Chapter One: Twisted Senses

Author note: This story is the fifteenth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "Secrets and Families".

Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own Flashpoint, Harry Potter, Narnia, or Merlin.

And since this site has a teaser character limit, here's the full teaser: A week after his rescue from the Netherworld, Greg's still having trouble readjusting to normal life. Spike's family issues are running high after Lou's near miss. Sophie and Shelley aren't too pleased that their husbands won't tell them how they managed to save Greg's life and Sam, in the wake of the Netherworld, is grieving his best friend all over again. In helping each other, they just might heal their fractured team. 15th in the It's a Magical Flashpoint series.

Greg Parker drew in a breath, surveying the obstacle course ahead of him. To his immediate right, his bed loomed as both obstacle and a line marker. His dresser and shelves stood on his left, their corners padded with pillows and all the knick-knacks that usually decorated them safely tucked away. The door to the rest of the apartment was the largest obstacle and padded with both pillows and a cushioning material that Greg suspected was part of a yoga mat.

The SRU Sergeant grumbled a little as he started forward, trying once again to walk without running into anything; an achievement that, even a week after his 'adventure', he had yet to reach. This time, he made it past the bed without running into it, but that was largely thanks to wobbling outward toward the shelves about a third of the way down. Gritting his teeth, Greg turned toward the doorway and flinched as a passing truck on the street below revved its engine. The sound hit the man like a baseball bat and he ended up on his knees, panting and clutching his head. When he finally forced himself back up, he didn't hit the doorway, but that was because he latched onto the frame for support and lumbered past, using the wall as a guide to the living room.

Once in the living room, Greg sank into his chair, worn and discouraged. Team One was still off-rotation, its members subbing for sick or vacationing SRU cops while their Sergeant recovered…a recovery that said Sergeant was starting to doubt would happen. He was much the same as he had been right after his team rescued him, his senses – hearing in particular – off balance and out of true.

His 'team sense' had stabilized and he could now keep from 'sensing' his team all the time, a fact he was grateful for, as he'd hated the involuntary invasion of his team's privacy the 'team sense' created. He hadn't 'turned it on' since his rescue and was determined not to until he could go back to work, he had enough to deal with, thank you. Plus, he'd promised himself that he wouldn't invade his team's privacy that way ever again…not unless it was a life or death situation.

The kids were back at school; he'd only let them hover a day or two before shooing them out of the apartment and back to class. They'd missed enough school on his behalf and their absence meant he didn't have an audience for his frustrating, fumbling walks and set-backs. Oh, he hadn't gotten worse, but getting better? That seemed like an impossible dream as day after day ticked by with no improvement.

And the longer he was off-duty, the more he felt like he was letting his team down. They deserved better, especially after risking their lives and souls in a last ditch storming of Hell – or the Netherworld – to get him back. But as Greg struggled to regain a sense of normalcy, he'd found himself wondering if it had been worth it…if maybe his team should have moved on and gotten themselves a Sergeant who wasn't caught in a tangle of his own making. He'd firmly shoved the thoughts away, determined that, no matter what, he would not make his team's sacrifice for nothing, would not shame them or himself that way.

Greg pushed himself upright again, refusing to let the failed attempts stop him from trying again. Of course, his resolve was sharply tested when he promptly fell over the coffee table and ended up sprawled in front of the TV. A heavy sigh broke the apartment's silence. At this rate, he might be able to walk a straight line about the time he retired…if he was lucky.

But Greg hadn't gotten to this point in his life by giving up, something Morgana and Tolay had learned to their dismay, and he pushed himself up again, using the offending coffee table as a prop. Enough sulking, he had a life to reclaim. This time, instead of moving, he decided to hold still and try to figure out what the root of his problem was. He'd spent a week trying to just 'get over it' and walk straight, so maybe it was time to change his approach.

The Sergeant cocked his head and ran his fingers along the coffee table's surface, concentrating on the feel of the veneer under his hand. It felt right, smooth and polished instead of the minute bumps he'd felt the first two or three days, so Greg looked down at the table, shifting his focus to how it looked. Again, it looked normal, though his sight did narrow in on quite a few nicks and scratches. He made a mental note to ask the kids if they could see the nicks and scratches, but moved on for the moment.

Without moving from his spot, he knelt, trying to judge by sight alone how close he was to the table; here, finally, he ran into trouble for his body position and his vision disagreed on how close he was. Sighing, Greg closed his eyes and let his hand tell him how close he was to the table. After a moment, he opened his eyes again, somehow unsurprised by the extreme level of detail he could see. Apparently, his hearing wasn't the only enhanced sense. He considered, trying to remember if his vision had been enhanced before his stint in the Netherworld.

Hearing had been the biggest issue, that he could remember very clearly, but vision? That had been much the same as always, at least he thought it had been. In any case, perhaps he'd narrowed down the issue a bit; he wasn't just dealing with hearing that was much more sensitive than he was used to, he was dealing with 'sensitive' vision too. No wonder he'd been misjudging distances, he was used to things looking different…less detailed at farther distances.

With that new discovery under his belt, Greg straightened up again and surveyed his apartment with fresh eyes…and felt his shoulders sink down a little. This meant relearning how to judge the distance to everything. But giving up wasn't an option, so he started small, trusting his sense of touch and his physical position over his sight or hearing. He did try 'pulling' both sight and hearing back, as he had the day this mess started, but, once again, he couldn't. That was probably the most frustrating part, the part most likely to make him lose the job and team he loved. How could he be a cop if loud sounds sent him reeling?

Nor was relearning how to judge distance an easy proposition; he barked his shin as he tried to maneuver around the coffee table, though he did manage to keep from falling again. In hopes of keeping his shins from getting any more bruised, Greg started back towards his padded-to-the-hilt bedroom, only to pause as the doorbell rang. Who'd visit in the middle of the day? the Sergeant wondered, glancing down the hallway. He considered hiding until whoever it was had left, but reluctantly discarded the idea. Instead, he made his way down the hallway towards the door, keeping one hand on the wall to stay relatively steady and balanced.