Chapter One: Rally Cry

Author note: This story is the forty-first in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "Bite of the Wolf".

Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own Flashpoint, Harry Potter, Narnia, or Merlin. I also do not own Airwolf, a TV show from the 1980's from which I have discreetly borrowed from before. This story includes characters and concepts from Airwolf, but you don't need to be familiar with the show.

Previously

The shadow that appeared out of the night went almost unnoticed as it approached the miserable, windswept island, hidden by magic and shifting seas. The craft's engines were whisper-soft, the sound of the blades blending into the roar and crash of the ocean against the isle's rocky coast. The Aurors on duty never even looked up as the black and white shape ghosted over the prison's roof. A low, wolfish rumble was the only sound it made as it hovered in place.

Anderson fumbled with the helicopter's door, but managed to pull it open with a soft hiss from the door seal. Loki followed him into the black craft's interior and their rescuer brought up the rear. The rescuer exchanged a solemn nod with the pilot, then the pilot pulled back on the controls, lifting the helicopter off the ground. The co-pilot tapped the controls to raise the landing gear, then the black 'copter turned away from the prison and flew away, vanishing into the sunrise without a single spell impacting its metal skin.

Holleran rose, pulling the transcript clear of its binder; both men sucked in a shocked breath when the commander opened it to see pages and pages of blank white paper. Holleran looked up at Simmons, pale and furious. "What the hell is going on, Auror Simmons?"

"One case of missing explosives," Commander Holleran reported, "Four cases of missing ammunition as well as some climbing gear. None of the hot calls in the past month required explosive entry of any kind and training isn't enough to explain the quantity of missing ammo or the climbing gear."

Giles whirled, right into a gunshot. The man stepped forward, sneering as the Auror slammed down on the ground, the file in his hands spilling to cover the floor around him. The shooter angled his gun at the fallen Auror, but Onasi didn't move as blood soaked his chest and robes.

Alanna blinked back tears and hugged him fiercely; Greg savored her warmth. "Love you, Uncle Greg."

"And I love you, too, mia nipote," Greg whispered back as his nephew joined his sister. "I have to go now," he admitted when the Aurors behind him started shifting unhappily. "See you soon."

Moffet considered a moment, tilting his head to the side. "Phase one is complete," he purred, pushing the helicopter's controls forward. "Phase two…is just beginning…"

Now

Alanna sniffled as she ducked out of sight. In an empty room, she forced her tears down and locked her most determined expression in place. She refused to believe that Uncle Sam had shot Auror Onasi. It wasn't possible, but the only one who could say that for sure was Auror Onasi, which meant they needed him yesterday.

Cautiously, Alanna peeked out of her hiding place and watched as the Healers congregated outside of the room where Auror Onasi was. She bit her lip, forcing a scream of impatience down. It seemed to take for-ever, but the Healers finally left, giving her an opening. She skittered across the hallway, pushed the door open, and ducked inside before anyone could see her. Inside, she panted a moment, catching her breath.

Red light played on the inside of the door and she turned, her eyes widening in utter shock at the sight of Roy Lane, still and stiff as a board on one of the hospital beds. He wasn't breathing and Alanna swallowed nervously at the way his eyes seemed to be staring right at her. Stubbornly, she turned in the other direction to see Auror Onasi, lying on the other bed. She hurried to his side, examining him as much as she could.

"Wake up," she hissed as softly as she could, shaking him. It didn't work and she forced herself to stop, step back, and look more closely at him. His breathing was shallow and starting to rasp, his color was pale and grayish, and when she pried one lid up, his pupil didn't react to the small light she conjured.

"Well?"

Alanna yelped, jumping and whirling in one motion to come face-to-face with her amused brother, who stood smirking at her with his arms crossed. "Don't do that," she scolded.

Lance rolled his eyes. "C'mon, sis, as if you were going anywhere else when you snuck outta bed." Stepping forward, he asked again, "Well?"

The redhead bit her lip. "He's in bad shape," she replied, ducking her head. "I…I think he's dying."

Her brother nodded thoughtfully, as though he'd already known what she would say. "Can you heal him?"

Alanna clenched her fists. "I have to, for Uncle Greg and the rest of them. He's the only one who knows what really happened, who really shot him." She looked over Lance's shoulder and shuddered. "What about Roy?"

Lance followed her gaze, but he didn't shudder at all; instead, his expression turned sad. "Uncle Greg should've let us come here," he remarked flatly. Alanna's expression turned confused and her brother quietly shook his head. "We could've fixed that a lot easily before now, but I think I can still help him. Not here, though…it would make too much noise."

"Copy," Alanna whispered, turning back to Giles. "Go big, you think?"

"If you think he might be right on the edge, yeah, sis," Lance confirmed, stepping back.

Alanna reached out, resting one hand on Giles' chest, right over his heart, and bringing the other to hover right over the bullet wound. "Thurhhaele," she intoned firmly, letting her magic swell and burn in her eyes.

Violet light flowed out of her hands and into the patient, rapidly sinking in. Alanna's forehead wrinkled as a strange shadow fought her magic, attempting to complete its deadly task. "No," she growled, fighting back. Her magic murmured and Alanna summoned up her Animagus talents. Tears formed in eyes that blazed with her magic. Lance's hands pulled away the sheet as she leaned forward, tilting her head to the side. Two tears dripped into the wound, which glowed an instant, then began to close over.

Onasi's breathing eased as the violet magic fought the shadowy magic, ripping it to shreds as it also burned out another attempt on the Auror's life; Alanna jerked at the sharp sting against her power, but held firm. When it was done, Alanna was sweating and shaking; her brother supported her as she crashed to the floor.

He knelt beside her anxiously, but she waved him off. "I'm okay, it just took a lot out of me," she told him, before frowning. "Lance?"

"Sis?"

"What is that?" Alanna asked, pointing to a shiny something under Auror Onasi's bed.

Lance craned his head to look under the bed, then frowned himself and whispered a quick summoning spell. The object flew to them, but neither touched it as it hovered before them. "A syringe? In St. Mungo's?" Lance questioned. " 'Lanna, see if you can find a bag or something."

Alanna nodded, pushing herself upright. She grabbed the edge of the bed as her legs wobbled, then walked slowly to a nearby table stacked with supplies. The teen poked around the medical supplies for a few moments, then came back with a small bag that she and Lance carefully maneuvered the syringe into without touching it. As they finished, there was a soft groan from the bed.

Lance finished with the syringe as Alanna stumbled to the bed and covered the Auror's mouth. "Don't yell," she hissed in his ear. "It's me 'n' Lance."

After a second, she pulled her hand back. "What are you two doing here?" Auror Onasi demanded, though his voice was just as soft as hers. He peered over her. "St. Mungo's? Are you two nuts?"

"They arrested Team One tonight," Lance announced solemnly. "One of the charges was your attempted murder."

"What?" Auror Onasi jolted upright, then gasped and clutched his ribs.

"It might take another minute for the pain to go away," Alanna informed him, a wan, tired smile peeking out.

"Noticed that, thanks," Auror Onasi rasped out, blinking as Lance handed the makeshift evidence bag to Alanna, then trekked over to Roy. "You can't touch him," the Auror remarked, "No one can."

"Really," Lance drawled, pausing by Roy and looking back. "Is that so?" Smirking, he reached out and poked Roy's shoulder, doing his best to hide the faint flicker of gold behind his fingers, gold that whispered familiar, family to the scarlet. The magic flexed, allowing the touch with a sense of near amusement that felt faintly of his uncle.

"How?" Auror Onasi breathed in shock.

"Tell you later," Lance promised, gold swirling around him as he reached out again. The Auror's jaw dropped as Roy's form relaxed for the first time in almost five weeks, slumping bonelessly down on the bed, though his eyes and face were still frozen and staring, scarlet magic still swirling around him. "You can touch him now," Lance announced, though he still kept his voice down. "You can even move him, which is what we need to do. Now."

"Now?"

Both teens nodded. Alanna looked up at the Auror. "Whoever's really doing this, you're a threat to them."

Auror Onasi grimaced and stumbled out of bed, gasping as the cold air hit his skin. "I'm not going far in these," he observed, plucking morosely at the hospital garb.

Alanna studied the garment, grimacing in agreement. Holding out her hand, she incanted, "Forscieppan hrægl (1)."

The thin fabric twisted and flexed, rapidly changing form to a basic Healer's robe. Lance glanced down, offered a grimace of his own, then moved to Roy's feet, cautiously working his magic against the scarlet light around Roy enough to pry Roy's boots and socks off. He brought them over to Auror Onasi, who made a face, but nodded and tugged the socks and boots on. They were a bit too tight, but when Alanna lifted her hands again, Auror Onasi waved her off.

"It's good; I can manage," he reassured the girl, standing up again. He swallowed hard, then walked to Roy's bed and reached out to touch his partner for the first time in well over a month. Instead of pushing him away, as Giles had half-expected, it thinned, almost parting as he leaned close and gently gripped his friend's shoulder. "Hey, Roy, guess we're finally making some progress, huh?" he murmured in the other man's ear. "Let's get out of here, you been here long enough already, partner." He was disappointed when Roy didn't react at all, glancing over his shoulder at the two teenagers.

Alanna regarded him with open worry, Lance with quiet understanding. Giles drew in a breath, let it out, then turned back to his partner and hefted him up, ignoring the protesting twinge from his stomach muscles, still sore from the gunshot wound. The magic around Roy surged for an instant and the Auror felt it lash at his hands before subsiding, as though it had judged him worthy of helping his friend.

Though Giles felt a smidge of indignation at the idea of being judged by magic, the feel of the magic against his skin wasn't haughty or sneering. It felt like desperation. Last chances and last stands and refusing to give up. It felt like Parker. Only…not. As though somehow Parker had imbued his spell with part of his own soul. Unnerving and the Auror hoped he was wrong.

"The light," he hissed, realizing it all at once. "They're going to see it."

"No," Lance replied, his voice quiet. "We're going to make sure no one notices us. Otherwise, they are going to notice that you're carrying Roy, not using your wand." As he spoke, Alanna scooted over a table right next to the bed Giles had been lying on and snatched his wand up.

Despite knowing – somehow – that the magic around Roy would not allow anything other than physical contact, Giles flinched sharply. That was his wand, not Alanna's, and to be deprived of his only weapon stung. Stung and throbbed in time with the pull on his chest from where he'd been shot. In the dimly lit room, neither teen seemed to notice his split-second of distress; the Auror forced it down, sternly reminding himself that Parker's charges wouldn't let him get hurt. Heck, they'd probably welcome the chance to deal with his attacker and express their displeasure with the threat to their adopted family.

Forcing his attention away from Alanna, Giles examined Parker's nephew; the young man bore up under the Auror's gaze with steady calm, his sapphire eyes meeting Giles' without a twitch. The moment stretched as Giles tried to place where he'd seen that kind of calm before, then he remembered. "You remind me of my old partner," he rasped, old sorrow in his voice. "He was hard to rattle, too. Even when he jumped into something without a plan, you trusted him 'cause you knew he always had a way out, no matter how bad it got."

"I'll take that as a compliment, Auror Onasi," Lance replied, bowing his head in thanks.

"Giles," the Auror corrected, smiling wanly. "You've earned it, both of you." He hefted Roy up a bit higher and slung the limp man over his shoulders. "Let's get out of here, kids."

It was beyond weird, to walk through St. Mungo's hallways with Roy over his shoulders and not be spotted. Lance ranged ahead while Alanna covered their rear and any time someone came close, Giles saw a faint light in his companions' eyes before there was a sound or a rattle or even a random object tumbling to the ground.

The Auror shook his head at the simplicity of the strategy, but it worked. Every. Bloody. Time. If he hadn't been in the middle of sneaking out, he'd have rattled more than a few cages over how sloppy the Healers were being. To his further mixed dismay and amazement, they reached St. Mungo's Floo without being spotted even once; even the Welcome Witch had fallen prey to the siblings' tactics.

Alanna looked nervous with their destination, but Lance was calm, cool, and collected; he knew exactly what he was doing. He turned, waving Alanna forward. "We're headed for Shiloh," he told her. "When I saw you were gone, I headed for the Taylors' and asked them for help. They're waiting for us at Shiloh."

The girl went solid red in embarrassment, then plucked a pinch of Floo powder out of the hospital provided supply and tossed it in the fire. "Shiloh Academy," she called, stepping into the fire.

Giles shifted, then winced as pain jabbed his chest, emphatically reminding that he had been shot, healing spell or no. Grimacing, he ignored the flare and shifted again, trying to judge how much he could adjust Roy's body on his shoulders before he overbalanced, but Lance was well ahead of him, grabbing a double pinch of Floo powder from the bowl on the mantel and tossing it in. Giles nodded thanks, called out their destination, and stepped into the Floo, letting it haul himself and his partner away from the hospital.

On the other side, Giles did something he hadn't done in years…he fell; automatically he twisted so that he hit the ground first instead of Roy. Again he felt the scarlet magic flare indignation, then it settled, as if sensing that he hadn't meant to fall. He suppressed a yelp of pain when Roy landed on his still sore chest, driving the air from his lungs. Hands grabbed him and dragged him clear of the Floo; the Auror kept ahold of his partner as he was pulled, no sense in leaving Roy in the way for Lance to sprawl over. When the pulling stopped, he looked up, unsurprised to see Grant and Brooke Taylor.

Grant spoke before he could. "Giles! You're okay!"

A rueful grin touched the Auror's jaw. "I hear it was touch and go for a while," he drawled, letting Grant heft Roy off him. Behind them, Lance stepped clear of the Floo.

"Touch and go?" Brooke demanded. "Way we heard it, they were already planning your funeral." She whacked him. "Don't scare us like that again, Giles Onasi! Understand?"

Giles rubbed his shoulder – Brooke could hit hard when she wanted to – and pushed himself up. "Yes, ma'am." He looked for Roy and was somehow unsurprised that Lance was pointing Grant to a mat normally used by the students during their warm-ups. "We're doing that here?" And never mind that he still had no idea what 'that' was.

"Yes," Lance returned simply. "Probably for the best." He looked up at Brooke. "Did you call Aunt Shelley?"

Her lips pursed. "I did." Propping her hands on her hips, Brooke scolded, "Lancelot Artorius Calvin, 'Going after 'Lanna, be back soon' is not an appropriate message! Shelley was frantic when I called."

Lance ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry."

Brooke snorted and looked down at Roy. Seeing his frozen expression, she shuddered. "What are you going to do?"

The teen followed her gaze. "I'm going to break the time freeze," he replied simply, moving over to Roy and crouching down behind him. "Giles, I need you in front," he ordered. "Roy's not going to know what's going on when he wakes up." Next, he looked up at Grant. "Can you get his shoulders?"

"Sure," Grant agreed, crouching down at Roy's head and gripping the time-frozen man's shoulders. Giles scrambled into place at Roy's front while Alanna hovered off to the side. "What are we doing?" Grant questioned, his gaze intent.

Lance considered, then made a face. "I can break this, but I'm not gonna be good for anything after that." Brooke abruptly moved into position at Lance's back. "And I can't explain it, Mr. Taylor, I just have to do it."

Grant grimaced, but nodded.

Giles, for his part, watched closely as Lance reached forward, one hand resting on Roy's back and his left glowing gold as he gripped the frozen man's neck.

Gold curled around Roy's form and the scarlet pulsed, surprised by the intrusion. Unlike the first few times, this time it pushed back against the gold: it had to keep the man alive until help could come. The golden light paused, then nudged at the scarlet again.

"He's safe. You can stop now."

The scarlet swirled faster. "Fledgling."

"Yes."

"I do not know that help has arrived," the scarlet pointed out, though it was confused. Help should have arrived long before now…

"They didn't know how to tell you it was safe to stop," the fledgling explained. "And your human never brought my sister and I to the hospital; he didn't know he had to tell you to stop."

Scarlet flexed, pushing lightly at the gold for clarification. The golden magic obliged, nudging an image of the scarlet's human at it: a sickly gray tinged man who'd walked in the door that day and nearly collapsed right then and there. For a moment, the scarlet was appalled. Whipping frenetically in agitation, it demanded, "Where is my human?"

Another image pressed in: the same human being dragged away from the fledgling and his sister. The scarlet withdrew, growling and snapping in indignation. Without Greg Parker's conscious mind to guide it, the magic was wild and feral, bound to its gryphon instincts and Greg's desperate last order.

The gold hovered patiently, then 'spoke' again. "We need Roy's help to bring your human back," it explained. "Roy's safe, I promise. The job's done."

"My human is not here," the scarlet countered. "This human cannot handle me."

"I know, but I can."

The scarlet magic jerked, thrashing from side-to-side as it tried to consider that. "None may carry any more than they are given by Him," it pointed out after several seconds.

"I know, but it's the only way," the fledgling insisted, "Your human is too far away to take you back and if you don't let Roy go, he may never come back."

Scarlet thrummed, but did not immediately respond. When it did, the words were slow. "You will strengthen me," it observed. "My human is already afraid of me. This will make it worse."

Above Roy's body, golden eyes closed. "I know and I'm sorry. Will you do it? For him?"

In answer, the scarlet light pooled, lighting up Lance's hands and arms as it flowed upwards and into him; his eyes turned dark amber as the red and gold mixed. He jerked as the magic swirled, settling into his skin, then his eyes rolled up and he collapsed backwards into Brooke's arms.

[1] Old English for 'Change clothing.'