Chapter Ten: Whose Gryphon Is It?

"NO!" Dustil Onasi howled as the Killing Curse's victim fell, landing heavily. The Neo Death Eater followed, bowled over by an utterly livid gryphon with razor sharp talons. Throughout the barn, Aurors brought their wands up, turning the tables on their former captors, all of them enraged by the violation of their minds and their home turf.

But Dustil had eyes for none of the activity around him; he scrambled forward, reaching the still form in seconds. Already, tears filled his eyes, threatening to flow down his cheeks as he stared down and his fists clenched. "No, please, no," he whispered, stretching out trembling fingers. "Don't be dead. Please, you can't die on me!"

Gentle arms wrapped around the young man, pulling him backwards into a hug. "I got you," Giles Onasi choked out, breathless at how close it had been. "I'm here, son." He rocked Dustil automatically. "I'm sorry, Dustil, I'm so sorry."

Dustil sobbed, wrapping his own arms around his father's. "She…she was my only friend…" he managed. "I didn't even know what she was trying to say half the time, but…"

"She was your friend," Giles whispered back, just holding his son as he stared at the ghostly wolf who'd jumped between him and the Killing Curse at the last possible instant. She'd known who he was, he was sure of it. And he was certain she'd saved him for Dustil's sake, not his. "She was your friend," he repeated. "That was all that mattered."

With his free hand, Giles turned Dustil's head into his chest, rocking and stroking his son's hair as the young man clung to him, openly sobbing at the loss of Moffet's Obscurus. To hold his son, even if Dustil was grieving…it was more than Giles had ever dared to dream of. To himself, he wondered. Who had the Obscurus been once? Had his son been able to reach the part of her that was still human? Had Moffet known about the relationship between Dustil and his superweapon? None of it mattered, he decided at last. She'd been Dustil's friend and she had died to save his life.

Then an ear twitched; Giles froze, jaw dropping open. The wolf tail gave a tiny thump and an equally tiny whine escaped the ghostly snout. Silver and shadow flowed over the wolf, the shadow strengthening.

"Dustil," Giles whispered urgently. "Dustil, look."

Dustil shook his head, hiding within his father's strong embrace. "She's gone, she's gone," he sobbed, almost to himself.

"Dustil Samson Onasi, listen to me!" Giles hissed. "I need you to look at your friend right this instant."

The young man stiffened, both in indignation and surprise. "My middle name is Samson?"

"Yeah, it was your Mom's idea. She said Samson was a strong name, for a strong son," Giles replied, fondness creeping into his voice as he spoke of his wife. Then he chuckled. "I found out later it was her favorite grandfather's first name."

Dustil managed a very faint smile, head coming up. "Whose idea was Dustil?"

"Mine," Giles admitted sheepishly. "Morgana wanted to use my middle name, but I said you should have your own first name, not someone else's leftovers." Gently, he shifted his free hand, gripping Dustil's chin. "Now, come on, son, take a look." Dustil resisted, but Giles refused to let go, turning his head towards the ghostly wolf Obscurus. She was continuing to stir, the shadows nearly blotting out her bright silver light as the Killing Curse's Dark Magic continued to swirl around her.

Then Dustil saw her moving and his eyes widened in pure joy. "You're alive!" he cried, abandoning his father to sweep the ghostly wolf into his arms, hugging her as if his life depended on it. Giles refused to flinch, forcing a smile onto his face as he watched the ghostly wolf register that her friend was wrapped around her, trembling like a leaf and delirious with relief. She lifted her head, weakly licking at his cheek, then sighed and simply leaned against her human friend, the shadows dying away just as quickly as they'd come. In their absence, her silvery light shone all the brighter, illuminating black and white fur in a pattern the Auror recognized from her helicopter form.

Then Dustil reached back, tugging his father forward and somehow managing to hug both his parent and the Obscurus at once. Though Giles' skin crawled at the feel of the Obscurus' magic, he said nothing. Compared to the ecstasy of having his son back in his arms, a little discomfort was more than worth the price.

Wordy quietly gestured the hovering wizards away from Giles and his son. They were going to be fine and they'd be separated again all too soon. Giving them some time with each other was the least he could do. Honestly, the Auror had little doubt that enspelling Giles had been very, very intentional. Probably geared to earn Dustil's appreciation and, though him, gain control of Airwolf's Obscurus.

Except the Neo Death Eaters hadn't counted on Giles being stubborn enough and dedicated enough to trek out to McKean almost every weekend. Though Dustil's cooperation with investigators after his arrest had earned him a reduced sentence, that only meant he had one life sentence to McKean, instead of three. And it hadn't stopped him at all from hurling every insult known to mankind at his estranged father, doing his best to drive Giles away for good.

Every member of Team One had been on hand over the days, weeks, and months following Dustil's imprisonment. They listened to Giles' despair, the shattered dreams, and the grief that his son called another man 'father'. Though Sarge lived with that same agony, at least Dean's adoptive father wasn't a dangerous criminal with a taste for world domination. And he hadn't spent over a decade believing his son was dead. As time passed, little by little, Giles began to heal, though Wordy hadn't been sure his new goal was feasible at all. Definitely not healthy, particularly since Giles had become obsessed with earning his son's trust all over again.

The brunet had talked to Sarge once about the obsession, accidently hitting a sore spot since Sarge had the same obsession about his own son. But Sarge hadn't held that against him; instead, he'd listened carefully to Wordy's honest concerns and conceded that Wordy was right to be worried. If Giles became so obsessed with Dustil that he forgot to live his own life, it wouldn't end well. Especially if Dustil was too intractable to be reached. To himself, Wordy allowed a tiny grin. Look at them now. Dustil was clinging to Lady, but he was also clinging to his father, as if he was afraid Giles would disappear if he let go.

Still smiling, Wordy turned back, regarding the lead Neo Death Eater still pinned under Illishar's bulk. The constable didn't bother to reach for his gun; Locksley was already closing in with a livid expression on her face, wand out and glowing at the very tip as she glared daggers at the wizard on the ground. If looks could kill, the Neo Death Eater would've been dead twenty times over by the time Locksley reached gryphon and captive.

"If you so much as twitch, I will take you out myself," the witch hissed at the wizard.

Illishar backed off the wizard and the man wisely remained completely motionless as he was dragged up by two Aurors, searched, and roughly secured with runic handcuffs. Wordy smirked at the Neo Death Eater triumphantly, casting the man a casually ironic salute as he was dragged off. Then he turned away, even before the arrested wizard was out of sight, silently communicating that the man deserved not so much as a further thought. Of course, that was the exact moment that Illishar keeled over, the gryphon collapsing on his side as the animal exhausted the very last dregs of strength, adrenaline, and endurance.

Greg woke slowly, vaguely aware that his last memory was of the sudden alarm on Wordy's face as 'Illishar' collapsed. Exhaustion swirled around him, tugging him back down to peaceful oblivion, but his stomach was objecting. It took another several minutes to figure out why and even when he did, he was too exhausted to give the fact that he hadn't eaten in over a day more than a passing care.

"You're sure he's not Illishar?" a familiar voice asked. Distant, echoing, and it sounded as if Greg was hearing him through a wall or some great distance.

"Yeah, Boss, we're sure," another familiar voice replied. "Lou, Spike, and I headed back to the safe house to let everyone know the coast was clear and there he was! Sitting at the table, eating dinner, and kinda confused about why we were staring at him like we'd seen a ghost." A pause. "We told him what happened and he got why we thought this guy was Illishar, but he and 'Lanna swear he wasn't at the fire. For what it's worth, Mindy backed them up."

"You don't trust her?" the first voice questioned and Greg could practically hear the other man shrug.

"Sure I do, but she's a Calvin house-elf. If they order her to lie, she has to, Ed."

Eddie. Relief snaked through the exhaustion. His former team leader was okay, he was alive. That alone made the state he was in worth it. The gryphon's tail thumped and he would have smiled if he could have.

"So who is this guy?" Ed wondered, his voice coming closer.

"No idea," the second voice confessed. "He acts too human to be anything other than an Animagus, though, Ed."

"And he knows the barn."

"Sure does. I didn't have a clue we had maintenance tunnels all over the SRU, did you?"

"Nope. Anyone else know?"

There was no verbal response, but Greg was fairly sure the second person must've shrugged again.

A sigh from Ed. "How is everyone?"

The other man huffed. "They're fine. Holleran insisted on Team Two getting Obliviated, though."

Greg winced. Harsh, but the whole of Team Two had gone along with their Sergeant's decision to leave Team One hanging in a deadly shower of lead. It was a miracle that no one on his former team had been killed in that debacle and the Sergeant could understand Holleran's reluctance to trust the men involved with something as earth-shattering as magic.

Belatedly, the gryphon tuned back into the conversation. "…taking it?"

"Troy said it explains a lot," the second voice said, a note of forced cheer rising. "Most of them were really quiet, though. It might take a few days for it to sink in." Another pause. "Leon and Percival didn't trust this guy or Revan, though. I could tell."

Ed sighed. "Not everyone has a good opinion of magic, Wordy. Even if they don't know it's real. Give them some time to get used to the idea, then we'll see."

"Copy," Wordy acknowledged. Greg felt a very gentle nudge at his back, as if the toe of Wordy's boot was just barely prodding the fur. "What do we do with this guy? He still hasn't changed back."

There was a shift of air, then Eddie's voice came, right above Greg's head. "Let's see if we can get him cleaned up first. Once we get all this dirt off, maybe we can figure out what's going on."

A bath… That sounded like pure bliss…

Water sluiced down on the gryphon's body, saturating fur and feathers alike before Lou set the bucket aside and Spike moved in with soap for yet another round of washing the animal's body. If anything, the team had underestimated how thoroughly caked in the dirt and debris was. Just like they'd underestimated the state of the Animagus' feet; they were so ripped up that Team One had been forced to let the gryphon simply lie on the garage floor, washing first one side of his body, then the other. Though he'd given it a valiant effort, the animal was physically unable to stand for longer than a minute or two at a stretch.

Sam and Jules were handling the wings, honing their sniper focus to clean each and every flight feather in those powerful appendages. Wordy had tackled the gryphon's feet, wearing thick gloves and his armor's bracers to guard against the talons on the front feet and the lion claws hidden within massive rear paws. Not that the gryphon would intentionally injure the big constable, but the team feared the damage was bad enough that Wordy might accidently trigger an automatic reflex. They'd been right to be so cautious; the claws had flexed out several times already, drawing worried, apologetic chirrups from the Animagus.

Each time, Ed gently ran his hand through the gryphon's head feathers, reminding him that Wordy was wearing gloves, he was fine, and the 'big guy' didn't have to worry about a thing. The Sergeant felt bad about not using the Animagus' name, but until they could figure it out – or until the man could shift back – they were stuck with 'big guy'. To himself, he continued to ponder the mystery of the gryphon's identity as he washed the animal's head, neck and the area around and between his wings. Already, the feathers were beginning to regain their shine as Ed persistently coaxed every type of dirt imaginable off them, each layer another indicator of how long the gryphon had gone without bathing or, indeed, care of any kind.

It made the officer wonder all the more. He no longer bought into Lou and Spike's initial conclusion for why the gryphon wasn't shifting back. Even if an injury had forced the Animagus to remain in his form, why was he so filthy? Why were his feet worn to a frazzle? More, how did he know so much about how the SRU worked? He'd used an SRU hand signal during the 'raid' according to Wordy and how on Earth had he known about those maintenance tunnels? Ed was grateful he had; from all accounts, the maintenance tunnels had been key to retaking the barn, but the mystery remained.

No, as Ed regarded the animal beneath his hands, there was too much that didn't make sense. Or rather, it made sense, but he couldn't figure out how it made sense. The sense of familiarity about the gryphon, the way the Animagus had plopped his head in Ed's lap as soon as he could. The sigh as he did so, sleepy contentment radiating, as though it didn't matter that he hadn't had anything to eat for a day, at least. Although still feeling guilty over attacking his own brother, Ed had sent Roy a text asking him to bring several takeout containers of steak and bones to the barn, with a solemn promise to pay him back. It was the least Ed could do for the hungry Animagus who'd saved his life.

With an internal sigh, the Sergeant reached for the bucket next to him, dumping his washcloth in and wringing out the dirt. Absently, he watched the filth vanish – Mindy was on hand, using her elf magic to keep the water fresh and clean for the gryphon's bath. The group was sticking with cold water, though; it wasn't like they could ask the animal if the water was too hot, after all. The house-elf had volunteered to help with the bath itself, but all of them had turned her down, feeling as though the Animagus deserved their personal attention after he'd done so much for them. Perhaps, Ed mused, they'd also had the sense that the gryphon preferred their attention to Mindy's; the Animagus had certainly made himself at home as soon as they descended, squrr-ing up a storm before dropping into a contented doze.

He trusted them, Lane realized with a start. The gryphon wasn't concerned at all with what might happen while he slept, trusting the officers totally and completely with his safety. It was a humbling thought and yet another clue – no stranger would trust them so much, even if he was inclined to save their lives. With a huff, Ed pulled the washcloth back out of the bucket, not bothering to wring it out before he attacked the gryphon's head feathers; he needed the water saturation before the cloth would be able to pick up the engrained filth. The Sergeant continued to work, letting his mind drift over the facts as his hands stayed busy with the cleaning, though he switched areas with each swipe of his rag.

At length, Ed began to see the color of the underlying head feathers slowly emerging from the muck. Gray, with hints of white. Inside his chest, his heart began to pick up, the subconscious catching clues his mind refused to acknowledge. With gentle persistence, Ed coaxed the final layers of dirt off the gryphon's head, heartbeat pounding as a circle of gray with white ruffled feathers at the very top rewarded his diligence. Sternly, the Sergeant ordered his racing heart to stop, he was dead, he was never coming back. His heart refused to listen.

Growling under his breath, Ed dunked the washcloth into his bucket, scowling at the vanishing dirt. He snatched it back out and swiped it at the gryphon's neck, irritation rising with each frantic pulse of his heart. Then the fabric snagged on something. What the…?

"Guys…I think I got something."

The washing halted, all heads turning towards the Sergeant as he carefully felt around the washcloth, frowning when his fingers touched leather. Then a large, intricate metal buckle. And finally, coming back to the cloth, he felt something that was either yarn or string, wrapped tightly around an object made of rubber. Ed ran his hands all the way around again, focusing on every nuance beneath his fingertips. Then he looked up again.

"I think he's got a collar on."

"A collar?" Wordy blurted. "Why?"

One shoulder hiked. "I think it has something tied to it, too," Ed added. "Somebody got a scissors or something?"

Spike abandoned his post, moving around; Wordy hastily got out of the way as the bomb tech knelt next to him, leaning in while Ed pushed fur and feathers apart to reveal the collar he'd found. Both men inspected the device – and the flash drive someone had all but woven onto it. The yarn used for the weaving had gotten wet at some point and dried so tightly that the flash drive would have to be cut off the collar. Spike retreated long enough to find scissors and a camera. After snapping a photo of the collar and the flash drive, the lean constable worked with exquisite care to cut the drive free without accidentally jabbing the gryphon.

A few minutes later, Spike straightened, triumph in his eyes as he held up the flash drive. The exterior bore the indentations from the yarn, but the information within had been well protected by the rubber. Ed hesitated, but, really, the bath was all but finished. He eased out from under the gryphon's head, a pang running through him at the gryphon's sleepy protest.

"Okay, Spike, you and I'll take a look at this thing," he decided. Glancing over at the rest of his team, he added, "Finish up the bath and let Mindy check for any last minute dirt. I know we wanted to do it all ourselves, but I've got a hunch."

"A hunch?" Wordy asked.

The Sergeant nodded. "Yeah, Word, I think our guy here can't change back and I bet that's why he's so ripped up, 'cause he couldn't change back and that meant he had to come looking for someone who could help him."

"But Ed, couldn't he have found someone closer?" Jules protested. "He looks like he's been traveling for months."

"Maybe he tried," Lou suggested. "Maybe it didn't work out, so he had to go for something he knew would work."

"Or maybe the person he went to couldn't help?" Spike offered.

"Or he didn't find anyone at all," Sam drawled, leaning forward without putting any weight on the Animagus. "And we really were the closest option."

All possibilities, but they wouldn't know for sure until the gryphon could shift back. Ed pointed to the big animal. "Get started; the sooner you guys get that done, the sooner we can help this big guy out. We owe him."

"Copy," his teammates chorused. That much was beyond all doubt.

Spike brought up every protection and firewall his computer had before he carefully inserted the flash drive into the port. He couldn't just blindly assume that the flash drive had been provided by someone with good intentions. No, he needed to take the same precautions he would on a hot call. But the flash drive loaded with nary an ounce of hesitation and the bomb tech's precautionary virus scan revealed nothing of concern. When he opened it up, there were only two files on the drive, both text files. One was labeled 'Griffin' and the other was labeled 'Everyone Else'.

With a startled blink, Spike clicked on the 'Everyone Else' file. His favorite text editor opened up with an all caps message demanding that he 'leave the griffin alone' and not try to 'put him in a zoo!' because 'he's human, you idiot!' The bomb tech just about gagged at the idea of the Animagus who'd saved his Sergeant ending up in a zoo. After a few seconds with his eyes closed to regain his equilibrium, dark eyes opened with a glimmer of humor. Sounded like whoever had put these two files together really liked their gryphon and had indulged in a textual rant directed at someone else entirely, someone their author couldn't scream at for some reason.

"Anything?"

Spike turned his head, quickly minimizing the text editor – Ed did not need to find out that his rescuer had nearly gotten his wings clipped and been shoved in a zoo. "Two text files, Boss. One for the big guy and one for everyone else," he reported. "I opened up the everyone else file, but it's just a warning that the big guy's actually human, so leave him alone."

Ed made a humming noise. "So I guess we'll have to take a look at the other file."

With a nod, Spike opened the second file, hoping it had more information than the first. Absently, he noted the second file was larger, but only by a kilobyte (3). To his relief and no small amount of surprise, what popped up on his screen was a woman's full name, address, and contact information. Below, she'd added a note, saying, "I'd love to know you got home safe, big guy! Please call."

"She likes him," Spike blurted; you didn't hand a perfect stranger your contact information otherwise.

"Sure looks like it," Ed agreed. "Can you print that out, Spike? Let's take this to Commander Holleran's office."

"Copy that," the bomb tech agreed. Then he stilled as a thought struck and the screen blurred in front of him. "Ed?"

Pausing at the door, the Sergeant looked back. "Yeah, Spike?"

"He knows us, doesn't he?"

"Probably."

Slowly, Spike turned. "Do we know him?" It felt like they did; his heart hadn't stopped hammering ever since he'd seen the gryphon appear, Ed and that little girl safe on his back.

Ed was silent for several seconds. Then, softly, with that same impossible hope that Spike felt, he replied, "I think we do."

The phone rang in Holleran's office, its corded handset resting in its cradle and the phone itself on speaker. The whole of Team One was present, an unspoken tension vibrating around the room. Their mystery gryphon had limped in, fresh from his bath; Mindy had even trimmed down his fur and feathers, giving him a sleek, if rather thin and gaunt look. Ed might've worried over the gauntness of their guest, but while Spike had been briefing Holleran and Mindy had been working on grooming the gryphon, Roy had turned up with breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the hungry Animagus. Ed had tried to pay his brother, only for Roy to push the money back, his eyes saying what his mouth couldn't. The gryphon had saved Ed's life and that was all Roy cared about. The brothers had watched the exhausted Animagus inhale his meal, content that they'd put in a down payment on what they owed the man trapped within the carnivore. In fact, with Roy's help, Ed and Spike had gotten pictures of the collar from every possible angle they could think of, giving the rest of Team One time to clean up and have their own lunch before trying to call their potential informant.

Just as Ed was grinding his teeth and expecting the call to go to voicemail, it was picked up. "Hello?" a woman asked, her voice much younger than Ed had been expecting. By his side, the gryphon perked up, clearly recognizing the voice.

Commander Holleran leaned forward. "Good afternoon, ma'am. I'm Commander Holleran of the Toronto Police Strategic Response Unit. Is this…" He paused, reading the name off the printed sheet. "…Amber Drake?"

There were a few seconds, the woman's confusion almost audible. Then she asked, "You're… I'm being called by a Canadian police officer?" The silent Why? hung.

"Yes, ma'am," Holleran confirmed politely. "We were hoping you could give us some information about…" He paused, then smiled. "…about a mutual friend of ours."

Her confusion deepened, edging towards suspicion. "What mutual friend, officer?"

Ed was about to open his mouth and reply when the gryphon let out an eagle trill of greeting, the musical, seagull-like sound rising and falling in Holleran's office. The commander jerked in surprise as did most of Team One, but Ed and Wordy had heard those musical sounds once before. Ed lifted his hands, swiftly shaping a stern order to not laugh; after he and Wordy had recovered from their fit of hysterical laughter at McKean, they'd spent almost an hour apologizing to Greg for their behavior and Ed was convinced it hadn't done a lick of good in the long run.

But the eagle greeting worked; the woman on the phone let out a squeal of delight. "Big guy!" she cried. "You made it home?"

A trill of fervent agreement and the Sergeant felt the gryphon press into his side.

"Still stuck, though, huh?" Disappointment and chagrin laced the question.

Another eagle sound graced the room, packed with just as much disappointment, though the hope beneath was unmistakable.

"Okay, well, I guess one hurdle is better than nothing," their informant mused to herself. "What was your name, sir?"

Holleran smiled broadly. "Call me Norm, Miss Drake."

"Amber," she insisted. "If you're a friend of the big guy's, then you're a friend of mine."

Ed's eyes widened. That was quite a statement from someone who didn't even know the Animagus' human name. The rest of his team shifted, murmuring to each other, though Jules whistled low under her breath, catching just as many of the implications as her Sergeant.

"What can I do for you, sir?" Amber asked politely.

Holleran glanced up from the phone. "Amber, we're looking for as much information as you can give us," he explained. "I have one of my teams here with me and they're looking after our friend until we can find a solution to his current…dilemma. Ed?"

"Yes, sir," Ed acknowledged, stepping forward. "Ma'am, we took a look at the flash drive you sent along and we've seen the collar. I'm guessing it's our biggest problem right now, but is there anything else you can tell us about the situation?"

Amber was quiet for a long minute. When she spoke, her words were thoughtful. "It's definitely the collar, officer, I heard that magic lady say that much." There was a beat of hesitation, then softly, "Okay, um, I guess I should start from the beginning actually."

Ed nodded; just as he'd thought, there was some kind of history between their mystery gryphon and the woman. He flicked a look at Jules, who nodded back and held up a notebook she'd brought along. Flipping it open, she readied her pen. Glancing back to the phone, Ed murmured, "All right, ma'am, go ahead."

The story that unwound was fantastic and right on the edge of belief, but at the same time, Ed could and did believe it. He did believe that there were people so wrapped up in evil that they hunted other humans like prey, even if it usually wasn't quite so literal. As she continued, admiration for their gryphon rose in his chest. Trapped and in need of rescue himself, their Animagus hadn't hesitated before acting to save others, preventing several murders and stopping the murderers.

There was a flare of horror when Amber mentioned that the 'magic lady' had wanted to stick their mystery gryphon in a zoo – Spike's flinch betrayed that he'd already known that part and Ed would get him later for not saying anything – but their gryphon hadn't let that stop him either. Hadn't let that destroy his trust in people – to willingly get into a stranger's pickup truck and be wrapped in a tarp… Ed wasn't sure he could've done that in the Animagus' place.

But the greatest share of the awe was when Amber related where she'd last seen the gryphon – leaving her family's horse farm near Lexington, Kentucky. Over a month of travel, across countless kilometers, over roads and rivers and probably even over at least one of the Great Lakes. Around towns and cities, Ed was sure of it, and yet the Animagus hadn't given up until he was home. Exhausted, hurting, and past all rational endurance, the gryphon had still saved his life and helped retake the barn. A name whispered in his mind, but he shook the thought away. It was impossible, he was dead.

"Thank you, Miss Drake," Commander Holleran said when the story was finished. "You have my promise that I will let you know once we've solved the problem up here. I have to warn you, though, even when we do, our friend might not be up for a phone call immediately."

"I understand, sir," the woman replied. "I might not be available either; I'm leaving tomorrow for several weeks. We've got a number of races coming up in New York."

Holleran reassured her that they'd find a way to get in touch, then hung up. There was an odd gleam in his eyes as he glanced at the gryphon, calculation and appraisal clear. The commander cleared his throat and reached down, opening a drawer in his desk. "I was going to brief Team Three on this yesterday, but, as you know, things were…disrupted."

"Brief them on what?" Wordy asked in confusion.

"You wanted them to know something before us," Ed cut in, a touch of accusation ringing.

"Yes, Ed, I did," Holleran confirmed, no apology in his voice. "I felt this was something that you and your team didn't need to be burdened with, that it would cause you nothing but pain."

"But now you're going to tell us?" Sam blurted.

"Yes, I am, Constable Braddock." Again, Holleran's eyes rested on the gryphon. Then he pulled out a folder and set it on his desk, though he remained standing. "This is the final forensic report on the fire two months ago," the commander announced.

Ed flinched violently. "You've identified him." Closure. It was what they wanted, what they needed, but he feared it. The end of any possible hope, the last nail in his brother's coffin. The confirmation of what his heart still couldn't accept: that Greg was dead, gone, and never coming back.

For a beat, silence filled the office. Then Commander Holleran replied, in a soft voice, "No, Ed, we haven't."

The room froze, all of them recoiling as though they'd been struck across the face with a sledgehammer. Ed reeled, his gut twisting in on itself and bile licking at the back of his throat. Greg… No closure, no answers, no Greg… His knees nearly buckled, but he forced them to lock, to remain standing.

"What?" someone rasped, the word almost incoherent.

The commander met their gazes squarely. "Two bodies were found after the fire burned itself out," he explained, tone clipped. "The initial autopsy revealed that one was male and one was female." He stopped as they all recoiled again, waiting for the officers to recover. "Due to the fire, the bodies were burned badly enough that visual identification was impossible. We needed DNA or dental records. With Parker involved, we were able to put a rush on that identification, but the forensics lab is so backed up that it's taken until this week before I was able to get any reports back from them."

"And?" It was his voice, but he didn't recognize it.

Holleran's dark eyes locked with his own. "The female body found has been identified as Brenda Kastor," he replied. "The other body has been positively identified as her brother, Castor Troy."

Ed's world rocked and he was only vaguely aware of staggering back into the office wall, panting for breath as his lungs closed in a vice grip. Alive, Greg was alive. He was out there somewhere and they'd let him down again! Why, why, why had they assumed he was dead, that he couldn't have found some way to survive and escape? Tears spilled down his face; two months and his friend had been out there, alone and probably hurt and desperate for help. Was he even still alive? His knees gave, the world compressing to nothing more than his own bitter, bitter failure. What had he done? He'd given up, walked away again, and left his friend to die, again. Shivers wracked his body as visions of Greg in desperate straits stole through his mind. Greg, Greg, Greg… It…it had been two months…the odds of Greg still being alive were nil. But to give up yet again… He would search for the rest of his life if he had to. He wouldn't give up until he was cradling his brother's body.

Then the gryphon gave a plaintive, worried whine and Ed's head came up, blue meeting hazel. He wasn't even aware of speaking until he heard himself say, "Greg?"

The gryphon limped forward, curling into him and purring fit to burst. Ed's arms moved by themselves, wrapping around Greg's neck and clinging to him with every bit of strength the man could muster. Somehow, Greg got his foreleg around Ed's back, gently pulling his tall, lean friend close. The great gryphon head stayed bowed, tucked under Ed's chin, contentment and joy radiating from that weary frame.

The rest of their team descended, every ounce of dignity thrown to the winds as they embraced their two Sergeants, crying unashamedly as the truth sank in. Greg was alive, he was home. He hadn't died, alone and forsaken by all those he loved. Somehow, in spite of the odds and every last kilometer between Toronto and Colorado, he'd made it. He'd survived and he'd found his way home to them. He hadn't given up on them, not even once.

Very, very quietly, Ed whispered, "Welcome home, Greg."

And inside his heart, he swore he heard a ghost soft, 'Thanks, Eddie.'

[3] Text files are some of the smallest files you can find on a computer. Even a rich text document typically measures in kilobytes instead of megabytes. This fact dates back to the earliest days of computers, when space was incredibly valuable and an operating system owner's manual would apologize for being mere kilobytes bigger than its predecessor! In fact, as of this note, my largest document is only 1.72 MB and it is over 1,000 pages of text. My second-largest document checks in at 625 KB for 425 pages of text.