Chapter One: Hot Call at the Stadium

Author note: spoilers for 04x14: Day Game. Pretty much the entire episode. And I am using dialogue from the episode. This story is the fifty-fourth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "Cops and Wolves".

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

The massive sports stadium, settled in a bustling section of downtown Toronto, was normally quiet on the week days, as though the building itself was saving its excitement for the weekends and the thousands of spectators it would house. Indeed, the corridors inside the stadium were so empty, it seemed all but impossible that anything of crucial importance could be transpiring.

In the arena itself, the hanging central scoreboard was lit up, ads flashing across the giant screens though no one was present to observe them. Around the arena, other game night lights glowed, partially illuminating the stadium seats. The arena's overhead lights were dark, shadows hiding the equipment on the floor, including a silent lift and a tilted cart. On one side of the arena, light shone from the luxury suites built above the first floor of stadium seats.

There was no hint, no sign of the drama playing itself out in the hallways around the arena, as four cops raced to halt a man with nothing left to lose. "Guys, I got a signal. Lower level, north quadrant."

At the report, Lane picked up his pace, delivering his orders on the fly. "Okay, listen up. This guy knows the terrain. We go in hard and fast. Boss, get him on the phone, keep him occupied."

"Copy that," Parker agreed, already dialing.

"What were you thinking, Parker? I had it under control."

"It looked ragged. I made a call. Why don't you come on in and we'll debrief."

As the negotiator verbally faced off with the subject, his teammates assembled outside the room their target was hiding in, weapons at the ready. "In position," the team leader announced.

"Well, you know what? Let's meet up." Sarcasm echoed in words drenched with disdain and scorn. "I'll bring my sidearm, you bring your inkblots, we'll see who makes a better case."

Team One slammed into the room. "Police! Freeze!"

"SRU!" Wordy yelled, backing his best friend.

But the room was empty, with only a single blinking electronic device inside. Lane knelt, identifying it at once. "Boss, signal relay. He's not here."

A clatter of noise drew Sergeant Parker around, bringing him face-to-face with a nine millimeter semi-automatic. He backed off, raising his hands as he regarded the man holding that weapon.

Over the comm, he could hear his team leader. "Greg, come in. Greg." A pulse of worry thrummed in the 'team sense'. "Greg, come in. Boss, make some noise." Horrified realization broke through. "He's got Greg."

Hazel blinked closed and opened with a gryphon's vicious glee.

4 hours earlier

As Greg Parker stepped inside the locker room to change into his uniform, he was unaware that his stride and stance had subtly altered to reflect the predator within, rather than the cop he was. His magic churned of its own accord, flickering in his eyes every so often, but the darkness tainting it prevented any one from seeing the magical hues. The Sergeant's feral half rumbled to itself, considering.

He had the power, while his weak, ignorant human half remained oblivious to the loss of magical control. He was strong, he could dominate by force, while his pathetic human half fought with words. Words. If he wished, he could shunt his mewling human to the side…but his Pride would notice. Would fight to bring his human back. And he could not transform – not entirely. Trapped in human form, he wouldn't be able to dominate his Pride and force them into submission. Unless…

The gryphon's mental tail lashed as he considered the only magic his human half still held full control over. The links – the anchors forged with his Pride. They remained beyond his reach, immune to all his attempts to wrench them away from his weaker half. All his attempts to subvert the anchors and twist them had failed – and without them, he could not afford to strike. A low hiss emerged…his human still thought the anchors essentially harmless. An annoyance on a good day, but invaluable for finding his Pride when they landed in trouble.

They were so much more than that. Though they hadn't been so in the very beginning. No, it had only been when his Pride had accepted the links, accepted the magical bonding, that they'd become his. By now, their minds, hearts, and souls swam with his power; they could no more exist without the links than they could exist without blood. And so long as the links remained, his Pride could not leave him. Oh, they could travel all they wished, but if ever a member of his Flock thought to leave, the magic within them would act, subtly nudging and influencing until they…changed their minds. Or forgot about leaving entirely. Should they accomplish leaving, the urge to return would remain. A compulsion, growing stronger with every passing hour, until they gave in. If he could control those links, he could force them to submit; his magic would alter their minds until they would never think to challenge him again. They would never think about his weak, pathetic human half – they would believe he was all Greg Parker had ever been.

The gryphon felt his human half reach inward, nudging the links to 'activate' them. Eager, he paced around where the links hid, examining their protection for gaps. Nothing. Disappointment pulsed, but the creature had grown used to the feeling; he'd been trying to wrest control of the links from his human half for the past several months.

"Morning, Boss." Yellow.

"Morning, Ed; good day off?"

"Clark and I took Izzy to the aquarium. She loved that central tank they have."

"The one with the shark?"

"Yep. Then Clark got her to where they've got a baby dolphin right now."

"Didn't even budge after that."

Yellow laughed. "Cried all the way to the car three hours later. Clark got to watch the dolphin show, though."

His human half smiled. "Glad you had a good day off, Eddie."

"Any warrants on tap today?"

"Nothing I've heard about. I'll ask Winnie – if she doesn't have anything, maybe we can do some patrolling."

"Get out and enjoy the day?"

A nod. "Exactly. We've got that week of night shift coming up; might as well get some sun while we can."

His human closed the locker and trailed away, content and humming a song to himself. The gryphon hiss-growled, but low, too low for his human half to register. It was infuriating…all he needed was the links and he could be done with this farce. With playing the tame, subdued gryphon. He turned, regarding the links once more. Beyond his reach…for now. Perhaps…perhaps when his human came under stress once more…perhaps then the protection would falter. Open a gap. Then he could strike. Then he could finally be free.

Greg smiled as his team headed for the trucks. Patrolling on a sunny day was no hardship at all – in fact, to be outside and in the fresh air was… He needed it, in ways he couldn't explain, even to himself. Outside in a forest or open plain would be even better, but outside in the city would do. Part of him wanted to savor the sun and the feel of the wind, but the negotiator just swung himself up into a truck, the corners of his mouth subtly turning down in disappointment. He did, however, roll the window down and lean towards it. Wordy gave him a side-long glance, but let the open window pass without comment as the trucks started and headed for the road.

"Team One, hot call," Winnie called over the comm about an hour into their patrol. "Armed robbery at Fletcher stadium. Subject has a knife, possible hostage situation."

"Okay, let's start making tracks, team," Parker ordered. "Winnie, any more details?"

"Yes, sir. 911 caller is Decklan Pownell; he works security at the stadium."

"Copy that; we'll be there in fifteen."

Greg swung out of the truck, his focus already on the man waiting for them. The security guard was slightly taller than himself, with a light blue jacket, ruffled black hair in a crew-cut, and brown eyes. The negotiator's sixth sense prickled; the guard's demeanor held a trace of guilt – for what, Parker wasn't sure…yet. "Mr. Pownell?"

"Yeah. You guys gotta get up there, the guy's crazy, he's got Roger."

His teammates were already joining them, armed and raring to go. "Roger a colleague of yours?"

A rough nod and an expression of helpless desperation. "Yeah. He walked in on him, in the money room, and the guy pulled a knife. We tried to intervene, but-"

"Who's 'we', sir?"

"Me and Gil, another guard. We tried to calm him down, but he flipped out-"

Two security guards, in over their heads and afraid for their friend. "It's all right," Greg soothed. "Where are they now?"

"A luxury suite. He dragged Roger in there."

Ed stepped in, handling tactics as his boss started plotting negotiation strategies. "Okay, Decklan, how many people in the building?"

"Small lighting crew. Six security staff."

"Okay, have them drop what they're doing and exit immediately. Do you understand me?"

Given a constructive task to handle, the guard's expression steadied. "Yes," he confirmed, already reaching for his walkie-talkie as he turned and led the officers into the stadium.

"One subject, one hostage, one knife," Parker announced as he followed their caller. "Let's fill in some blanks."

Inside the atrium, the team leader started handing out orders. "Okay, guys, here we go. Sam, Wordy, take the suite. Spike, CCTV. Jules, Lou, the money room."

"Copy," Jules acknowledged as the team split, each hurrying for their assignments.

Ed paused long enough to clap his Sergeant's arm. "Boss, I'm gonna try to get a Sierra shot."

Already writing in his binder, Greg didn't glance up. "Good. Go." He finished his note, then turned to their security guard. "I need to get through to that suite."

Pownell was moving almost before he finished. "Yeah, follow me. There's a phone in the security room."

Inside the security room, Greg swept down on the phone, dialing the number his companion reeled off. The phone rang and rang…and rang… Finally, with a frustrated noise, the negotiator let the receiver drop and swapped tactics. "Sam, he's not answering. Give him a nudge."

Over the comm, he heard Sam pound on the luxury suite's door, calling, "Sir, this is Sam Braddock from the Police Strategic Response Unit. We need to talk to you, please answer the phone."

There was a more distant scramble that the Sergeant couldn't quite make out, but Wordy's dry, "He's not too keen on talking, Boss," filled in the blanks. So much for the luxury suite phone.

Philosophically accepting the curveball, Greg switched to his next source of information. "Copy that. Spike, let me know when you got eyes in."

Spike's voice was as cheerful as ever, but his boss detected strain and disappointment. "Yeah, two-hundred twenty of them, but none where we want them."

What? Incredulous, the Sergeant turned towards Pownell. "There's no camera in there?"

"They're executive suites. These guys like their privacy."

Wonderful. "Eddie, what do you see?"

From his sniper, he heard the usual sounds of Ed setting up his rifle. Seconds later, the team leader's report flowed in. "Not good, Boss, glare and shadow." Surprise rolled down the 'team sense'. "Hang on. Boss, we got a bogey. We got a security guard on the balcony."

The negotiator's eyes narrowed and he swung towards Pownell again. "Guys are still out there?"

"Gotta be Gil, everyone else is accounted for. He must've took cover on the balcony." Even as the guard spoke, his cell phone began to beep at him. He pulled the phone out and stiffened at the caller ID. "Sir, it's him, Gil, calling."

An uneasy feeling settled in his gut, but Greg took the phone and answered. "Gil. This is Sergeant Greg Parker, I'm with the Police Strategic Response Unit."

Further deepening his uneasy feeling, the security guard on the other end didn't sound surprised. He sounded calm, steady, and unconcerned. "Hello, Greg Parker."

"Are you safe?"

"Yeah, I'm hidden."

"Hey, buddy, can you get out of there?"

There was a flicker of hesitation. "No, they're between me and the door."

Fair enough. "Okay, Gil, can you tell me if the hostage is harmed?"

"No, no, no. He looks fine. He's just scared." Then, as if this was something Gil handled every day, he reeled off, "Subject is Caucasian, 5' 10", dark hair. I heard him call himself Danny. He's got a seven-inch blade, I think it's a bowie knife."

Unease built, but Greg knew better than to let it into his voice. "Gil, that's very helpful. Thank you. Spike, see what you can do with that."

"Got it, Boss."

Switching his attention back to their trapped guard, Parker instructed, "Okay, Gil, I need you to stay low, stay quiet, all right? We're gonna get you out of there."

Almost before he finished, Gil countered, "Hey, sarge, I think I should talk to this guy."

'Sarge'? Something was wrong; he wasn't this man's superior and yet Gil's words and tone indicated some…familiarity. Familiarity with him. "No, I don't want you to do that." Let a well-meaning amateur negotiate with a man volatile and unstable enough to take a man hostage and then rip a phone out of a wall? No, that would end in blood and tears for all concerned.

Faintly, through Gil's phone, he heard the subject mutter, "It wasn't supposed to go like this."

"No, no, no. I hear remorse. I think I can get through to him."

Remorse was not enough and Gil was still a well-meaning civilian in over his head. "Gil, that's a negative. One wrong word and he could escalate. You gotta trust me on this here, buddy."

Thankfully, their would-be hero backed down with a soft, "All right."

"Thank you," Greg replied, emphasizing his relief at Gil's surrender. His focus shifted back to his teammates. "Okay, team, listen up. Good news is we've got eyes inside and things seem calm for the moment. So talk to me, who're we dealing with here?"

"Could be a smash and grab," Wordy offered.

"So he gets interrupted, panics. Eddie?"

"Fits the bill. He's volatile, he's got no demands."

"Yeah," Greg drawled. "I hear a, 'but'."

"Don't know, the place isn't exactly a liquor store, right."

Point. Before the Sergeant could speak, Jules cut in. "Boss?"

"Yeah, Jules?"

"Money room's three floors up behind an unmarked door."

"Cameras, keycard entry, regenerating password," Lou reeled off, picking up smoothly before handing it off to Jules again.

"And that's all before you even reach the safe."

"There goes the smash and grab," Wordy remarked, not at all troubled by the utter collapse of his theory.

It still didn't fit, though. "So he's high-tech on the way in, hunting knife on the way out?"

Spike offered up their next piece of evidence. "Boss, I got a partial off CCTV and matched it to the description. Our subject is Danny Lucic. Drugs, assault. Mostly small-time. His one star turn was an attempted robbery at a credit union, and he took a teller hostage at knife-point."

Knife. Matched their subject's MO. "How did that end?"

The bomb tech's words were delivered matter-of-factly, avoiding the emotional punch. "Teller got a punctured radial artery and Danny got three years' hard time."

Not good. Their subject knew the system, knew what he was looking at, and he was clearly just as volatile now as he'd been during his credit union robbery. A tactical response was looking better and better, particularly if Danny wouldn't negotiate. Even as Parker sorted through their options, he heard the distant sounds of a scuffle over the phone, coupled with closer sounds that had to be their helpful security guard. "Sergeant, we got a situation."

Ed's report only reinforced that. "Whoa. Gun in play. Gun in play."

"Gil, talk to me," Greg urged as the struggle grew louder.

"No, no, no," Gil hissed; he was moving – not good. No, stay hidden, you idiot!

"I said stay put," their subject spat; Parker cringed as hyper-sensitive hearing caught the sound of a knife finding its mark. This call was getting better and better by the second.

"Freeze right there!" The Sergeant bit back a curse – what had happened to staying put?

"No visual," Ed reported.

"Gil, talk to me, please."

Over the phone, he heard the subject growl, "Back off." He didn't need to be there to envision the scene. Danny, with the injured guard held tight, knife up against his captive's neck; Gil, opposite, with gun raised and ready, but no target…not unless he wanted to risk hitting his coworker.

"Okay, calm down, mister. Just relax."

"Gil." The word grated, but still hid most of the negotiator's irritation.

"Back off. Back off or he dies."