and Dean into the living room.  “Okay, sleeping stuff then back in Uncle Greg’s room,” she ordered.

“They said not to!” Dean yelped.

“ ‘Lanna, can you tell him?” Lance asked; his sister and cousin turned, caught off guard by the waver in his voice.  He grimaced, rubbing his chest.  “I, um, I don’t feel so good.”

Dean was by his cousin in one step.  “You were okay before.”

He nodded.  “I know.  Just hit all of a sudden.”

“When ‘Lanna Switched the potion into Dad?”

The brunet tilted his head, thinking.  “No, it was before,” he replied at last.  “Maybe a minute or two before Uncle Sam came in.”

“Okay, big brother mine,” Alanna said, gesturing for Dean to back down.  “We’ll meet you in there, okay?”

“Copy,” the teen acknowledged before heading for his and Dean’s bedroom.

Left alone with Dean, Alanna tugged her cousin to the couch and sat down facing him.  “You remember when we told you about how Uncle Greg’s magic first came out?”

Dean frowned.  “Yeah, I think so.  It was, um…after that guy Sam jumped on a grenade?”

“More or less,” Alanna agreed, pulling up her legs so she could sit cross-legged.  “The goblins that fixed up Uncle Greg’s magical core said there’d always be some side-effects from what happened.  Most of ‘em cleared up after awhile and there’s some others that are still there, but basically under control.”

“But…?” Dean ventured.

His cousin made a face.  “It’s only happened once on-duty, right after this guy kidnapped Uncle Greg ‘cause he was trying to get back together with Haley – we told you about her, remember – and Uncle Greg was trying really, really hard to use his magic to tell Team One where he was.”

Dean had to parse the words before he could reply.  “What’s happened only once on-duty?”

Alanna’s grimace deepened.  “His senses can go crazy, Dean.  Hearing, vision, everything like that.  Like, they crank right up to the max and he’s basically trapped like that until it wears off.”

Brown eyes went wide with horror and Dean gawked, groping for words.

“The first couple times were really bad,” Alanna confessed.  “He’d go and lock himself in the bedroom ‘cause he couldn’t even stand to wear anything, his skin was that sensitive.  He’d just sit there in the dark for hours until his senses calmed down again.”

“What happened?” Dean breathed.

His cousin squirmed.  “One time, he came home and I didn’t realize it was a bad day until I’d already grabbed him.”  Something in her expression suggested it hadn’t been just his Dad who’d had a bad day that day.  “He went really tense, then he hugged me back and I realized I could feel my magic going into him.  I yelled for Lance and Uncle Greg tensed up again, but once Lance was in there, too, he really calmed down.  Like, me ‘n’ Lance had to drag him right to the couch ‘cause he was half-asleep all of a sudden.  He said afterwards that it had been bad all week and as soon as he could relax, it just hit him all at once.”

Dean whistled low.  “It was Dad’s magic acting up the whole time?”

Alanna flexed her hand back and forth in a so-so motion.  “Kinda.  Not like, getting mad and rebelling ‘n’ stuff, but more like…”  She trailed off, searching for the right words.  “…like it was sick and needed an extra boost?”

“What, like a magic transfusion?” Dean suggested.

The redhead considered, then giggled and nodded.  “Good thing me ‘n’ Lance have Wild Magic, just like you and Uncle Greg.  That means we’re compatible.”  After a minute, she sobered, turning serious again.  “It happened a lot more in the first year after he, um, got hurt, but sometimes, he comes home and he just…he needs us.  We usually end up ordering in ‘cause the only way to calm his magic down is for us to be right by him.”

“Touching him,” Dean filled in with a nod.  “I’ve seen you guys do that once or twice.”  He frowned.  “You…sleep with him?”

Alanna nodded.  “Like I said, more in the first year and it’s been, like, seven, eight months since he was that bad, but sometimes, yeah.  He’ll be in the middle and we’ll just crawl in on either side.”  She grinned at his expression.  “We’re all decent, promise, and it’s kinda fun.  Almost like a mini-sleepover.”

Dean arched a brow at the redhead, but moved on.  “And you think he’s that bad tonight?”

“Know,” she countered.  “Uncle Ed told us he can’t talk right now and said not to try and find out about whatever spell he got nailed with.”  Violet narrowed.  “Believe me, Uncle Ed only knows that ‘cause he set it off tryin’ to get Uncle Greg back.  Prolly set it off more ‘n once.”

The older boy whistled low.  “My Dad not talking, is that what happens?”

“Only when it’s really, really bad,” Alanna confirmed sadly.  “I bet he’s got a real bad migraine right now, too, and if it weren’t for the Sleeping Potion, he’d be whimpering up a storm.”  She pulled her knees in close.  “The Sleeping Potion should keep him under, but he’ll be even worse in the morning if we don’t help him tonight, Dean.”  She met his eyes.  “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but me ‘n’ Lance will be in there.”

Dean didn’t even need to think about it.  He returned his cousin’s stare, lifting his chin.  “I’ll be there.”

She nodded.  “Okay, go get changed, then.  We’ll have to change it up a little bit since there’s three of us, but I think I got an idea.”

* * * * *

By the time they reached his Dad’s bedroom, Lance was already curled up next to the half-human, half-gryphon figure on the far side of the bed.  One of the brown gryphon wings had settled in place around his cousin, acting as a living ‘blanket’ of sorts and both were fast asleep.  Dean frowned – maybe it was just his imagination, but it almost seemed like they were breathing together, too.

Shrugging, he glanced at Alanna, curious as to how she intended to solve the problem of three kids and only two sides of the bed to sleep on.  Dressed in her own pajamas, she grinned at him and leapt into the air, blurring.  His jaw dropped open as the violet plumed Flamewings settled onto his Dad’s currently feathery back, right between his wings.  She trilled several short piping notes of laughter and dipped her beak towards his Dad’s open side.

Taking the hint, Dean crawled underneath the gryphon wing, wriggling himself in next to his Dad.  From up close, he could smell a mix of animal musk, leather, and the scent he associated with his father.  His Dad was laying on his stomach, the only position that kept his wings well away from danger, and slightly curled towards Lance.  That made sense, though Dean had to fight down an irrational pang of jealousy.

Then his father stirred, not waking, but sensing the presence of another body on the bed.  Dean froze as the gryphon wing above him dropped down, gently settling into place and even tugging him closer to his Dad.  Then his father shifted, turning just enough that he was curling towards Dean instead of his cousin.  Muscled arms wrapped around him, pulling him close, and he heard a soft, contented sigh as his Dad’s chin flattened the very top of his hair.

From her perch on his Dad’s back, Flamewings began to croon a soft, soothing tune.  The song drifted through the air and seemed to be coming from inside him just as much as from right above.  The longer it went on, the more his muscles relaxed, sinking back into his father’s embrace as everything inside him seemed to wind down.  His eyelids slipped closed of their own volition and the last thing he heard was a thrumming sound coming from his Dad’s chest, perfectly in tune with the phoenix’s song.

Chapter Text

Ice.  Darkness and ice and cold and where was he?  The teenager hugged himself, staring around and upwards.  A layer of pristine white snow was beneath his feet, but his surroundings were dim.  Dark and coated with ice.  Looking closer, he could see stone beneath the ice; staring straight up, he spied what might’ve been a ceiling, towering far above and coated with icicles.

Shivering, he looked around, scanning for any way out of this icy, desolate place.  Deep inside, something tugged.  Wary, he prodded at that foreign something, suspicious of anything that happened in this…dark, foreboding place.  Especially since it was…leading further into the icy castle.

His own magic curled around him, pushing back the unnatural chill.  Whispering reassurance – following that something was the right thing to do.  Something he had to do, though his magic wouldn’t say why.  No, not wouldn’t; couldn’t.

Frowning, the young man drew his magic in as close as he could, murmuring a Warming Charm to ward off the worst of the cold.  Then he set off, following the something through the massive stone atrium and into the castle proper.  The snow crunched under his feet and every sound beyond his own footsteps brought him around, a shielding spell on his lips and fire sparking on tips of his left fingers.  After the fourth strange noise, he stopped dispelling the fireball and kept a portion of his mind focused on the fastest spell chain he knew, longing for the heft of his sword at his left side.

The farther he went, the gloomier his surroundings became.  Majestic in a gothic fashion, but dim, dark, coated in ice, and rather rundown.  Almost as if the prior owner had abandoned it at the height of its power.  The cold deepened around him, enhanced by the dark magic embedded into the castle’s foundation.  The teenager summoned more of his magic, focusing it on his core, arms, and legs to keep himself moving.  Snow stung at his cheeks, turning them red as his breath misted in the air.

At length, he reached what looked like a throne room, so coated in ice that it seemed to glow from within.  Unlike the rest of the castle, the throne room was lighter.  Instead of dark, dim stone, the ice’s inner glow was a light blue hue.  The visitor might’ve liked the room were it not for the fact that it was colder by far than the rest of the castle and everything inside was made of ice.  Including the empty throne that sat at the opposite end of the room, draped with a long-abandoned animal fur.

Shivering a bit harder, the young man made his way through the throne room, scanning for the something that had drawn him so far into this dark, desolate place.  His gaze fell on an odd-looking wall just past the throne of ice, but it wasn’t until he got closer that he realized it was another passage, leading even deeper into the castle.

With a grimace, he walked into the passageway, flexing his fingers to warm them against the fireball; like the throne room, the walls of the passage were solid ice and freezing cold, even for him.  Deep inside, he prayed he was close to the something because he was starting to have a hard time feeling his toes or the fingers of his right hand.

Ahead of him, he spotted what looked like the entrance to a medieval dungeon.  Around the barred door, ice had been shaped to resemble blocks – or maybe that was the castle stone, peeking through the sleek ice that encased it.  Thick icicles hung down, every one of them razor sharp; some were so thickly grouped and long that they formed new walls.

The young man lifted his hand, readying a spell to unlock the thick padlock on the dungeon door, but it swung open soundlessly as he approached.  Past the door, he spied several cells, all of them barred with both metal and ice.  Speeding up, he finally found the something.  A familiar figure was inside the cell furthest from the door, clad in leather armor and fast asleep on the icy floor.

“Uncle Greg!”

* * * * *

Greg woke at the sound of his name and instantly regretted it.  Cold.  He was so cold.  Freezing from the inside out so badly that his body wasn’t even shivering anymore.  Already, the cold was dragging him down again, pulling his mind back under so he wouldn’t be aware when he finally froze to death.

A pair of hands touched his arm, so warm that they nearly scorched his frozen flesh; he moaned in pain, the moan growing louder when he felt heat filtering into his system.  He longed to just go back to sleep, but the warmth wouldn’t let him.

“Easy, Uncle Greg; I’ll go slow,” the newcomer promised.  “Guess it’s a good thing ‘Lanna made me read that book about Balto after you showed us the movie.”

“Cold,” he stuttered as the shivering began, wracking his body in fierce shudders.

“I know; it’s all ice in here.”

Minutes passed as his shivers grew worse, even as heat filled him, traveling from his arm to his core, then onto his legs, head, and opposite arm.  Gradually, his magical core ‘thawed’, adding its own warmth to the stranger’s.  Once that happened, Greg realized several things.  First, his core was only a fraction of the size he was used to, as though most of it had been ripped away.  Second, the ‘stranger’ was his nephew – and third, this felt like his mindscape, even though he’d never seen anything like this dark, forsaken castle before.

Slowly, carefully, he sat up, wincing at the sting of ice against his palms.  His nephew crouched next to him, a fireball balancing on the fingers of his left hand while his right hand remained on Parker’s arm.  Once upright, he had to stop and pant – his body was still too cold for him to go any farther.  Without hesitation, he leaned into his nephew, soaking in the joy of the young man’s presence; part of him had feared he’d never be able to touch any of his kids again.  At least he’d gotten to touch one of them again, even if only in his dreams.

* * * * *

Lance wasn’t sure how much time passed before he was able to get Uncle Greg up on his feet.  The older man was staggering and still dangerously chilled, but the longer they stayed in this dungeon, the more he drained his own magic battling against the enchanted ice of the castle.  Thankfully, between his height and innate gryphon strength, he was able to support his uncle and still keep one hand free for magic.

The pair made their way out of the cell and back down the dungeon corridor, but just as they reached a small open area right between the cells and the exit, a shadowy figure appeared.  Floating off the ground, it was dark gray with sickly yellow eyes and, at first glance, very thin.  A closer look revealed that the creature had no legs and a thin, pointed torso that opened up into a large chest, a skull-like head, and brawny arms tipped with clawed fingers.

It drifted forward, raising one of those clawed hands, and Lance hurled his fireball at the thing.  The fireball struck dead-center of its chest; it shrieked, clawing at the injury even as it vanished.

There was a breath as uncle and nephew glanced at each other.

Then three more wraiths appeared.

* * * * *

Falling back was not an option – the only thing behind them was his uncle’s former cell.  So Lance plunged forward, hurling fireballs as fast as he could conjure them.  The problem was that once they were past the initial ambush and out of the dungeon, they’d find themselves in a running battle with opponents that could attack from either side.  Of secondary concern was the fact that he was now burning through his magic at a much greater rate, but if they got pinned down, it wouldn’t matter; he’d run out of power regardless, dooming both of them to an icy grave.

The young man longed for his sword, but there was no time for second thoughts and only an instant to be spared for regrets.  He made sure every shot counted – missing would waste both magic and time, commodities he and his uncle could ill afford to lose.  Though tempted to mix in other magic, Lance stuck to the fireballs.  Easy to conjure, quick, and he didn’t have to waste any time calculating his next spell.  Also easy to fling in both directions, an invaluable advantage as he rammed their way through the dungeon’s exit and into the passage leading to the icy throne room.

Countless wraiths swarmed them, so thick that many of the brunet’s fireballs caught multiple foes at once.  Once, he was forced to halt, throwing up a shield on one side so he could focus on the swarm from the other side.  But even then, he kept them moving, sparing just enough concentration to wedge his magical shield backwards, forcing the wraiths pounding on it to give way.  An idea sparked; as soon as the last dungeon-side wraith fell, he seized the opening to whirl and slam his shield outwards in two directions, flattening a horde of throne-side wraiths against the icy walls.

It gave them a precious opening; Lance hefted his uncle up over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, ignoring the older man’s protest, and ran for the throne room with a fresh pack of wraiths nipping at their heels.

* * * * *

As soon as they reached the throne room, the wraiths vanished.  Sensing a trap, Lance skidded to a halt, panting with exertion even as he conjured up his next fireball.  A low, amused laugh drew his gaze to the center of the throne room, where a woman stood.  She wore no cloak or any other clothing to keep out the cold; indeed, her mail dress and iron chest plate were sleeveless, with only a ring of ragged brown fur around her neck and shoulders to offer a semblance of warmth.  She wore a small gold helm that had a vaguely cat-like appearance and looked as if more of the same brown fur was attached to it, woven into her brunette locks.

“Greetings, Sons of Adam,” she intoned, solemn, but there was something gleeful in her air.  In the way her fingers tightened around the hilts of the swords in her hands.

“Good evening, madame,” Lance replied, polite even as he kept his right hand – and its fireball – raised, a second incantation at the ready in the back of his mind.  “Perchance, you might allow my uncle and I to pass without challenge?”

“Perchance,” she purred, hefting her weapons.  “But I much prefer watching you squirm, little prince.  Just as I watched your miserable ancestors writhe before me when I overran their pathetic defenses and took Narnia for my own.”  She threw her head back, laughing as he reared back, eyes wide, fireball fizzling as his concentration slipped.  “Poor, poor young fool – so earnest.  So brave.”  Her eyes lit with an eerie icy blue glow.  “So naïve…”

Lance cried out as her magic crashed against his mind, forcing him to his knees in an instant.  His uncle, still on his shoulders, tumbled off, knees cracking against the ice of the throne room floor.  For an instant, the older man struggled to rise, to protect his nephew, but fell back against the young man’s side, utterly spent.

The witch – the White Witch – laughed as she slowly prowled towards her prey.  Glorying in their helplessness and futile defiance.

Then, halfway between the two men and their opponent, a brilliant beam of light shot up from the ground, soaring into the air.  Just above the Witch’s head, a cube appeared in the midst of the light, its sides rotating, realigning, and shuffling pieces even as the three observers stared.  Power crackled as it built around the mysterious cube, throwing off sheets of light that were the same icy blue shade of the witch’s magic.

A clicking noise came from the cube itself and it began to glow from within.  The sheets of light arched outwards, compressing into a thin layer of solid light that encircled the cube for a meter in all directions.  The sides of the cube continued to move, individual pieces sliding independently, twisting, and rotating, imparting a sense of constant motion and inner chaos to the small object.

Between the circle of light and the cube, something began to form.  At first, it appeared to be more light, speckling the air with patches of blue, but those patches spread, connecting with each other and gaining definition.  A spectral figure began to take shape around the cube, hunched over and slowly straightening, lifting its hands as it gained mass and form.  As those hands reached the level of its head, rippling currents of blue ran over it, like tamed lightning, outlining what looked like armor.

Then, just as it fully materialized, it threw its head back with a roar, flinging both hands out to the sides as all the light save the circle of solid light vanished.  Metal materialized out of the solid light circle as the light itself raced inwards, latching into place around the figure’s neck.

The creature was slim, almost delicate, and bright red, with white and black armor plating; the plates were stylized with neon green lines on the shoulders, arms, legs, and several decorative pointed loops attached to the figure’s chest, helm, and shoulder armor.  There were even a few spots on the armor that were detailed with the same red hue of the figure’s unarmored skin.  The middle of its chest was hollow, in a triangle shape; the blue cube it had emerged from rotated inside, just as frenetic as it had been before.  Its boots were pointed at the knees, rising up to a sharp point that could punch right through flesh.  The circle of light remained around its neck, beams emanating from the three roughly triangular metal devices that had appeared at the last moment – a collar, though Lance had no idea what it was for.

Flexing empty hands, the newcomer eyed its opponent – Lance had an impression of glowing blue eyes narrowing behind the stylized, close-fitting helm.  With deliberate movements, it brought its hands together, crossing them in front of its chest and never taking its attention off the Witch who barred the way.  A beat of silence, awaiting just the right moment to snap.  Then the creature snarled, slamming its arms outwards – blades materialized, replacing arms and hands.

Long and broad, the upper part of the blades, right at the creature’s shoulders, had the same black and white hue as the rest of the armor, with neon green outlining an arrowhead shaped piece.  Past the arrowhead armor, the rest of the blades were white, black, and broad, with symmetrical edges that swooped down into traditional sword points, albeit on a much larger scale than most swords.  Curiously, the fullers (6) of the swords were not depressed into the metal; instead, they arched, creating a smooth arc of metal from edge to edge.  Even more curiously, letters marched along the fullers, spelling out the word POLICE – but Lance knew there was no police department in the entire world that employed…  Whatever this thing was…

The White Witch stared at her unexpected opponent, taken aback.  Then her voice rose in indignation.  “What are you doing here?”

The creature did not reply except to lunge, right blade slashing at the Witch’s head.  She snarled, blocking the oncoming blade with her sword and spinning away from the left blade.  After that, their movements were a blur as each fought to gain – and retain – the upper hand.  Their mystery rescuer seemed to have the ability to fly – or at least levitate – and often exploited that advantage to attack from above.  Unfortunately, each time it did so, its movements were so telegraphed that the Witch was easily able to deflect or avoid them.  And though the creature’s initial attack had driven the Witch back towards the center of the throne room, with every passing minute, she was working her way towards Lance and his helpless uncle.

From his spot on the ground, Lance fought to push her magic away – out of his mind and core.  But though he gained some ground, he’d already expended so much of his power that he knew he was on the edges of magical exhaustion.  Even with their mystery creature’s help, the odds of beating the White Witch, false Queen of Narnia, were fifty/fifty.  And that was assuming she didn’t pull out any more of her minions.

Then the creature swooped into an opening, left blade crashing into the Witch’s sword with so much force that she cried out and dropped the weapon.  For an instant, she pulled her hand in – an instinctive motion to cradle the injury.  Her arm stilled; her lip curled.  Then she flung out her hand, icy magic forming in it.

The blast of power threw the creature back; before it could recover, she hissed an incantation, snapping the fingers of her left hand as she cast the spell.  A translucent blue chain appeared, latching onto the creature’s collar; it wailed dismay as she yanked on the chain, hurling it to the ground.  A second jerk sent it tumbling towards the two onlookers; it landed right in front of them, blades vanishing as it reached up and tugged in vain at the collar.

“Did you honestly believe you could defy me?” the Witch demanded of the creature.  “Did you honestly believe your valiant defense of these two little fools would avail you?”  She laughed, a cruel, triumphant sound.  “He has forsaken you – you and your kin!  Nothing you do will change that – He is incapable of changing.”

“Leave him alone!” Lance yelled, flinging the hottest, deadliest Forbærne he could conjure at her.

The Witch sneered as she caught the fireball in her bare left hand.  “How very…gallant of you, little prince.  Defending that which is your sworn enemy.”

Lance sneered right back.  “Haven’t you heard?  The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“Your…friend…” she drawled, staring down at the chained, beaten figure before her.  “Shall we tell him, little one?  Shall we tell him of you?”  She knelt down, caressing the creature’s helm at the chin in a mockery of affection.  “Shall we tell him of your kin?  Of the great crime you committed against all of Narnia?!?”

The creature flinched at her words, letting out a low, mournful sound, but not speaking a single word in its defense.

Glee shone in the Witch’s eyes as she turned towards her human captives.  “Or shall I simply claim your uncle’s soul for the Goddess, little prince?”

“You can’t have him!” Lance hissed.  “Either of them!”

“And who, little prince, will stop me?” she inquired, arch and secure in her victory.

“I AM!”

* * * * *

The words rang in the air, almost tangible in their authority.  The strength behind them echoed in Greg’s bones, so decisive that he knew the witch was done.  And at the sound of the Voice, he felt an incredible warmth, driving the castle’s icy chill out of his mind, body, and soul.  Beside him, his nephew relaxed into him, tension draining all at once.  In front of them, the translucent chain vanished from the creature’s collar, though the collar itself remained.  Glowing blue eyes never blinked, but Greg sensed it was startled nonetheless.

Between the trio and their foe, He appeared – so completely present that the air wasn’t even displaced by His sudden arrival.  The Lion’s head was already lowered, ears back as He regarded the woman who’d attacked so relentlessly and ruthlessly.

For an instant, she quailed beneath His fury, then straightened, regaining her haughty air.  “So,” she drawled.  “You have come.”  A cruel smile tipped her jaw.  “A bit late, aren’t we?”

Parker felt his heart drop at her smug, confident tone.

“Judgment, dear Aslan,” the witch purred.  “Not even you may overturn the Judgment of the Emperor-beyond-the-Sea.”

For a long, dreadful moment, all was silence.  Stillness as the creature and the two humans it had sought to protect awaited the Lion’s response.

“That is so,” He rumbled.  “I do not deny it.”

The witch’s smile widened and she pointed a finger at Greg – a long, bone-white finger with a blood-red fingernail so long that it appeared to be a talon.  “He,” she declared triumphantly, “is under Judgment.  His blood is my property!”

The Lion growled, shifting to stand more between the Witch and the humans.  “You speak truly; the Emperor’s Judgment cannot be sundered.  But the judgment of your sister, the Morrigan, has no such seal upon it.  Neither you nor she may pass judgment upon those under My dominion.”  The growl grew louder and the Witch’s façade…twitched.  “Neither you nor she may snatch My Own from the Palm of My Father’s Hand.”

“Why, then, did you permit Judgment to fall upon his head, O Great Lion?”  Mockery and bravado, though Parker could see the cracks beginning to form.  “Could you not protect your own, Great One?”

“Do not mistake My Father’s forbearance for assent, Jadis, False Queen of Narnia,” Aslan boomed.  “It is you who have trespassed this night, presuming to plunder a soul who rests in My Paws.”

Jadis cringed from the Lion, but refused to surrender.  Her cold eyes fell to her prey once more.  “Perhaps…” she mused aloud.  “He was never truly important to you.  A mere trifle…  Easily cast aside and left to our tender mercies.”

Next to him, Greg felt Lance’s form tense, but refused to respond to the taunts.  Though his soul was at stake, he knew this was a battle he couldn’t win.  Wasn’t a battle his nephew or their mysterious helper could win, either.  If Aslan stood down now, nothing could save him – but he had a sneaking suspicion that the witch was hurling empty threats.  Trying to get him to panic and abandon his best defense.

“Or maybe,” he replied, lifting his chin, “this was all about giving you enough rope to hang yourself.”

The Witch stared at him, amusement falling away into absolute, utter, towering fury.  One hand came up, glowing with an icy power that eclipsed all the enchantments of her freezing cold, dark dungeon.

Aslan roared, the sound growing louder and louder with each passing moment.

Before Him, the Witch stared up at Him, terror-stricken – Parker, his nephew, and the creature were forgotten.  Then she hiked up her mail skirts and fled.

* * * * *

The roar continued to echo, impacting the walls of the castle.  They trembled, quaked, and gave way, collapsing outwards for an instant before they – along with all the ice and snow – vanished.  To Parker’s surprise, once the castle was gone, they were right on the shores of a lake.  In the middle of the lake, there was something that looked like a castle on an island, but long fallen into ruin.  There were even sections that were missing – not destroyed, but as if something other than stone and brick had filled them.

“Jadis’s seat of power,” Aslan murmured.  “Where once she held all of Narnia in thrall, binding the land itself to be always winter and never Christmas.”  Amber eyes were sorrowful.  “Though I broke her power long ago, Sons of Adam, an imprint of her castle remains etched in Narnia’s memory.”

Greg shivered.  “And that Judgment spell latched onto it,” he concluded.

“Yes,” the Lion agreed, turning His great head.  “Your magic summoned your young nephew to your side, for though the Witch Morgause laid her trap well, she did not fortify the innermost part of her spell as well as she fortified the outer regions.”

The pieces slid together and Parker sat all the way up, eyes widening.  “Lance could break it from the inside.”

“Precisely,” Aslan said.  “The Morrigan sent forth an echo of Jadis, knowing that only I may stand against the White Witch’s power.”  He shook out His mane and gave a Lion smile.  “But it is well done, Sons of Adam.  You and your magics alike.”  Lifting His muzzle, He declared, “Come forth, magic of My Son.”

A black figure with glowing yellow eyes materialized – the Shade of Greg’s magic.  Though caught off guard by Aslan’s presence, it brightened upon seeing Greg himself.  “Free now?”

“Yes,” Aslan rumbled.  “You may join with him once more whilst I deal with the other.”  As He spoke, amber eyes shifted to the mysterious red creature; it cringed beneath His regard, shrinking in on itself.

Greg opened his mouth to defend the creature, only to get cut off before he could even speak as his magic snuck in behind him and merged with him.  He gasped at the feel of power filling him, the torn, jagged edges of his psyche sliding back together – everything he was, it had been ripped in twain and now he was getting it back.

He came to in a curled up heap on the ground, panting under the force of his own capacity for ruthlessness, the unexpected strength of his own resolve – his skills in lethal combat.  He was used to being surprised by his magic, but the rest…  It was so much a part of him that he’d never fully grasped the extent of it until it was gone; he shivered, adrift in his own skin.  What was he, that he could be that ruthless, that lethal – almost a living weapon.

“You’re a protector, Uncle Greg.”

His head lifted, confused hazel blinking at his nephew.

Lance burrowed himself under one of Greg’s arms, completely unconcerned that he was so close to someone so…dangerous.  “Gryphons are protectors, Uncle Greg.  That’s who you are – who you always have been, even before you knew anything about magic.”  Brilliant sapphire gazed up at him.  “Even if you lost your magic and Animagus form tomorrow, you’d still be a protector.”

He clung to his nephew, a muted sob breaking free.  That was right – he’d learned how to be lethal so he could keep people alive.  An oxymoron, maybe, but the truth.  And as a negotiator, he had to be ruthless.  Because he was the one who called Scorpio.  The one who judged if a subject had gone too far to be saved.  If he called that wrong, people died.  Maybe even his own people.

A sound brought both men up; Parker hastily wiped at the wetness around his eyes.  The red creature fidgeted, glancing up and over at Aslan as if unsure if it was allowed…  The Lion inclined His head, amber softening a hair from His stern expression.

“When you find the Astral Cycle,” it began, startling them both – for the creature’s voice was female.  It stopped, eyeing them warily.

“You’re a girl?” Lance blurted, flushing bright red.  “Sorry for before!”

Though the helm never twitched, the creature brightened and light laughter broke free.  “You could not know,” she replied.  “Thank you for defending me to her.”

Greg landed the creature with a stern gaze of his own.  “I hope you’re not planning on involving my nephew in this…Astral Cycle.”

She shrugged.  “I do not know which of you will find the Astral Cycle,” she confessed.  “Only that at least one of you will.”

Oh.  “This is a warning?” Parker ventured, earning a nod.  He considered, then returned the nod.  “Copy that; we’re listening.”

She brightened another hair beneath her blank, expressionless visor helm.  “The Astral Cycle is not what it seems,” she warned them.  “Trust only those who fight beside you, for there will be those who pretend friendship, but inwardly, are naught but ravening wolves.”  She glanced up at Aslan, then back to them and plunged on, “And beware the Astral Plain, for there lies the first and greatest trap.  If any should be lost there, the Cycle will continue.”

His grip on his nephew tightened a hair at the thought of losing any of his family or friends.  Lance squirmed, but didn’t fight his hold.  Instead, the young man met the creature’s eerie glowing blue eyes and nodded.  “We’ll remember,” he promised.  “Won’t we, Uncle Greg?”

“Absolutely, kiddo.”  Greg studied the creature for another few seconds.  “Thank you.  For trying to help us, even if it didn’t work out.”

Though they couldn’t see her face, the way she ducked her helm and fidgeted filled in the blanks.  “I must go now, but, please…”  Her helm came up, gazing right into their souls.  “Do not forget.”  Before either could reply, her form phased, vanishing back into the frenetic blue cube from her chestpiece, which flew up in the air a moment before it winked out in a flash of bright blue light.

Aslan approached and Greg pushed himself up, tugging Lance with him.  The Lion rumbled a chuckle at the lieutenant’s stubborn refusal to remain on the ground now that he’d recovered.  Lifting His head, the Lion surveyed both humans.  “Son of Adam, do you know why I permitted the Witch Morgause to entrap you?”

“To give them enough rope?” Greg asked, recalling the response that had so infuriated Jadis.

Amusement shone in deep amber eyes.  “That is so,” He agreed.  “But not all.”  He stopped, surveying them for a moment before continuing.  “There is much magic, Son of Adam, which My Father placed into the world at its creation.  Deep Magic, which those of darkness see, but cannot truly understand.”  Sorrow gleamed.  “The Judgment of My Father is absolute – though the judgment of the Morrigan and her High Priestesses is but a shadow of My Father’s Judgment, when it is cast, it must, by its very nature, work.”

“But You can overturn it,” Parker whispered, earning a regal nod.

“Understand, Son of Adam, that I could have overturned it at any time, but chose to wait until now.”  The great Lion head dipped, amber gazing directly into Greg’s eyes.  “I did this so that your own might see My deliverance with their own eyes.”

The inhale was sharp, one hand rising to his chest without thought.  “You wanted them to see that there was no way they could break the spell.  That it would take a miracle to free me from Morgause’s spell without my team ending up losing their freedom.”

“Yes.”  Aslan turned away, gazing out over the lake.  “There are those under your authority that have known naught but the Old Religion.  They do not know of Me because the Old Religion has taken their ability to hear My Voice.”

Parker stilled, knowing who Aslan was referring to.  Team Four – the former Knights of Camelot.  And, really, even his team could fall into that category.  All of them, including Wordy, had been willing to sacrifice themselves just to get him back.  Grim as it sounded, better to lose one man than a whole team – and Wordy, at least, should’ve darn well known better.  Although…if he’d been in Wordy’s place, he wasn’t sure he’d have done any different.

He swallowed hard and dropped his gaze.  “Copy that.”

Aslan rumbled and, a moment later, a paw pushed his chin back up.  “Peace, Son of Adam.  You and your magic did well – you have not usurped My authority.”  A Lion smile.  “I know you will fall, as all Men do, whether they call upon My name or not.”  He leaned forward.  “The difference is that when My Own fall, I am there to catch them.”

[6] The fuller runs down the center of a sword blade and is usually slightly shallower than the edges of the sword.

Chapter Text

Waking was slow.  The satin of a bedsheet beneath him.  A form-fitting pillow under his head – the Memory Foam pillow that Alanna had gotten him for his last birthday.  Steady breathing on either side – sure signs that he’d had one of those nights, when he needed every bit of magic his nipotes could share to bring his senses back under control.  The ragged remnants of a migraine, confirming his prior observation.

Then his ear twitched.  His.  Ear.  Twitched.  He started to jerk upright, only to freeze at a complaining bird noise.  From above and behind, on his back, right between his wings.  Wait…wings…?  As if in confirmation, he felt them arch up, away from the bed, and his brain finally caught up enough to realize there was one more kid in his bed than he was used to.  Dean wriggled closer to him, not waking, but letting out a soft complaint – it took an embarrassingly long moment to figure out his wings had been acting as makeshift blankets for his son and nephew.

Reaching up, Greg felt the top of his head, grimacing when his fingers touched furry, feather ears, tucked in the back, right about where they’d be if he was fully transformed.  Concentrating, he evaluated everything he could feel, grimace deepening as he felt his gryphon tail give a little flick, right against his furry, transformed legs.  At least his fingers hadn’t changed into talons.

Gently, he brought his wings back down, curling them around the two teenagers on either side of him.  The phoenix on his back settled, trilling a sleepy tune that went right through his bones; his eyelids drooped and he yawned, ‘hearing’ his gryphon side’s laughter in the back of his mind.  “Shut up,” he muttered as he drifted back to sleep.

* * * * *

The second time he woke up, he was alone, though the indentions on either side confirmed he hadn’t dreamed his kids being there the first time.  Greg yawned and stretched, smiling as curling his spine just so caused a slight crackling sound.  Unable to help himself, he arched the other way and shook himself out, just as he’d often done in his gryphon form.  His wings and tail shook right along with his shoulders, flinging a few loose feathers out into the air.

Careful, Parker pushed himself up on his hands, keenly aware that his wings precluded rolling onto either side.  It took another few seconds to get his knees under him – they seemed to be bending in a different direction than he was used to.  But once he was on all fours, he was able to scoot backwards off the bed.

With his feet under him and no longer restricted by the bed’s proximity, Greg arched one wing around, inspecting it for damage.  He didn’t find any, though some of his flight feathers appeared to have been sheared off partway up the shaft (7), giving that section of wing a very…sharp appearance.  Frowning, he tugged at the damaged feathers, wincing at the pain – definitely not ready for molting.  At least his gryphon instincts weren’t very concerned; he could still fly, albeit with some extra effort until new flight feathers grew in.  Sighing, he ran his hands over the rest of his wing, probing for any more loose feathers.  A few presented themselves and he plucked them free.  Once he was done with the first wing, he checked the other, unsurprised to find several more sheared flight feathers in the same general area as the first batch had been.

Done with his preening – and he was so not admitting to that around his kids or his team – Greg turned towards his closet and the full-length mirror hanging on the inside of the door.  He pulled the door open, positioning it so he had enough room to back up.  Moving to the center of his bedroom, Parker inhaled, braced himself, and whirled.

Staring back at him was a half-human, half-gryphon figure.  His hazel eyes were dappled with their native magical scarlet and a pair of medium-brown furry, feathery ears twitched from atop his head, tucked in the remnants of his dark-brown hair.  Remnants that were darker than he was used to – hadn’t he had a little more gray the day before?

Brown human-sized eagle wings bracketed his shoulders on either side, the leading edges sporting a darker shade than the rest of his wings.  Deep brown, though not dark enough to be mistaken for black.  His legs were lion-like, complete with lion paws for feet and the backwards knees of a four-legged animal, colored the same medium-brown shade as his ears, complimenting his wings nicely.  The back of his legs seemed to be a different color; he craned down to see a pale, creamy hue.  His tail lashed around and into view – its fur a dead match for the majority of his lion half and the feathers a match for his wings, save for two feathers on either side of the ‘fan’ which had turned a silvery hue, forming a rough ‘V’ shape.

Blinking, Greg shifted his attention back to his wings, flaring them out a tad to see the feathers better…  There; on both wings, near the bottom, a couple flight feathers had also turned silver – ironically, it was the same flight feathers on either side, giving his silver feathers a symmetrical appearance.  Flushing, he folded his wings, hiding the silver from easy sight, and forced himself to inspect his human half.

He was still in his Narnian armor – why hadn’t that been… removed…  Oh.  Greg partially turned, craning back at the mirror to see as much of his back as possible.  Around his wings, he could see most of his back had shifted to a mix of fur and feathers reminiscent of his gryphon form.  His armor, rather than being destroyed by the eruption of his wings, now blended right into his…gryphon flesh.  Removing it was impossible, not without hurting him or destroying the garments.  Experimentally, Greg tugged at his leather-like jacket, wincing as his back protested.  Yep – it was basically part of him at the moment.  Lovely.

His wings slumped down at the morose turn of his thoughts; he blinked at the mirror for that instinctive telegraph of his inner emotions.  So…he was more emotionally sensitive in this…form…  Interesting; Parker forced his wings back up and set one portion of his mind on keeping them in place even as the rest of him revisited the sulking.  His wings slumped down again, but not as much as the first time, and jolted right back up as soon as he stopped sulking.

Frowning, Greg rubbed his chin.  So.  He could probably train himself to control that outward expression of emotion, but was it even worth it?  It wasn’t like he’d be negotiating as a half-human, half-gryphon hybrid.  On the other hand…  It might help with regulating his gryphon side; although his gryphon instincts had been under his control ever since Texas, whenever they rose to the surface, emotional control was harder.

After a few more seconds of thought, Greg shrugged – his wings bounced along with his shoulders – and set the idea aside to consider later.  Inspecting his human half again, he realized some of his armor had been removed.  The gauntlets – and his holster.  Turning, he spied all three – the gauntlets on one bedside table and the holster on the other.

He was about to start for the closest piece of armor – the holster – when someone barged through his bedroom door.  Parker snapped around, automatically defensive – his wings arched and lion-like ears laid back – before he registered who it was.

“Dean!”  He was across the room in two bounding strides and swept his son up in a bear hug.  He felt his wings curl forward, nestling into place around his son even as he lowered his head to Dean’s, trembling with relief and joy.  So close.  He’d been so close to losing all of this forever.  Locked on the outside, staring in as his gryphon half touched his children.  Hugged his children.  Even if he was stuck in this half-human, half-gryphon state, at least he was himself again.

Dean flailed a moment before he sucked in a breath and hugged back.  “Dad…”

Greg reared back so he could look down.  “Hurt you…?”  Wait, what?

His son froze, looking up as if all his hopes had vanished, right before his eyes.  “Elias?”

The stocky man blinked – Who came up with that? – and shook his head.  “Me again.”  A grimace broke free.  “Almost…”  The grimace deepened as he reached for his magic; his eyes burned as he forced his tongue to work properly.  “Talking seems to be an issue.”

His head throbbed warning and Parker released the magic, struggling to hide the wince.

“Dad, stop,” Dean ordered.  “Is it still bad?”

Still bad…?  He dared not reach for his magic again, but…  “What…mean…?”

His son’s eyes darkened.  “ ‘Lanna told me last night about how sometimes you come home and your magic’s sick.”

Understanding broke through.  He’d never phrased it quite like that, but it wasn’t a half-bad way to put it.  “Probably,” he admitted, letting go of his son so he could rub his chest.  “Whole again, but…”

“But it prolly used up a lot of magic?” Dean offered.

“Yeah.”  Embarrassed, Greg fidgeted.  “Sorry.”

His son grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down, so close their foreheads touched again.  “Don’t,” he whispered, right on the edge of tears.  “You’re back.”

His wings moved of their own volition, wrapping around his son again as his arms followed suit.  “Yes,” he murmured, “I’m back.”

And if his son cried into his armor, he’d never tell.

* * * * *

Once they’d both calmed down, Dean helped him buckle his gauntlets back in place – he was hoping Lance or Alanna would have some idea on how he could get back to being purely human, but part of him had a sneaking suspicion he’d need to be fully geared to do so.  Accordingly, after the gauntlets were on and secure, Greg moved to the opposite side of his bed and collected his holster.  It took quite a bit of tugging and some help from his son – the belt and holster straps were settling differently than he was used to, a fact that confused him even as he and Dean worked around the unexpected challenge.

Frustrated by the way the holster was refusing to align properly with his leg, Greg kept tugging at it even after it was strapped in place.  Just as it finally slid into the position he was used to, his thumb touched a small rune engraved on the holster, just below the retention hood on the side of the holster, right on the curve where his gun grip would jut up, easily accessible.  The entire holster glowed for an instant and he felt a familiar weight materialize on his right leg.  Dean reared back, gawking at the Glock 17 that hadn’t been there a moment before.

“What the…?”

Parker heaved a sigh, hanging his head.  “Summoning,” he explained, rubbing around the rune.  “If someone takes…”

If he had to guess, it had probably been either Eddie or Wordy.  Maybe Lou if his wild side’s memories of the night before were accurate.  But that hardly mattered to the enchantment on his holster.  If he didn’t remove his weapon, then its magic latched onto the Glock, allowing him to reclaim it with a simple press of the rune.

Carefully drawing on his magic, he focused on Dean.  “Look, can you go get your siblings?”  A split second later, his choice of words ran through his head again and he cringed.  Darn it, he hadn’t meant to say that!

Dean looked up in time to see the cringe and grinned at his abashed father.  “Dad, seriously.  I already knew.”

Knew…?  He gave his son a quizzical look, brows arching in time with an inquiring head tilt, perked ears, and one wing hiked higher than the other.

The curly-haired brunet blinked at him, surprised by the way his gryphon-half moved in time with his human side.  Then Dean shrugged and replied, “I knew in Texas that they were basically my brother and sister.  You treat ‘em like they’re yours.”

“Mio nipotes,” he pointed out.  He’d never, ever denied the role Artorius and Victoria had played in their children’s lives.

“I know,” Dean agreed, soft, but determined.  “But you love them just as much as you love me.  You went after ‘em even when you couldn’t remember them.”  His eyes, a shade lighter than his father’s, turned playful.  “Didja adopt ‘em as soon as they came in the door?  Or did it take a week?”

Greg felt his face burn as he turned bright-red.

* * * * *

Dean conspired to send his cousins in one at a time, gleefully setting them up for his father’s currently very impressive hugs.  Watching from the outside was almost as good as experiencing them – ‘Lanna nearly vanished as his Dad’s gryphon wings curled around her, but Lance was tall enough that he had to lower his head to meet his Dad’s.  Not for the first time, Dean wondered just how tall Lance’s parents had been, that their son could compete with Ed and Wordy for height.

Afterwards, ‘Lanna shared her magic with his Dad – Dean was curious why it was ‘Lanna and not Lance, but knew better than to ask.  Especially since his brain was remembering just how tired Lance had been the night before, right around the same time Ed, Wordy, and Sam had brought his Dad, er, Elias, home.

Then ‘Lanna pulled back, violet dying away from her fingers.  Her earnest gaze rose to his Dad.  “Uncle Greg, what happened?”

Greg Parker’s smile lit the room.  “Well, sweetheart, the short version is Aslan overruled the Old Religion’s Judgment.”

Dean felt his eyes widen.  “Lance didn’t bust you out?”

His Dad jumped and Lance ducked his head, flushing.  Hazel peered at him, gryphon wings hiking up again.  “Dean?”

“I, um, I crashed right after they brought you home, Uncle Greg,” Lance confessed.  “ ‘Lanna had to tell Dean about, um, you-know-what.”

His father considered the response, frowning thoughtfully.  “Well, son, my gryphon side did pull your cousin in to, um, bust me out, but the curse was more than either of us could handle.”

Oh.  “So the big guy had to save you?” Dean ventured.

His father chuckled at the description and nodded.  Growing serious, he met each of his charges’ eyes.  “Aslan could’ve done that before last night, kids.  He held off ‘cause my team tried to force a solution.”

“They were gonna let it run?” ‘Lanna blurted, going deathly pale.

“Yes, sweetheart, they were,” his Dad confirmed, sorrowful.  “I don’t think I have to tell any of you how badly that would’ve turned out.”  Dean nodded along with his cousins – letting the bad guys win didn’t sound like a good plan to him.  On his father’s face, sorrow transformed into determination.  “They need to learn that, sometimes, you just have to have faith.  Wait for a solution instead of going for the easy way out.”

For a long minute, silence draped the whole room, not even broken by the ticking of an analog clock.  Then his father shook himself, wings and tail shaking themselves out as the furry, feathery ears on his head flexed independently of each other.  “Well,” he said, hazel falling on Dean’s cousins.  “Maybe one of you have some ideas…?”  As he spoke, he gestured to himself.

“Did you try just shifting?” Lance asked.

Hazel blinked.  “What, like I’d do if I was in my gryphon form?”

“Yeah,” his cousin confirmed, nodding.

Dean’s father frowned, but closed his eyes, jaw tightening.  There was a shiver in the air, then his form blurred and reappeared, fully human with nary a sign of any gryphon features.  Well…except for a solitary brown eagle feather that drifted down and landed on his Dad’s shoulder.  Dean snickered at the askance look his father gave the feather.

* * * * *

Shortly after transforming back to his purely human form, Greg was obliged to shift back to his new partial form – all three of his kids insisted pictures were essential.  Lance even conspired to use a spell that tickled his back right as ‘Lanna was about to take a picture – his wings spread of their own volition and his silver feathers were captured on film for the whole world to see.  He tried to confiscate the camera, but Dean ‘accidentally’ got in his way, yelling for ‘Lanna to run.

She fled, giggling the whole way to her room – by the time he disentangled himself from the boys and caught up, she’d saved copies of the prime blackmail in at least six different locations, only two of which were on her laptop.  And since he’d forgotten to shift back to fully human, the little minx snapped her camera up and took several more pictures before he could scramble back to the safety of the darker hallway.

He rumbled a half-hearted growl at his snickering children, only to sigh as his stomach echoed the growl.  Shifting fully back to human, he landed his kids with a glare.  “I.  Am going to take off this armor and go take a shower.  By the time I get out, there’d better be enough breakfast for a small army on the table or I pull out Dean’s baby photos.”  He grinned at his son’s paling face.  “And theirs,” he finished, gesturing to his nipotes; they went just as pale, remembering that their uncle knew exactly where the Calvin Family photo album was.

Threat delivered, Parker headed back to his bedroom and stripped off every last bit of his armor.  The Glock went into his under-the-bed gun safe and he temporarily evicted his personal gun – his work gun was loaded and the odds of anyone getting past the kids while he took a shower were nil.

Surveying his discarded armor, he muttered something impolite under his breath and lifted his head.  “Mindy!”

The house-elf popped into the room.  “Master be calling?”

Greg nodded.  “Yeah.”  He rested a hand on the closest piece of armor, the leather-like jacket.  “Could you please clean all this and get it back to me by the time I get out of the shower?”  He didn’t want to wear the armor for at least a month, but his team was in dire need of a sharp lesson after the near debacle of the night before.  He’d warned them and they’d understood his warnings – only to ignore them just because he was on the line.  It couldn’t happen again – which meant making darn sure he scared them bad enough that they wouldn’t do it again.

Mindy bobbed her head and gathered everything up before popping away.

Left alone, the lieutenant blew out a breath, rubbed at his head, and rose to collect the towel he’d grabbed from the bathroom before stripping out of his armor.  Time for a very long shower.

* * * * *

As he joined his kids in the kitchen and saw the assortment of breakfast items laid out, Greg Parker felt almost human again.  And he absolutely felt all the way human again as he bit into the homemade French toast his nipote had made for him.  Rich, coated in butter, and drizzled with syrup – perfect.  He had to guard the plate of sausages – his sons were eyeing it greedily – but the eggs over easy were left to him without an ounce of regret.  Lance preferred scrambled, Dean only liked eggs with omelets, and ‘Lanna adored Eggs Benedict, turning up her nose at any eggs that weren’t hard-boiled or poached.

Halfway through his meal, the hunger pangs were sated enough that he could slow down and take his time.  Taking the opening, he collected another two sausages and nudged the plate towards his meat-eater sons.  “You can have that as long as I can open a topic we haven’t discussed in several months.”

Three sets of eyes examined him warily.  “What topic is that, Dad?” Dean ventured, speaking for all of them.

Greg sighed, letting himself sag down an instant.  “Marina.”

The teenagers tensed, but there was a thoughtful expression on Alanna’s face as she looked from the plate of sausages to Greg and back.  “She was there, wasn’t she?”

“Sam didn’t say anything about her,” Dean argued.

“But there’s no other reason Uncle Greg would bring her up now,” the redhead pointed out, turning to her guardian expectantly.  “So?”

Parker nodded.  “Yes, ‘Lanna, she was there.”  He nudged a piece of French toast around his plate.  “As a matter of fact, we knew it was a trap before we walked into it.”  Around him, his kids stilled, gawking in horror.  “Marina came to me for help because the subjects threatened her family.”  Shame dropped his gaze.  “Her mother is…not well…”

He felt a hand on his arm and looked up at his nephew’s earnest gaze.  “Tell us everything, Uncle Greg.”

Parker drew in a deep breath, ordering his explanation, then dove into the whole, miserable story.  As requested, he left nothing out, not even the fact that he was still very much in love with his ex-fiancé.  But, he swore, he would not get back together with her unless all his children agreed to it and she herself promised to treat them with the respect they deserved.

By the time he was finished, none of his kids would look him in the eye and he hated that.  Hated that he’d damaged their faith in him.  But he’d learned his lesson well – refusing to let that fear stand, he left his plate where it was and moved around the kitchen island, gathering up all three of his children in a fierce hug.  Without thinking, he blurred, shifting back into his partial gryphon form; his wings swept out, wrapping around the three teenagers as he channeled every scrap of his love and fierce devotion into his magical aura.

When at last they lurched apart, his wings vanishing as he blurred back to human, his kids were rather dazed – he eyed them worriedly, wondering if he’d overwhelmed them with his protective nature.

Then Dean shook himself, looked up at his father with wide, pleading puppy eyes, and blurted, “That’s like a superhug!  Can you do it again, Dad?”

[7] The shaft (also called the rachis) is the long, slender center of every feather.  When a feather is turned into a quill, the shaft is where the ink of the quill goes and what is trimmed for writing purposes.

Chapter Text

As Ed Lane stalked through the hallways of his boss’s apartment complex, he checked his watch and glanced over at Wordy.  His best friend grimaced – they were cutting it close on when the Sleeping Potion from Neal would run out – but trying to get everything in place at the barn for Elias had taken longer than they’d thought.

“Ed, even if the potion runs out, it doesn’t mean he’ll wake up,” Wordy murmured.

“Tell that to Greg if one of his kids gets hurt,” Ed countered.

The big constable winced at the direct hit, but held firm.  “Ed.  The kids aren’t helpless.  They’re a lot tougher than we give ‘em credit for.”

The sniper Sergeant blew out his breath.  “They shouldn’t have to be.”

“And Morgana and her sister should pick on people who can fight back.”  Wordy shrugged.  “Life’s not fair, Ed.”

No, no it wasn’t, but that didn’t stop him from wishing it was.  Particularly when his teammates were on the line.  Especially when Greg was on the line – again.  Deep inside, the need clawed at him and he struggled to push it away.  To silence the hawk shrieking in the back of his brain because the links were down and Greg was gone.  No matter what it took, they were going to get him back.  They just had to find a solution that their too-stubborn-for-his-own-good boss would go for.

Rounding the final corner, the two men closed in on Parker’s apartment and Ed eased his cell phone out to text ‘Lanna.  She might be the youngest of the three teens, but she had a pretty good head on her shoulders.  Not to mention, Lance had looked kinda under the weather the night before and Dean was still learning about all the magic…craziness.

Her reply brought a scowl to his face and he held up the phone for Wordy to see.  The brunet constable leaned in, squinting in the poor light, then winced.  Elias, it seemed, had woken up long before he should’ve, but the kids were distracting him with breakfast.  Oh, and he’d managed to trigger the summoning rune on his holster while Dean had been helping him put the armor back on.

Ed was – not pleased – that any of the kids had gotten within arm’s reach of the gryphon, but he was even more unhappy that Neal’s little Sleeping Potion hadn’t lasted as long as advertised.  He and the Junior Auror would have words over that snafu.  In the meantime, he waited for the sound of the inside locks to turn; Lance pulled the apartment door open a second afterwards.

“You okay, kiddo?” Wordy asked.

Despite a lingering exhaustion in the back of sapphire eyes, the teenager nodded and stepped back, opening the door enough for the two officers to enter.

Ed waited until they were inside and the door was closed to speak.  “I thought we told you three to stay away from Elias.”

Lance stiffened a hair, then smirked.  “You forgot to tell him that.”

Word groaned.  “He woke up and came lookin’ for you guys?”

“Something like that,” Lance agreed.  “We’re all in the kitchen; he was pretty hungry this morning.”

Although not entirely appeased, Ed let the subject drop and followed the teenager deeper into the apartment.  In the small kitchen area, he noted that Alanna and Dean were on one side of the kitchen island and Elias was on the other side, finishing up a plate of sausages.  To Ed’s private astonishment, the kids had somehow managed to teach the gryphon how to use a fork instead of messily eating with his fingers, giving wounded keens in between bites over his lack of talons.

Elias glanced up from his meal, scarlet brightening at the new arrivals.  “Eddie!  Wordy!”

His back molars ground together – Elias had no right to use Greg’s name for him – but Ed forced himself to smile.  “Mornin’, buddy.  Ready to go?”

The gryphon adopted a hopeful look.  “Fledglings come?”

Both officers grimaced – it was one thing for the gryphon to be close to the kids overnight, but for an entire day?  No, Elias hadn’t hurt anyone yet, but neither did he have Greg’s experience with holding back his gryphon strength.

Ed opened his mouth to refuse, but scarlet flashed challenge.  “Want Fledglings,” Elias insisted, crossing his arms.  “Not leave without.”

Well, that changed the picture – the Sergeant doubted even Wordy could budge that stocky, solid form when Parker got this stubborn.  Plus, they didn’t need the gryphon shrieking like a banshee just as they were trying to sneak him out of the building.

“If we come, we can hide the gryphon features,” ‘Lanna offered, jumping in at the waver on Lane’s face.  “I can even hide his eyes.”

That was tempting.  Very tempting if Ed was being honest with himself.  Gryphon features and scarlet eyes under the bright light of day?  He and Word had almost chickened out and called Giles to Side-Along Elias again, splinched flight feathers notwithstanding.

“Okay, you three can ride with Ed,” Wordy stepped in.

‘Lanna shook her head at once.  “I can’t hold the illusion if I get too far away from him.  Besides, he can’t use a seatbelt with wings; the boys can hold him still.”

Elias’s expression turned smug, but Wordy wasn’t so easily beaten.  “We know he can’t use a seatbelt.  Sam’s waiting with my van and he’ll catch a ride home with Jules today.”  He crossed his arms.  “You can ride in my front seat, but the boys go with Ed or no deal.”

The three teenagers traded glances and Ed was surprised when they also looked to Elias, as if seeking his input.  After all, it wasn’t like the gryphon could offer them advice – it was just a dumb, vicious, wild animal.  Elias gazed back at the kids with wide-eyed expectation, so unlike Greg that it took an iron effort to keep his stomach in place.

Even when Alanna moved to the gryphon’s side, murmuring a spell to disguise him as human, he never looked like Greg.  Not with a naïve innocence more akin to a special needs child than a full-grown adult seasoned by a lifetime in law enforcement.

* * * * *

If it weren’t for the whole Statute of Secrecy thing, Greg would’ve had his kids film every instant of his performance and submit it to the Gemini Awards (8).  Even with his gryphon side’s memories of the day before, it was taking all his negotiation experience plus his minimal talent for acting to keep playing the fool – literally.

In the back of his mind, he made a note to take his kids out to their favorite restaurant once he was done chewing his team up one side and down the other.  As hard as playing the fool was for him, keeping straight faces when they knew better had to be even harder.

So he snuck a quick grin at Alanna as soon as Eddie and Wordy’s backs were turned, grin widening at her tiny giggle as she cast an illusion to hide his gryphon features.  He smoothed out his expression, burying his intelligence beneath his wild side’s bland wide-eyed façade, managing to have it in place just before his Sergeant turned around again.

“Okay, let’s go,” Ed ordered, so on-edge that Greg felt a stab of regret for putting his friends through the wringer.  But… 

If he didn’t make sure they learned their lesson, then what about the next time?  He was under no illusions – the demons behind the Old Religion saw them as a threat.  Him, his kids, his team – heck, probably the whole SRU.  Those demons – they would never stop.  Worse, they’d already nearly manipulated his team into giving up their Free Will.  They knew he was his friends’ weak point.  A trigger guaranteed to send them into a frenzy, desperately latching onto any solution in sight – and never mind if it was a good solution.

He had to find a way to eliminate that weakness.  Or minimize it, at the very least.  Because the night before had been way too close – and it never should’ve gotten that far.  He knew Marina had accurately recorded his warnings.  Knew she’d given those warnings to his team; for crying out loud, they’d discussed those warnings with Team Four!

His three warnings – that had been the nice way.  But his friends had been so determined to just get him back that his gryphon side had ended up with a nasty migraine, the remnants of which he was still nursing.  Not to mention that geas hitting him bad enough that he’d come home with a ‘sick magical core’ – privately, the lieutenant was angry that his kids had felt forced to sneak into a bedroom where his gryphon form was sleeping!  If he hadn’t woken up as himself…  Well…his gryphon form probably wouldn’t have hurt his kids.  At least, not intentionally.  It was the unintentional possibilities that would give him nightmares for weeks to come.

So, no, in the end, he didn’t feel bad at all over the con job he was pulling on Ed and Wordy.  He was going to make them sweat – and maybe then, they’d learn not to put one man above the needs of the many.  Especially when the many included his three kids.

* * * * *

Behind the ‘idiot’ mask, Parker winced at the sight of Winnie instead of Kira at the dispatcher desk.  It made sense; Kira had pulled overtime the night before to help with his and Marina’s kidnapping; but the lieutenant felt bad that Winnie was getting caught in the middle when she was already struggling with Spike’s blindness, his PTSD – and her own guilt over turning Spike down months earlier.

He shuffled behind Eddie, but without ‘Lanna’s illusion, wings were impossible to hide; Winnie stared, jaw dropping open as she took in her boss’s half-human, half-gryphon form.  He wanted to flush, to rub behind his neck in a sheepish motion, and maybe even apologize – but that wasn’t what his tactless wild side would do.  So instead he perked up his lionish ears and wings, gazing intently at Winnie for a second or two before bounding out from behind Eddie; the sniper grabbed him and he cast the Sergeant a wounded, hurt expression even as he silently thanked the other man for keeping him from scaring their dispatcher.

Even with Ed’s intervention, Winnie jumped.  “Sir?”

“He’s not the Sarge,” Wordy explained in a curt tone.  “Kira leave you a note?”

“She did, but…”  Winnie’s eyes shifted between the three men and the three teenagers, fearful and uncertain.  “Can you fix it?”

“We’re workin’ on it,” Ed replied.  “Just gotta find a solution our friend Elias here will go for.”

Scarlet narrowed in true anger and it was all Greg could do to swallow down his first, second, and third retorts.  That would give the game away and he wasn’t quite ready to drop the hammer.  No, he wanted to make sure all his targets were present.  Team One, Team Four, and their pet Court Physician.  He wanted Gaius Wilson, Conclusion Jumper Extraordinaire, to come back in with whatever research he could find on Old Religion Judgment spells.  While the lieutenant was fairly sure he knew what the answer would be, he had to be sure.  Had to make sure that the two SRU teams involved knew that answer, too – whatever it was.  And then, he could read every last one of them the riot act.

In the meantime, Parker clung to his ‘dumb-as-a-bucket-of-rocks’ act, letting out an unhappy whistle-keen that Ed wasn’t letting him greet a Pride-Friend.  The taller man rolled his eyes, but released Greg’s arm; the stocky figure immediately bounced over to the dispatcher desk, giving her his best happy-go-lucky smile.

“Morning, Pride-Friend Winnie.”

She did her best to smile back – but he could see the fear pooling in her soft brown eyes.  Fear because he was acting so out of character and possibly due to his inhuman appearance.

He couldn’t leave her like that – with so much fear and no hope.  Keeping his eyes fixed on hers, he let the stupid grin drop, giving her a quick wink over his real smile.  She jumped when his eyes went from scarlet to hazel dappled scarlet – he dropped his chin, giving her a stern look and dared to lift one finger to his mouth in a ‘don’t-give-it-away’ order.

It pained her to obey, but she gave a subtle nod of acceptance.  Her fingers clenched as he plastered his ‘idiot’ expression back in place and scarlet magic obscured hazel irises, but the dispatcher kept quiet, watching the interactions between ‘Elias’ and the two Team One members.  Parker had a feeling she was already putting the pieces together, but he’d come back and explain everything before taking his kids out for their well-deserved acting awards.  And maybe, he’d even see if he could slip her an expensive gift card to some place she and Spike liked once the bomb tech finally recovered his sight.  See if he could nudge things in the right direction – for both of them.

* * * * *

There was something funny going on.  Ed couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something prickling at the back of his mind.  Elias was behaving just like he had the night before – overblown enthusiasm for those he knew, digging his heels in to get his way – especially with Greg’s kids – and speaking in clipped sentences that revealed just how ill-equipped he was for human interaction.  But…  There was something that kept bothering him.  Something that kept prodding at him.  Something that should’ve been obvious if not for the fact that the ‘team sense’ was down.

Shame writhed in his gut – he shouldn’t need the ‘team sense’ to read his best friend.  When had he gotten so used to that magical sixth sense that he’d stopped honing his instincts and making sure he knew all his teammates’ subtle cues?  He couldn’t be sure, but the Sergeant was sure that they were all guilty of depending more than they should on that magic…crutch.

Setting that aside as an issue to discuss once they had Greg back, the bald sniper pointed Wordy and Sam towards the locker room before leading Elias and the kids out to the training building.  Fortunately, no one had disturbed their setup and the gryphon was even agreeable enough that Ed felt safe leaving the four alone until Team One could change into their uniforms.

* * * * *

Greg Parker heaved a sigh of relief as soon as he knew Eddie was out of earshot.  It was the work of a moment to let go of his magic and the slight burn from his eyes stopped as they settled back to the dappled hazel that appeared to be ‘natural’ to his half-and-half form.  He suspected the only reason ‘Elias’s eyes had been stuck on pure scarlet was that ‘Elias’ had been only half his soul – and the magic half at that.

Turning to his three kids, the lieutenant’s shoulders sagged and he rubbed a hand over his head.  Then he jumped; he’d forgotten about his lion ears – and they were ticklish.  Alanna giggled at the look on his face as he yanked his hand away from the furry, feathery appendages.

The redhead slipped in close, reaching up before he could realize what she was doing; her fingers scratched behind the lionish ears – for an instant, it tickled, then he felt himself relax, a rumbling purr automatically rising from his chest.  Parker leaned into the scratching, eyelids lowering to half-mast and purr growing louder the longer his niece worked her fingers into all the good spots; he knew he could move, but had no desire to do so – his gryphon instincts were simply too content to bother.

Past Alanna, he heard Dean ask Lance if they could look around – the officer’s smile widened at the curiosity in his son’s voice.  The younger boy agreed and it didn’t take long for the pair to head up the stairs towards the training building’s second floor.

“It’s okay, Uncle Greg,” ‘Lanna whispered, right before she giggled again.  “It’s kinda funny, actually – they’re givin’ you sidelong looks, like they know something’s up, but they can’t figure out what.”

The thrum-purr stuttered, broken in places by his chuckles – a distant part of Greg’s mind wondered how he was managing to make two sounds at once – but he was still too content to voice any reply.

Then one ear swiveled, an beat before he heard a clatter from above.  Instinct screamed – he jerked away from Alanna without thought, darting up the stairs and leaving his niece standing with her hand still in mid-air.  She stared at where he’d been for an instant, then darted after him.

At the top of the stairs, Parker flung himself backwards, spinning in midair; wings flared out and flapped once, giving him just enough height to push off the floor right behind the stairwell gap.  His hands helped him up over one final obstacle and he grabbed both his sons by the scruffs of their necks, yanking them away from the engineered hole in the second level’s floor before either one could tumble through.

“Do not,” he snarled, dragging them well clear as his chest vibrated with his gryphon half’s equally furious growl, “ever scare me like that again.  Am I understood, Dean John Parker?”

Dean clung to his father, the fear in his eyes betraying that he hadn’t meant to take the tumble Greg had heard.  Lance simply tucked in, letting his uncle manhandle them away from danger – if the officer had to guess, Lance had seen Dean fall and tried to help, but instead, both of them had fallen.

Once all three were away from the hole – designed so the ‘defenders’ could catch ‘invaders’ by surprise during training exercises – Greg felt the overwhelming emotions ease.  He sighed and rested his chin on Dean’s head in silent apology; he’d overreacted and he knew it.  More than just going ballistic over an accidental fall, the hole wasn’t big enough for an adult – or teenager – to fall through.  Not even if someone worked at it – which was fairly pointless when the roof was only one more floor up.

“Can we go up?” Lance asked, gently tugging free.  At the puzzled glances he received, the brunet shrugged.  “You’re half-gryphon right now, Uncle Greg.  Outside, you’ll be able to feel the wind, at least.”

Instincts in the back of his mind voiced loud and total agreement with the idea, but Parker frowned.  “And if someone spots me from the sky?”

“I can go first and get some notice-me-not wards up,” Alanna offered.  “Besides, if you’re gonna be playing dumb till everyone gets here, that’s gonna take awhile.”  Her smile was sympathetic.  “It’ll be easier if you’re not all wound up the whole time ‘cause we’re inside.”

His frown deepened.  “You think I can’t handle it?”

“Do you want to handle it?” Dean asked, craning to gaze up at his father.  “Dad, we’re not doubting you, but there’s no way you’re one-hundred percent right now.”

Dappled hazel closed in resignation and he nodded, accepting the points his kids were making.  He wasn’t completely on the level again and it wasn’t just adjusting to his new partial form – it was the emotional overreactions and perhaps even the two sides of his psyche still trying to mesh back together.  Just as Sam had needed to reprocess all his memories after the De-Aging Potion, maybe he needed to reprocess his own identity.

“Okay,” he breathed.  “Let’s go outside.”

* * * * *

The partial transformation was odd.  Or maybe it was the subtle tension of being neither fully human nor fully gryphon.  He had every bit of his human capacity for intelligence.  He could think, plan – talk – and yet…  His hearing was as acute as it would be if he’d fully transformed.  He could fly – with full-grown, human-sized wings – essentially a living example of the X-Man Angel, only with magic instead of a genetic mutation.  And if he’d thought his gryphon instincts were hard to handle in his pure human form, it was nothing compared to dealing with them while in his half-and-half form.

Not that he was currently worried about that little fact.  Not with his head pillowed in his niece’s lap and her fingers working their way back and forth between his furry, feathery lion ears.  The boys were tucked in behind him – they’d explored the roof, examined both of his wings from leading edge to trailing edge, and were currently leaning against his bulk while they debated several upcoming video game releases.

One lionish ear flexed idly as Greg mused on how he was perfectly content to just lay here, right in the middle of the day – ordinarily, he’d be on the move, either physically or through reams of paperwork, and far too busy to slow down.  Even if he’d had some extra time, he knew he wouldn’t have wanted to spend that time just… being.  So this…contentment…  Lounging around and soaking in the attention…  He knew it was the gryphon in him and probably the cat part of the gryphon at that.

So he heard footsteps on the stairs leading up to the roof, but he was far too content to pay them any mind.  His eyes were half-closed and he knew ‘Lanna probably already had a story ready to go as to why they weren’t pure scarlet at the moment.  He rumbled a sleepy thrum-purr, too relaxed to bother with speech, and leaned just a bit further into his three kids; joy surged when Dean leaned right back into him.

Then he heard a shout.  Started to react, lift his head.  Only to squall as something seized hold of one shoulder, dragging him away from his kids and clamping down so hard that it hurt.  He tried to squirm free, but the angles were all wrong – his attacker had all the leverage and wasn’t surrendering an inch of it!

“Uncle Wordy, stop!” ‘Lanna cried.  “You’re hurting him!”

Parker heard a startled intake of breath, then the vice grip on his shoulder disappeared.  Curling in on himself, he sank down on backwards lion knees, opposite hand rising; he touched his shoulder and whimpered, unable to speak for several seconds.

Someone crouched down in front of him and reached; he cringed away, opposite wing flexing forward to ward off any more attacks.  “Easy, Sarge, lemme see.”

“No.”  He pulled at his magic, keeping his eyes down until he felt them burn.  “You hurt,” he accused without a lick of regret for his wild side’s tactlessness.

Shame shone in Wordy’s gray gaze.  “I know; I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to hurt you, Sarge.”

“Why?”  He knew his teammates were concerned about his kids being in close proximity to Elias, but he hadn’t even been doing anything.  Just lying there, getting fussed over – what was threatening about that?

The shame grew and he saw the muscles in Wordy’s throat work as he swallowed.  “I just…”  Wordy pulled back, hugging himself for an instant, and tears shone.  “Ever since the dragon, it’s been…harder…”

Greg stiffened, but if he asked…he’d give himself away.  And this wasn’t the type of thing to leave unsettled, even for only a few hours.

“Harder like your Animagus form is acting up?” Lance asked from the side, subtly pointing his uncle towards Alanna.

“Yeah,” Wordy admitted even as he tensed up.  “No, don’t get close to him, kids.”

“He’d never hurt us,” Alanna countered, dropping down on her heels next to the shoulder Wordy had grabbed.  “You could’ve asked first,” she added, acid honing her tongue to a fine edge.

The redhead reached forward and Greg permitted her to touch, though he winced at the flash of pain from his shoulder.  Then she tugged at his leather-like jacket, trying to lift the material enough to see his skin; he jerked away involuntarily, a fresh wail erupting as his back screamed.

“Easy, ‘Lanna, his armor’s merged with him right now,” Lance cautioned, pulling his sister back before she could grab the jacket again.  “We’re gonna have to be really careful; that’s a really bad spot.”  Glancing up, he added, “Dean, I’ll take off the vambrace on this side.  Can you and Uncle Wordy get the jacket unzipped?”

Parker held as still as possible while his sons and Wordy worked; the vambrace removal was easy, even if it left his arms feeling slightly unbalanced.  Unzippering the jacket was more tricky – as the zipper slid down and the leather began to hang more from his shoulders, his injured shoulder protested and there was an even fainter protest from his back at the change in position.  He dreaded the operation to get the jacket off his arm, though it was necessary unless he was willing to admit surrender on his plan to Drop the Hammer.

How had Wordy managed to injure his shoulder that badly in only seconds?  He knew better than to voice that question, particularly with the guilt written all over his constable’s face, but it was certainly something that would need to be addressed as soon as possible.  If his friends’ Animagus forms were acting up, they’d need to figure out why and how to fix it.  Preferably before his team lost the very same control he’d fought so hard to preserve.

Once the zipper was all the way down and the vambrace was removed, Greg braced himself as much as he could, unable to help a slight whimper of pain and fear as he anticipated what had to come next.

* * * * *

Wordy cringed at that fearful sound from his boss.  His best friend – he’d hurt his own best friend badly enough that even the slight pressure of a jacket was painful.  His throat worked in another swallow and he reached for the hem of the jacket, bracing himself to cause more pain to Sarge.

“Wait,” ‘Lanna ordered.  “Dean, help me get him on his side.”  Dean obeyed and Elias didn’t fight at all as he was lowered to rest on his good shoulder.  Easing down next to the gryphon’s head, Alanna explained, “I can’t risk using a numbing spell, but his instincts are really strong right now.”

The big constable was confused as to how ‘strong instincts’ would help them – right up until she started scratching behind the furry, feathery ears on top of Sarge’s head.  He relaxed immediately, albeit not completely.  The longer she worked, though, the more he relaxed, until he was almost as relaxed as he’d been right before Wordy had let his own instincts get the better of him.  There was even a faint purr vibrating the air.

While Alanna kept Elias as calm and still as possible, Wordy and Lance carefully worked the armored jacket off the stocky figure’s left arm and pushed the gray undershirt down, exposing a shoulder that was already bruised and turning dark from the damage inflicted.  As gently as possible, Wordy felt around the area, searching for any signs of broken bones underneath the skin.  Elias flinched from his touch, purrs vanishing into whimpers; bewildered scarlet asked the same question Wordy kept asking himself.

Why?  Why had he panicked so badly that he’d grabbed hold with every bit of his draft horse strength?  Worse, when he’d done it and he’d been dragging the gryphon away from Sarge’s kids, he’d felt a savage glee – the urge to clamp down even harder.  Make sure the predator knew to stay away from his herd.  But…but Sarge was part of his herd!

Sarge might be, but this thing is not.

Wordy stilled – where had that come from?  It was his inner voice, but with a savage edge that felt…alien.  Not him.  Worse, he could feel it egging him on – whispering that he needed to make sure this thing in his friend’s body knew its place.  Knew it wasn’t trusted, wasn’t one of them.  Not part of Team One – that spot was reserved for Sarge alone.

[8] Yes, Flashpoint won (and was nominated for) a number of awards during its run, including quite a few Gemini Awards.

Chapter Text

If he hadn’t been looking, he might not have seen it.  A dark shadow, sweeping over Wordy’s native deep blue magic.  Twisting it, ever so slightly – though Greg didn’t know what that shadow was saying to his constable, he could make a fair guess.  He’d believed it himself once – that his gryphon side was foreign.  Alien and imposed on him without his consent.  Texas had shown him differently and this experience had driven it home.  He was the gryphon and the gryphon was him.  Even when Morgause had ripped him in twain with her Judgment spell, his core essentials had remained intact.

Inwardly, he sighed.  So much for the Hammer of Truth…

Then he closed his eyes and focused.  His wings blended back into his back; the jacket fell free, no longer mingled with gryphon feathers and fur.  Legs shifted; boots reappeared as his holster shifted places, nestling against his thigh instead of a gryphon’s flank.  The gryphon tail vanished and the lionish ears shifted down on his head, returning to an ordinary human appearance.

Awkward, he pushed himself up, ignoring the angry throbbing from his left shoulder and the way the undershirt slid back up and into place.  His right hand landed on Wordy’s shoulder; the big constable jerked, staring at him with wide, horrified gray.  “Wordy.”  Firm with no yield, not playing the fool at all anymore.

“Sarge,” Wordy breathed, shame and guilt almost living things on his face.

“That voice in your head that’s telling you Elias isn’t me – you tell it to go take a flying leap.  You’re the one who helped me see the truth, Word.  There isn’t any difference between me and my gryphon form.  We’re two sides of the same soul.”  Deliberately, he tugged Wordy forward, resting their foreheads together even though it felt awkward to his human side.  “Elias might not be all that human, but he’d never hurt my kids.  Not intentionally; he’s even quicker than I am to wrap ‘em in cotton.”

Wordy choked a watery, shameful laugh, but he laughed.  “If this is a dream, Sarge, it’s a really good one.”

His kids snickered in the background.

“No dream,” Greg promised.  “I was going to read you all the riot act once everyone got here, but I guess that’s up in smoke now.”  He wanted to regret the lost opportunity, but he couldn’t.  His team’s welfare was more important than assuaging his own hurt pride.

Wordy pulled back, frowning.  “The riot act?  Why?”

One brow hiked, so pointed that the big man flinched.  “Maybe the words, ‘Let the stupid Judgment run’, ring a bell?”

The brunet constable flushed bright red.

“Do you have any idea how bad that would’ve been, Kevin James Wordsworth?”

Wordy shook his head.  “Just what Lou could tell us about those TV Tropes, Sarge.”  He lowered his gaze miserably.  “But if you’re usin’ the full name, it must’ve been a lot worse than we thought.”

Hazel narrowed.  “Perhaps you remember what happened to me at Fletcher Stadium?”  At his constable’s instant freeze, he nodded grimly.  “Now imagine that happening to you.  And Eddie.  And everyone else on Team One.”  Wordy swallowed so hard that his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.  “Except, Wordy, your Animagus forms wouldn’t be answering to themselves like my gryphon form was.”  He let that hang.  “They’d be answering to Morgause and Morgana.”

Dead, horrified silence rang; not even his kids had realized just what Morgause had planned for Team One.  As the silence continued, Greg’s shoulder throbbed again, demanding attention; he grimaced and turned his head to inspect the damage himself.  Gingerly, he pushed the undershirt back down and probed the flesh, cringing at every fresh protest from the burgeoning, hand-shaped bruise.  But it didn’t feel like anything was broken underneath.  Just one heck of a bruise.  One that would probably have to heal by itself; if he was right, then ‘Lanna hadn’t wanted to use a numbing spell because his body was close to the limits of how much healing magic it could absorb at one time.

* * * * *

The nasty voice had fled, leaving horror, shame, and guilt behind in its victim.  Wordy stared at his boss carefully prodding at his shoulder – a shoulder Wordy had deliberately injured – and was so ashamed that he could hardly stand it.  He couldn’t even muster up the slightest bit of righteous indignation because Sarge was right.  They’d heard all the warnings he’d given Marina and they’d trampled all over those warnings because they wanted Sarge back.  No matter what the cost.

“How did you break it?” he asked, in a small, hurt voice – a shade of a little boy pleading, ‘Please, don’t be mad at me.  I didn’t know…’

Sarge pulled the gray undershirt back up and grimaced as he carefully worked his arm back into his armored jacket.  Once it was on, he adjusted the fabric on his shoulder, doing his best to reduce pressure on the injury.  Then he held his left arm out so Lance could strap the vambrace back on.

Hazel came back up, focusing on Wordy.  “I didn’t.  Aslan overruled the Morrigan’s Judgment.  Kicked her minion out of my head and told it not to come back.”

Gray widened in shock and he gawked.

Sarge’s eyes crinkled with sorrow.  “Wordy, you, at least, should’ve known better.  We both saw what Aslan can do when we’re willing to ask Him.”  As Wordy glanced down in shame, his boss prodded his chest with one finger.  “Eddie, I can understand.  He’s still struggling with everything he thinks Aslan should’ve done.  But you promised to follow Him, just like I did.  Why was last night so different?”

The big man squirmed.  “I didn’t think of it,” he confessed.

Sarge was silent for a long moment, long enough that Wordy dared to sneak a look up.  “All right,” he said, expression closing off into the negotiator mask that every member of Team One knew.  “Is the whole team here?”

“Yeah, but…”  Wordy trailed off.  “You’re just gonna…tell them?”

A serene negotiator gazed back at him, utterly unconcerned about his own physical injuries and emotional trauma.  “I had planned on the riot act,” Sarge replied.  “But it’s becoming clear to me that at least part of last night’s debacle is due to your Animagus forms acting up.  That’s not a factor that can be controlled; animals rely on emotion and instinct, not logic.”

“But humans should,” Wordy interrupted, chin lifting a hair.  “If we screwed up, if we hurt you, then it’s not okay for you to tell us, ‘It was just your animal instincts; try not to let it happen again.’ ”  His jaw trembled, but he forced himself to say, “You’re gonna give us exactly what we deserve this time, Sarge.  ‘Cause if you give us an out, we both know this is gonna happen again.”

His boss examined him, searching his face for something, though the big man wasn’t sure what that something was.  At last, he nodded.  “That’s truer than you know, Wordy.”  He held out his right hand.  “Okay, help me up and we’ll get this started.”

Wordy pushed himself up to his feet and hauled Sarge up, eyes widening as the other man’s form blurred and the gryphon features reappeared.  To his surprise, Sarge’s eyes didn’t go solid scarlet, though.  Instead, his hazel was just dappled with his magic.

Seeing his focus, Sarge quirked a tiny grin.  “I think it was scarlet yesterday because Elias is my magic half.”  The grin dropped away and Sarge reached up to his injured shoulder, grimacing.  “Do me a favor, though, and keep everyone else away from this.”

“Copy,” Wordy agreed at once, shame and guilt writhing in his chest.  “I’m really sorry I did that to you, Boss.”

He was caught off guard when the stocky figure stepped forward, hugging him without reservation.  Even as his own arms automatically returned the hug, he felt feathers touch his back; his jaw dropped as he realized Sarge wasn’t just hugging him with his arms.  He was hugging with his wings, too.

* * * * *

As Sam and Ed entered the training building, the Sergeant scanned for the gryphon and Greg’s kids, frowning at their absence.  And where was Wordy?  As far as Ed knew, he’d been the first member of Team One to head out to the training building.

Footsteps from above alerted both men to where the missing group was and they relaxed a hair as their animal sides’ alarm settled back into the wary watchfulness from the night before.  The desperate need remained, a constant needle to their souls, but they were getting used to the sensation.  Sort of.

Wordy appeared first, with Elias right behind him and the three teenagers trailing the men like ducklings.  Word’s expression was tight, with hints of guilt and shame lingering around the set of his jaw and in the depths of gray eyes.  Ed straightened, pinning his team leader with an unspoken demand.  The constable grimaced and lifted his right hand to his left shoulder, squeezing it a moment.  Then both hands moved in the signs for an injury sighted; understanding broke through and Ed returned the other man’s grimace.  For the first time since their retraining, Word’s draft horse strength had gotten away from him.

Sam stepped forward as the group hit the bottom level.  “Did you check?” he asked, worried blue skating over Elias’s wide-eyed innocent expression.

“Yeah,” Wordy replied.  “Nothing’s broken, but it’s one heck of a bruise.”

One brow went up and Ed glanced towards the three teens.  “You didn’t heal it?”

Alanna shook her head, mournful.  “He’s too close to the limit for healing magic,” she explained.

“Neal healed him last night,” Sam protested.

“Yeah and then you guys set off the geas at least once,” Lance retorted, crossing his arms.  “Half the reason he woke up early this morning is ‘cause he’s still got a headache from that.”

Elias whined, slipping behind the teenagers as if to hide from his human half’s teammates.  To Ed’s silent fury, Dean immediately slid back, letting the gryphon hug him and even rest his chin on the teenager’s head.  Only Greg should be allowed to do that.

Word glared at him, as if daring him to object to Elias’s actions – oh, great, when had Elias won his team leader over?  It wasn’t good that Elias was hurt and couldn’t be healed.  Even worse that Wordy had been the one to hurt him.  But that thing wasn’t Greg and maybe now it understood its place in their lives.  A hated interloper who would never be one of them.

* * * * *

It took another hour and a half for the two teams and their consultant wizards to reassemble.  Gaius arrived with a number of large, ancient-looking tomes and enlisted Lou, Lancelot, and Mordred to help him lay them out on the table that was also playing host to Spike’s laptop.  The elderly sorcerer’s gaze was solemn, with not a hint of joviality; a man who had attempted to scale the heights and found his efforts lacking.

Ed did his best to control his expression and temper, but as he watched the white-haired man work, the hawk inside his soul continued to shriek.  And with each shriek, it grew a little shriller.  More desperate.  Crying out for something he couldn’t give it.  Not without sacrificing himself and his team in a trade that Greg would not accept.

The magic inside his soul thrashed wildly, right in time with the hawk’s cries.  He needed Greg.  Needed the steady, constant presence that he’d been missing ever since that blasted Welsh Green had hit Spike – and the ‘team sense’ – with the hottest, meanest dragonfire it could muster.  So long as Greg had been there in the waking world, he’d been able to handle it.  Wait patiently for the ‘team sense’ to heal.  But now…  He couldn’t take it anymore, he just couldn’t.

And then…  Gaius turned to face them all, folding his hands in front of him in a practiced motion.  Ed could almost see him at the height of his role as Camelot’s foremost expert on magic.  The king’s best advisor on all things forbidden.

The Sergeant took a step forward, lifting his chin.  “What do we got?”

The former Court Physician sagged a hair.  “I have gone through every book on the Old Religion that I possess, Sergeant Lane.  They are most clear – once the Triple Goddess has sanctioned the Judgment of Her High Priestesses, it must be completed.”  He let that pronouncement hang for a few seconds before continuing, “We may be able to appeal to Her to reveal what we must do, but it is likely that She will demand something of us in return.”

“Me,” Mordred concluded, tone flat with dread.

Old blue eyes closed and Gaius nodded, utterly defeated.  “I suspect you are correct, young Mordred.”

Ed swallowed hard, fists clenching automatically.  The unfairness of it rankled.  Not only did they have to surrender to whatever that Witch’s plan was, they had to sacrifice Team Four’s youngest member to find out what they were supposed to give up.  And it wasn’t just sacrificing a member of the SRU – he wouldn’t be killed.  They all knew that.  They all knew that if Morgause and Morgana got their claws into Mordred, the kind, good-hearted bomb tech would be twisted into a shell of himself.  Remade into Mordred the Black, sworn enemy of Camelot and all things non-magical.

“Xanatos Gambit,” Lou said, dropping those words into the midst of their horror.  “All paths lead to victory – for them.”

They couldn’t do it.  But they couldn’t not do it, either.  Ed knew what Greg would say – for cryin’ out loud, he’d already said it.  They had to choose the other.  But how could they?  Without Greg, without their solid foundation, how could they survive?  And yeah, he knew they’d survived Greg’s ‘death’ once.  But to watch him each day, so close, yet so far – and so alien.  It would kill all of them just as surely as losing him before had.

The hawk shrilled despair and Ed felt tears in the corners of his eyes.  The stoic façade cracking apart at the realization that they weren’t going to get Greg back this time.  Not without making sacrifices they’d spend the rest of their lives regretting.

Please, no, I want my brother back…

“I’ll do it.”  Every head turned towards Mordred.  He was deathly pale and trembling, but he lifted his chin defiantly.  “I’ll get Parker back for you.  Just put a time-delay Obliviate on me so I won’t betray Team Four to her.”  His hands clenched as fear shook his whole body.  “At least I’ll go down doing something good this time.”

“No.”  The voice was firm, with absolutely no give to it.  Alien and impossibly familiar at the same time.  “There will be no bargains with demons on my behalf.”

On…my…behalf…?

Ed turned, hope a vicious dagger in his heart, terror its twin in his soul.  The wings were flared out, the eyes burned scarlet – Elias to a ‘T’.  But intelligence glowed and the set to Elias’s jaw was so very Greg that it was impossible for this to be the infantile, oblivious gryphon.

The half-human, half-gryphon stalked forward, to the front – Gaius scrambled out of his path, retreating to the safety of Team Four.  He whirled to face all of them, lifting his chin in an unmistakable gesture – Greg, to the bone.

“Morgause and her sister planned for every outcome.  Every contingency was covered – every possible response from the SRU accounted for.”  Greg nodded soberly to Lou.  “A Xanatos Gambit to the letter.”  Then he smiled, a tight, vicious smile.  “Except for one factor, one neither they nor their goddess could control.”

The Court Physician cleared his throat, skepticism gleaming.  “I fail to see how a Goddess can be thwarted, Lieutenant Parker.”

Greg’s smile grew even more blood-thirsty.  “Because she’s not a goddess.  Just a demoness who’s good at fooling people.”

Mordred gawked.  “She is a Goddess,” he objected.  “My people have served Her for centuries.”

Hazel narrowed.  “If she were a goddess, Mordred, then our friend Mr. Wilson here would’ve been right.  Nothing could’ve freed me from her power.”  He let that hang, then shrugged, deliberately nonchalant.  “And yet…here I am.  Free without any of you paying any price.”

The sentence dangled, deliberately provocative.  Demanding that one of them ask the obvious question.  But Ed kept quiet, watching his best friend stare at the Court Physician of Camelot.  Clearly, Greg knew exactly what the elderly sorcerer had done the night before – and the SRU lieutenant was angry.  It made the Sergeant grateful he hadn’t let the hawk goad him into risking Mordred himself; Greg would’ve torn him limb from limb for such a selfish response.

At last, Gaius Wilson dipped his head and asked, “And how did you come to be free of the Triple Goddess’s Judgment, Lieutenant Parker?”

The vicious, blood-thirsty smile turned feral.  Triumphant.  “The Lion of Narnia overruled her Judgment.  Twice, as a matter of fact.”  He jerked his head towards Team One.  “Once when my team was about to goad my magic side into letting Judgment run.  Then He showed up later on that night and revoked it for good.”

The elderly sorcerer considered that and then nodded.  “I see.  Your heritage allowed the god of Narnia to intervene on your behalf with the Triple Goddess.  Very impressive.”

“There was no bargain,” Greg hissed.  “No intervention.  He commanded her to release me and she had no choice but to obey.  I saw her – I saw them; they were afraid of Him; they fled at the sound of His roar.”  He shook his head, turning away from Gaius to focus on Team Four.  “Any of you can ask Him for help – you don’t have to be Narnian.  You don’t have to have Wild Magic.”  Hazel settled on Mordred.  “Your fate doesn’t have to be bound to the Old Religion.”

Without waiting for a response, the lieutenant turned towards Team One.  “But sometimes, you have to wait.  You have to be patient and trust in Him to provide.  Not grab onto the easy way out – it might end up being the worst possible outcome.”  Sorrow gleamed.  “We know that guys; all the hot calls we take, there’s always an easy way out.  It’s usually the wrong way out – and every single one of you should know that.”  The great gryphon wings folded back in place and Greg was suddenly right in front of Ed.  “I can’t be your berserk button anymore, team.  The bad guys know about it and they’ll pound it as hard and often as they have to.  They almost got you this time – and they know it.”

Ed bit back a sob – he knew his friend was right and he hated it.  Then his arms were around Greg and Greg’s arms were around him and gryphon wings were enfolding him in his best friend’s protective aura and he lost the battle to hold it in.

* * * * *

He drew on his magic ever so slightly, jaw twitching as a small Silencing Ward rose around him and Eddie.  Then he frowned – Ed’s magical core was rubbed raw in one spot.  Right where the ‘team sense’ anchor was.  That…that might explain some of why his friends had been so desperate.  Desperation that he could still feel, so strongly had it imprinted onto Eddie’s magic.

The links were still too burned to be reestablished.  But…  Greg prodded at his magic, nudging it towards the damage he could sense.  He felt it flow into Eddie, started to smile…

His spine snapped so straight that it cracked.  His eyes burned, glowing with power that wasn’t his.  That was far beyond anything mortal.  The links surged in his chest, healing from the inside out – reconnecting with every member of his team, including Spike.  In his arms, Eddie jerked as he felt the ‘team sense’ come back to life.

It wasn’t what it had been; Greg knew that instantly.  The structure had changed, becoming smoother.  Better fitting.  More even.  In a flash, he understood.  The circle had opened.  He was still their ‘king’, but they weren’t his vassals anymore.  No, they were his knights, his equals – the magic finally, truly reflecting their friendship with each other.  And as equals, they were no longer reliant on him.  He wasn’t so foolish as to think they wouldn’t do anything they could to protect him, just as he did for them, but…

Their magic couldn’t drive them into Morgause’s arms ever again.  Their Animagus forms would still need to be dealt with, but with the ‘team sense’ back online, the problem was alleviated.  Tamed, at least for a couple more weeks.  Or months, if they were lucky.

In the meantime, he reached for the ‘team sense’, letting his magic roll out in a reassuring wave.  ‘I’m back, guys.  Really, truly; this isn’t some cruel joke.’

Ed’s arms got just a little tighter and he heard a few choked off ‘sounds’ in the ‘team sense’.  ‘Don’t do this to us again, Greg.’

He sighed in the privacy of their connections.  ‘Do my best, but I’m not kidding about the bad guys knowing I’m your weak point, team.  I fully expect another attempt just because of how close they got this time.’

‘How do we fight against that?’ Sam blurted.

‘We don’t,’ Wordy cut in.  ‘Sarge’s right, guys.  Next time, we gotta trust the Big Guy.  He’s never let us down before.’  The big constable fell silent a moment.  ‘I’d rather trust Him than a bunch of demons, anyway.’

‘He let this happen,’ Ed argued.

‘And if this hadn’t happened?’ Greg inquired, tone pointed.  ‘How else is Team Four supposed to find out that they don’t have to look to the Old Religion for answers?’

His Sergeant stiffened.  ‘All of this was for them?’ he yelped.

‘And for you,’ Greg replied gently.  ‘You need to learn to trust Aslan, too.’  A wan smile appeared.  ‘I’m sure there’s a lesson in here somewhere for me – I’d hate to be the odd one out.’

The snickers were half-hearted, but Parker was grateful for them nonetheless.  Laughter was one of the best balms for the soul, after all.

Chapter Text

While the rest of Team One, Team Four, and the wizards cleaned up the training building, Jules dragged her back-to-human-form lieutenant back inside with three curious shadows in their wake.  He let her drag him, one brow up as she towed him through the station, up into the atrium, and to the briefing room.  Thrusting him towards a chair, she said, “I’ll be right back, Sarge; can you get your jacket off by yourself?”

“I can,” Parker replied, curiosity growing when she nodded and departed.  He soon had reason to regret his words – his shoulder had stiffened up and loudly protested the jostling he was giving it as he tried to get his armor’s jacket off again.  In the end, he needed help from ‘Lanna and Dean to get himself completely out of the jacket as well as the black tunic and gray undershirt beneath.  Unwilling to leave his upper chest bare at work, Greg slid the black tunic on again, grateful that it was sleeveless and fortunately not very rough against his skin.

His shoulder had gotten even darker in the half hour or so since they’d initially inspected it; the lieutenant bit his lip, wishing his kids could use magic on it; he knew it was going to be painful for the next couple of days, if not the next week or two.

Jules’ gasp brought his head up from the inspection and he winced at the aghast expression on her face.  “Wordy did that, Sarge?”

Both shoulders slumped.  “Not intentionally.”

The brunette shook her head and joined her boss at the briefing room table.  “That’s no excuse, Sarge.”

“He knows,” Greg countered, sitting down at her insistent gesture.  “He’s already beating himself up, Jules; he doesn’t need your help.”

“Copy,” she acknowledged, setting down a plastic jar of…something.  “Okay, hold still.  This might be a little cold.”

So saying, she dipped her fingers in and came up with them covered in a pale goop.  Parker eyed it sidelong, but obediently held still.  He shivered when her icy fingers touched his shoulder and he felt her smoothing the goop around the bruise, rubbing it in gently.  The icy feeling spread right along with the goop and he felt his skin shuddering.  But after a few moments, the chill faded, right along with the pain of the bruise.  Oh, he could still feel the bruise, but it was far better than it had been before.

His constable smiled, seeing the way his facial muscles relaxed.  “I used to use this stuff when I was in gymnastics,” she explained.  “Pricy, but when you land wrong or slip off a balance beam, there’s nothing better.”

“Thanks, Jules.”  He jerked in surprise when she nudged the plastic container at him.  “Jules, I couldn’t…”

“Yes, you can,” she countered.  “Consider it an apology for how we’ve been acting about the you-know-whats.”

He was torn – he truly didn’t blame them for how they’d reacted over the blood bonds – but if they wanted to apologize in their own way, then turning them down would be disrespectful.  Minimizing their desire to make amends.

So he nodded and reached out, tugging the plastic container towards him.  “Thank you, Julianna.”

Her smile grew and she hugged him around the back with one arm, carefully avoiding his injured shoulder.  “I’m glad you’re okay, Sarge.”

“Copy that,” he murmured back.

* * * * *

Winnie insisted on a hug of her own; Greg returned it even as he swatted his hopeful gryphon side down.  He’d worn wings long enough for one day, thank you very much.  And, now that he’d dropped the hammer on his team, Team Four, and Camelot’s former Court Physician, Parker was looking forward to taking the rest of the day off with his kids so he could start fresh the next morning.

Shifting back awkwardly, the lieutenant searched for the words to explain to the dispatcher why he’d been playing dumb that morning.  What had made so much sense in his head while he’d still been hurt and angry now felt foolish.  Childish and petty.

“Greg!”

He snapped around, heart leaping for joy.  Marina.  Worn, exhausted – and more beautiful than he’d ever seen her before.  He wanted to run to her, to sweep her up and around like a romance movie.  But the officer held still, slamming his negotiator mask into place.  His kids came first.  They always came first.

A sound drew his gaze to the briefing room, where his kids had been staying while he talked to Winnie.  Alanna had his jacket, undershirt, and gauntlets while Dean was holding Jules’ tub of healing goop.  Lance leaned against the blue poly-carbon panel right next to the open steel door, arms crossed and expression closed as he watched both his uncle and Marina.

Marina followed his gaze to the three teenagers and something…hateful…skittered across her face.  Grief roiled in his gut – she hadn’t changed at all – but then, he saw it.  A sickly gray hue, only just visible as it trawled over her skin.  Without hesitation, he moved, planting himself between her and his kids – and the sickly gray vanished.

“Greg?  What’s wrong?” Marina asked when his hazel narrowed.

“Marina.  Stay right where you are.”  He turned his head, evaluating his kids’ positions behind him.  Hmmm…Dean was still in Marina’s line of sight, but Lance and Alanna couldn’t be seen unless he or Marina moved.  Even so…  “Dean, come here, please.”

He swung back towards Marina, summoning up his magic just in case that sickly gray was hiding from his unaided sight.  But no trace of it appeared, not even when his confused son joined him.  Interesting, especially if the theory rumbling in the back of his brain was right.

Marina was just as confused, her eyes darting between himself and Dean as if searching for some sort of explanation.

“Thank you, Dean.”  Scarlet shifted back toward the briefing room momentarily.  “Lancelot.”

There was a breath, as if Lance was about to speak, but then Greg heard the squeak of a sneaker shoe against the atrium’s tiled floor.  He kept his gaze on Marina, but the sickly color never appeared.  Then he felt a hand brush his back and realized – Lance had come up right behind him, ensuring Marina could not see him.  Not until the last second.  Dean scooted out of the way, casting his cousin a puzzled glance for why he was still hiding behind their guardian’s bulk.

Soft, Lance asked, “Ready, Uncle Greg?”

Without turning his head, Parker nodded.

“Three, two, one…”

At the precise instant Lance stepped into view – the sickly color washed across Marina again.  Greg’s hands balled into fists as he understood.  He and Marina, they’d never had a chance because someone had sabotaged them.  Probably more than one someone – he already knew about the Malfoys, but this…  Hiding a spell so skillfully that only random chance brought it to light?  He had a sneaking suspicion that this was way beyond the Malfoys’ usual tactics.

Wrestling down the rage, he nodded once and turned towards his sons.  “Lance, go out to the training building and get Mordred.”  Hazel flicked to the other boy.  “Dean, Auror Division for Giles, please.”

“What about Revan?” Lance asked.  “He might be able to document this.”

One brow rose.  “You see it?”

The other brow joined the first when Lance shook his head.  “No, Uncle Greg, but you do.”

Parker considered, then nodded.  “Dean, if Giles can round up Revan in five minutes, have him come, too.”

“Copy that, Dad.”

As the boys hurried off, Greg turned back towards Marina.  Fearful, cringing Marina – she gazed at him with hurt bewilderment, unable to understand why he was doing what he was doing or why she felt such resentment towards his kids.

He moved to join her and her eyes flicked up.  “Oh, Greg; who hurt you?”

The lieutenant blinked and intercepted her reach for his shoulder.  “I’m fine, Marina.  Jules had some kinda bruise balm from her gymnastics days.”

She stilled at once.  “But you don’t want me to irritate it,” she finished.

“That would be appreciated,” Greg admitted, relieved when she nodded.

Her gaze dropped and she pulled in a shuddering breath.  “When…?” she whispered.

“Overnight,” he replied.  “I wasn’t going to leave you wondering, Marina, but I wanted to take my kids out for lunch first.”

Her shoulders hunched and he reached out, pushing up her chin as gently and gingerly as he knew how.  “Marina, I saw something.  Something that explains a lot and we need to get it fixed before we can really talk, understand?”

“Something…magic…?”

“Yes,” he confirmed.  He frowned, but not at her.  “But if it’s been on you as long as I think it has been, removing it won’t fix everything at once.”

Hope faded.  “It won’t?”

“It can’t,” Alanna offered, moving up next to her uncle.  Greg stiffened when the sickly color reappeared and gestured his niece back.  She shuffled behind him without missing a beat.  “It’s like if you got hurt, but it took a long time for the doctors to find what was wrong, Miss Marina.”

He saw Marina battling her instinctive resentment towards his niece and alarm ramped up when the sickly gray grew darker.  Stronger.  He wanted to step in, to help Marina fight off the spell, but forced himself to wait.  If he tampered with the spell, then he might destroy valuable evidence as to who the caster had been.

Quietly, he ordered, “Alanna.”

The redhead stilled, then sighed and leaned against his back.  “Sorry, Uncle Greg.”

Coming to a decision, he tugged her around and wrapped his arms around her shoulders.  “It’s okay, mia nipote.  You were just trying to help.”

“Don’t tell me we missed something, Parker.”

He glanced up, towards where Dean had reappeared with Giles and an uncertain Revan hovering right behind Team One’s liaison.  The brunet Auror was frowning, scanning Marina from head to toe as he moved.

“I don’t believe it’s anything that was cast within the past day, Auror Onasi,” the lieutenant replied, grim and formal.  “And it doesn’t appear to be active unless either my niece or my nephew are in Marina’s line of sight.”

Several sets of eyes widened at that declaration, but Revan cocked his head to the side, intrigued by the concept of a spell so precisely set that it could hide unless the objects of that spell were in view.

“That’s one hell of a trick,” Onasi mused, coming right up to the two adults and one teenager in the middle of the SRU’s atrium.  “How’d you catch it?”

“Gryphons can see magic,” another voice put in, though not his nephew’s.  Parker turned the other way, towards the ramp that led towards the locker rooms and the outside door for the SRU training area.  Lancelot was leading the way, with his nephew right behind and Mordred bringing up the rear.

Onasi’s brows shot up.  “More than just the magical colors?” he probed.

“Yes,” Parker confirmed, aware of Jules coming in from the side and Winnie’s avid fascination from the dispatcher desk.  He shifted uncomfortably.  “You remember how I was, um, trapped in my gryphon form that one time?”

“You mean when everybody thought you were dead?”

Ah, yes, Roy did still have a bit of a sore spot over that, one he’d passed onto his partner.  He sighed and nodded before driving right for the point.  “When we were taking back the barn, I could see the Imperius Curse on its victims.  That’s how I knew Holleran, Young, and Hopper weren’t enspelled.”

Mordred whistled, impressed, and Lancelot nodded as if he’d known all along.  And maybe he had – after all, the former Knight of Camelot was a gryphon Animagus, too.

Team One’s liaison frowned.  “Why haven’t you used it in your human form before now?”

“It was not available to his human form until now,” Lancelot put in.  “Not until his magic quite literally possessed him.”

“I can’t see spells,” Lance offered.  “I can see people’s magic, sure, but not spells.”

The Auror considered the information for another few moments, nodding thoughtfully to himself.  “All right.”  He glanced up at Marina.  “Ma’am?  Are you willing to let my colleagues and I check for any spells or enchantments on you?”

“Please,” Marina begged.  “Whatever they did to me, I want it gone!”

Professional to the last, Giles nodded.  “Okay.  Let’s take this to my office, then.”  He flicked a glance at Revan.  “You think we can find that spell if Parker’s kids aren’t there?”

“Not sure,” the former Unspeakable admitted.  “Might be worth it to keep them in view, make sure we know the spell is active; otherwise, we might miss it again.”

“You got it, partner.”  Brown eyes shifted towards the two Team Four members.  “You’re comin’ along as our Old Religion experts?”

“Yes, and Leon will bring Gaius as soon as he’s packed up all the tomes he brought in,” Lancelot confirmed.  “From what Gaius says, he’s figured out how to detect the Old Religion with Latin spells.”

“That’d be nice,” Giles said, voicing what every last member of the SRU was thinking.  “Kinda sick of the Old Religion loophole our subjects have got going.”

“Welcome to the club,” Jules muttered, just loud enough for her lieutenant to hear.  She slipped closer and added, “Sarge, let us know, okay?”

He smiled at her, appreciating her willingness to take a step back from the situation.  “Will do, Jules.”  He tilted his head towards Dean and her jar of goop.  “Thanks for that bruise balm stuff, too.”

She grinned.  “Any time, Sarge.”

* * * * *

By the time the wizards had found, documented, and removed every last spell on Marina, she was clinging to Greg so tightly that he feared he’d end up with another half dozen bruises.  But he couldn’t blame her, not in the slightest.  Maybe she should’ve been able to see through the Malfoys’ story about his nipotes, but how was she supposed to do that when they Obliviated her whenever she got suspicious of their ‘good intentions’?

The greatest irony was that they’d never manipulated her memories of their sham story about his nipotes.  Instead, the Malfoys had taken full advantage of their magic to enspell Marina into believing that they’d paid everything they owed for her and her company’s work on their behalf.  In truth, they’d never doled out so much as a penny.

Greg cradled his former fiancé as she wept, devastated by not only the deception, but the realization that they’d cheated her out of so much money that her business was floundering – and she’d been unable to see it.  He hated that she’d been hurt so badly by someone who’d been trying to get to him.  To his kids.

But far, far worse was the last spell they’d found, the one they’d only discovered because Greg could suddenly see spells.  The only spell not cast by either Lucius or Narcissa Malfoy, the final spell was an aversion spell with two triggers – his nipotes.  A subtle, nasty piece of work – though it hadn’t forced Marina into resenting his nipotes, it had predisposed her to view them in the worst possible light, no matter what.

And once her resentment was born, it latched onto that resentment, needling and nurturing it until it became a never-ending cycle, feeding on itself.  The more she resented his nipotes, the stronger the spell grew; the stronger the spell grew, the more she resented his nipotes.  When coupled with the Malfoys’ tall tale about being the kids’ parents, Greg could see how the dominos had tipped, ensuring she would never accept his nipotes.  Only his son.

Would she have believed that tall tale without the aversion spell?  They’d never know.  The only thing they did know was that the aversion spell had been there the longest, possibly as long as he’d been dating Marina.  By now, the resentment was part of her psyche – it would take her months of work to break that chain, if she ever could.

But to turn her away without so much as a chance…it felt wrong.  And yet…his kids had to be the ones to make this call; he’d promised he wouldn’t get back together with Marina unless they were okay with it.  He had to stick to his word, no matter how much it hurt.

He looked over Marina’s head, directly at Simmons’ desk – his kids had commandeered the desk and two guest chairs once it became clear there was more than just one spell to deal with.  Dean, sitting behind the desk, gave him a tiny shrug – he wasn’t surprised.  Dean was mostly angry at Marina for his cousins’ sake, not his own.  He’d gotten along with her from the very start, a glimpse into what could’ve been if not for the blatant magical manipulation of the elder Parker’s love life.

From her spot in the left guest chair, Alanna hugged Greg’s jacket, undershirt, and gauntlets to her chest, avoiding her uncle’s gaze.  If he had to guess, she understood that Marina had been horribly manipulated, but still felt hurt by the blonde’s behavior towards her and her brother.  Understandable – and probably the death of his dreams.

Heart sinking, he shifted to his final child.  Cool blue sapphire gazed back, flicking between him and Marina with evaluation that reminded him of Eddie.  Though Lance tended towards brash and reckless, when he took the time to think things through, he could give veteran SRU officers a run for their money.

Suddenly, he felt a tickle in the back of his mind.  Just like the ‘team sense’, but not any of his guys.  Puzzled, he reached back and froze with shock.  Another link, one he knew in his bones, but he’d never ‘seen’ it before.  Glittering and golden, just like the soul on the other end of it.

‘Figured that was how it worked.’

His jaw worked in shock.  ‘How?’

His nephew snorted in the privacy of the links.  ‘Our magic was mixed together for days and you’re asking how?’

Oh.  Parker’s shoulders slumped down.  Wonderful; he’d dragged his nephew into the ‘team sense’.

‘Save the guilt trip for someone who cares, Uncle Greg.’

He glared, not pleased with his nephew’s flippant tone and borderline rebellious attitude.

One shoulder shrugged from across the room in semi-apology.  ‘Look, Uncle Greg, ‘Lanna’s leaving it to me, ‘cause I’m the one who got the worst end of the deal last time.’

‘You mean you gotten beaten to a pulp by your so-called neighbors,’ Greg countered dryly.

‘Yeah, pretty much,’ Lance acknowledged, not at all phased.  ‘You told us this morning you still love her.  Now we find out she’s been under a spell all this time.  What’s the problem?’

He swallowed a sigh, not wanting Marina to cotton onto the silent conversation.  ‘The spell may be gone, mio nipote, but the resentment it created…  That’s still there.’  He lowered his head, sorrow tangible.  ‘Kiddo, it’s probably always going to be there; it’s a part of her now.’

The silence was thoughtful.  Assessing.  ‘You were able to beat the bottle,’ Lance finally remarked.

‘Technically, kiddo, I’m still an alcoholic.  I’m always going to be an alcoholic, even if I never touch another drop.’

His nephew was taken aback by that; Greg could feel it.  It took the young man another minute or so to speak again.  ‘How did you beat it?’

‘Therapy,’ he replied at once.  ‘Rehab and lots of therapy.  Lots of AA meetings and enlisting Eddie as my sobriety buddy.’  He managed a wan smile.  ‘It’s a war of seconds.  Minutes.  Hours.  Days and weeks and months.’  A hesitation.  ‘I try not to think about having a drink, but it’s always there, kiddo.  On the really bad days, right before I come home, it’s there, but I know I’ve got something way better waiting for me and it’s easy to ignore.’

‘But the temptation never really goes away?’

He tilted his chin down in a subtle motion.

‘Do you think she could beat the resentment?  Like you beat the bottle?’

It was Greg’s turn to be taken aback.  Comparing resentment to alcoholism?  That was…different.  Not an obvious connection either, except…  Hadn’t the resentment been built up, layer by layer, over days and weeks and months?  Just like his own tolerance for – and dependence on – alcohol?

He knew it would take months of work on Marina’s part, just as it had taken him months – years – to truly beat back the bottle to the point that he was only tempted on the worst days.  And in all likelihood, he’d still lose Marina, because the most important factor to keeping an addiction in check was to avoid the triggers for that addiction.  Which, unfortunately, were his two nipotes.

But…but if she could heal from what the Malfoys and their mystery subject had done to her, maybe she could finally move on from him.  He owed it to her to at least give her that chance.  Give her the best tools to rebuild her life that he could.

So he looked his nephew in the eye.  ‘I think she’s got the right to try.’

His nephew considered that for an instant.  ‘Okay, then.  I’ll get Silnok to make sure her company gets paid double for what the Malfoys stiffed her on.’  A hand came up before Greg could protest.  ‘That means we’re buying the debt the Malfoys left.’  A feral grin.  ‘It might be old-fashioned, but if the House of Malfoy owes us, we’ve got leverage they won’t be able to fight.  Not without admitting they broke the Muggle Protection Act.’

Nice; Greg returned the feral grin, liking the sound of having an advantage over the two Death Eaters – for once.

‘And part two, we pay for her therapy.  Prolly with that guy from the States – that way she can talk to him about magic, no prob.’

Parker considered the idea.  Not ideal; it would really be better if Marina could choose her own therapist.  But…  The benefits of not having to hide magic from her therapist would likely outweigh the negatives of the therapist being male and chosen by default.

‘Sounds like a plan, kiddo, but are you sure?’

Sapphire met his hazel without flinching.  ‘You love her, Uncle Greg.  We want you to be happy.’

His throat tightened so much he almost couldn’t breathe.  What had he ever done to deserve his kids – any of them?  And yet, they didn’t seem to care that he was the most undeserving, unworthy soul on the face of the Earth.  They loved him anyway.

He stole a look down at Marina.  I thought I couldn’t have both, he thought to himself.  That I’d forever part ways with those who chose the other.

“That is so, Son of Adam,” a Voice rumbled.  “But it did not mean they cannot choose another path.”

Greg’s breath caught again as he understood.  He couldn’t have Marina, not so long as she chose a path that led away from his loved ones.  But if she was willing to change, to choose his path…  Then he could have her again.

Then he could pay the Lion’s Grace forward and finally have both his kids and his fiancé.

Chapter Text

Morgana le Fay leaned back from her scrying bowl, a thoughtful expression on her face.  She had known, of course, that her sister was the more vicious of them.  Reared to the Old Religion and suckled on its ancient hatreds.  Mentored by the High Priestesses themselves, those who had survived Uther’s Purge; taught to loathe the Pendragons and those who followed them.

If they had known of Merlin, Morgana was confident her miserable half-brother never would’ve reclaimed Camelot from her and Morgause.  They had conquered the kingdom from within and without, imprisoned all the Knights – they’d had an immortal army guarding the castle, barring the way to the Cup of Life.  To this day, her most treasured memory was the look on Uther’s face when she’d sat on his throne and spat out his greatest secret in a vengeful hiss – I am your daughter, after all!

The brunette witch shook the memories away and returned her attention to the scrying bowl.  The Judgment of the Triple Goddess Herself was thought to be inviolate.  Unbreakable – not even Emrys could overturn Her Will.  And yet…Parker walked free.  Unscathed.  Without paying any price beyond the torment of a single afternoon and evening.  His friends walked free – and his little mouse…  She’d been enspelled.  Enchanted to turn against Parker’s bratlings.  Most intriguing…Morgana knew precisely who’d done it.  Could even guess why.

The greatest of ironies was that if not for her sister’s Judgment spell, Parker might never have unlocked that particular ability.  And he certainly had no reason to use his gryphon form around his little mouse – not after banishing her from his Pride.  How curious – as with many of her own plots, the end result of Morgause’s plan had been twisted ‘round to benefit their enemies.

Emerald eyes flicked back towards the surface of the water, narrowing as she regarded the purely human figure within.  The strength of will, the strength of character – to retain control even when reduced to his most basic elements.  She would never have thought anyone capable of that, much less an insignificant little Squib-born afraid of his own magic!

“A chance,” she murmured, “for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, to prove his quality.”  She had meant it as sincerely as Denethor, Steward of Gondor, which was to say, not at all.  And yet, like Faramir, Parker had proven his quality.  Over and over again – battling through her sister’s magic multiple times to protect his little mouse and his Pride.  Goaded to the extreme, his feral half had never lashed out at his Pride and only once at his little mouse.  Aside from a few bruises, she was utterly unharmed.

Morgause, she knew, would be furious that Parker had escaped the Goddess’s Vengeance.  A part of Morgana was equally angry.  But…  She glanced ‘round, turning towards Aithusa’s perch, a thoughtful moue curving her lips.  Parker’s unexpected salvation was worth investigating.  And if her investigation brought joy to her only friend, what was that to Morgause?

Nodding to herself, Morgana gestured and let the magic around her scrying bowl fade away.  Then she stepped lightly towards her seating area next to her oldest, dearest friend, already plotting the contents of the missive she would shortly write.

“To Lieutenant Parker of the House of Calvin,

I am writing on behalf of my companion, Aithusa, to request a meeting under a flag of truce regarding Aithusa’s earnest desire to know her Hatchling, Spyro…”

* * * * *

As soon as the family got home, Greg Parker headed for his bedroom to change out of his armor.  As far as he was concerned, Mindy could wash it when she got to it and that didn’t need to be any time in the next month – and maybe he was overreacting, but he’d nearly ended up stuck in his Narnian armor indefinitely.  He was entitled to overreact a little, darn it!

So he shucked every piece of armor and left it in a heap in one corner while he changed into his pajamas.  His left shoulder with its massive bruise throbbed a little at him, but the soft material of the pajamas was much nicer on his skin than the gray undershirt and leather-like jacket of his armor.

Decently attired, he stole a glance at his fully made bed – thank you, Mindy – and left his bedroom for a little R & R with his kids before turning in for the night.  A yawn escaped – definitely not back to full form yet – but the desire for his kids’ undemanding company overrode the exhaustion.  So he joined them in the living room, settling onto the couch with a smile for his two sons as they playfully bickered over which video game to play.

Alanna snuck in from the side with Jules’ tub of goop and Greg tugged the sleeve of his pajamas up so she could spread the icy cold bruise balm on his shoulder.  Once she’d done that – and the cold feeling evaporated – he let the fabric fall back into place and carefully rotated the joint.  He grimaced at the stiff protest, but kept working until he could move his shoulder freely despite the bruise.

The boys settled on a game and Dean started it up while Lance toted his controller over to the couch; he sat down cross-legged, leaning against one of his uncle’s legs.  Dean claimed the other leg and Alanna crawled in from the other side to snuggle up against Greg’s chest.  Smiling, the stocky man dropped his arm around his niece’s shoulders and let his head sink back into the cushion behind him so he could doze off.

* * * * *

A few hours later, Greg was roused by a gentle shaking.  Bleary, he peered up at Dean, blinking to regain his awareness.  “What time is it?” he slurred.

“Close to nine,” Dean replied.  “We figured you’d be more comfortable in bed, Dad.”

He nodded and accepted his son’s help to clamber up on his feet.  “Copy.”

Then Dean fidgeted.

“What?”

“Can we sleep in your room again?” his son blurted.

For some reason, a pit opened up in his stomach.  “You know my work alarm is on, right?”

“Yeah, but…”

When his son trailed off, Greg hiked an inquiring brow, waiting.  After a few moments, he prompted, “But…?”

“Last night, it was Elias, Dad,” Dean explained without looking up.  “I just…”

Oh.  “You want to see what it’s like with me, instead?” Greg ventured.

The curly-haired brunet nodded and finally lifted his head.  “And could you do the wings again, Dad?”

Oh, lord, the puppy eyes.  Wide, pleading, almost tearing up – how did a teenager on the cusp of adulthood still have the puppy eyes?  Worse, Greg knew exactly why it was Dean asking and not Lance or Alanna – after over a decade without his son, he was all too prone to saying, ‘Yes,’ to virtually anything within reason when it was Dean.

So he sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward.  “If my pajamas get ruined, you are paying for new ones, understand?”  And he’d make sure to pick out the ones he’d been eyeing when he’d first come home, but hadn’t gotten because they were just a bit too much on the pricy side for his taste.

“Copy that, Dad,” Dean replied, bouncing on his heels.  He flashed a makeshift hand signal at his co-conspirators and Lance vanished, presumably to pull down the sheets of Greg’s bed.  Alanna detoured to the kitchen and reappeared with Jules’ jar of healing goop, grinning as she applied a fresh coat to her uncle’s shoulder.

Greg didn’t attempt to transform until he was in his bedroom, close to a secondary set of pajamas if his favorite set got ruined.  But, much to his shock, the transformation went perfectly – his pajamas blended with his gryphon features just like his armor had, though he vowed not to let his mischievous rugrats near him with a camera while he was wearing a set of silky green pajamas framed by human-sized brown gryphon wings, lion legs, and a tail.  Some things were just too embarrassing to permit.

Crawling up onto the middle of his bed, Parker sighed as he rested on his chest, adjusted his pillow to be underneath him, and eyed his sons’ pillows rather balefully.  This wasn’t a bad night for him, he really should’ve said no instead of bowing to Dean’s soulful puppy eyes.  On his back, gryphon wings twitched, but held still as the boys scrambled up on either side, tucking in next to their guardian.

Alanna waited until all three men were in place before turning off the lights and jumping up; Greg swallowed a yelp when Flamewings landed on his back, right between his wings.  Carefully, he extended those wings, sweeping them down and curling them around his boys.  Dean snuggled in closer and he turned towards his son, wrapping him in a hug – Lance would understand.

When Flamewings started piping an eerie, but very soothing song, Greg finally understood.  The remnants of the migraine he’d been ignoring all day faded away within seconds and he felt the clenched feeling inside his chest relax – his magical core had been unhappy; he just hadn’t realized it.

A fond smile emerged – his kids knew him better than he knew himself – and Greg let the phoenix song lull him down towards real sleep.  In his arms, Dean was already asleep and Lance was tucked in against his back, pressed in so tightly that Greg suspected his magic and Lance’s were already mingling.  Sure enough, he heard his nephew sigh and inhale – right in time with his own breathing.

Closing his eyes, Greg let the problems of the day go.  He knew, in his heart of hearts, that there would always be Someone with an answer to those problems.  And maybe, someday, there wouldn’t be any problems at all anymore.  Just the joy of being with his family, blood, chosen, and adopted.

But for now, he reached into his soul, searching out a connection that wasn’t one of his, but Another’s.  ‘Thank you,’ he whispered.  ‘Thank you for giving me another chance.’

“Always,” the Voice replied, “My son.”

~ Fin