Chapter One: Reaching For Normal

Author note: This story is the sixty-sixth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "No Home Like the One I've Got".

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

Three weeks to the day Greg had come home, the SRU's first ever lieutenant walked through the barn's front doors, accompanied by an anxious Shelley Wordsworth. He wore a brand-new pair of sneakers on his feet, purchased just the day before after Parker had been conditionally cleared to return to work. The navy blue footwear sported the best support insoles they'd been able to find and Greg wore a thicker pair of socks in hopes of protecting his still-fragile feet.

The officer knew perfectly well that he was still far from being ready for a full day's work, even if it was nothing but sitting around and doing paperwork. But he was getting fed up with sleeping all day and constantly needing support to move from Wordy's guest room to the living room. Shelley was being a good sport, willingly opening up her home to his entire family, but Greg was reluctant to trespass on her hospitality any longer than he had to. It was incredible she hadn't gotten utterly fed up with him already – or at least fed up with Team One dropping by practically every day.

"Sir!" From her spot at the dispatcher's desk, Kira spotted him first and whisked around the circular countertop to meet him halfway.

"Hello, Kira," Greg said, inwardly dreading the inevitable flood of questions.

To his surprise, she didn't ask him about where he'd been, how he'd survived, or anything at all about his ordeal. Instead she said, "Commander Holleran is talking to Sergeant Vio right now, sir. Do you need me to get you a chair?"

"Yes," Shelley replied before he could. "Greg's walking now, but he still can't stand for very long."

"Yes, ma'am," Kira agreed. She whisked into the briefing room and stole one of the rolling chairs, bringing it back for the lieutenant to use.

"Kira," Greg broke in, reaching out to catch the chair when she rolled it to him. With a wink, he said, "Don't call me 'sir', I work for a living."

Laughter lit her eyes, but there was a nervousness as well. "Yes, Sar…uh…, um, Lieutenant."

The negotiator smiled at her. "Kira, you can keep calling me Sarge, if you want. Wordy's still calling me Sarge, too."

The wary light vanished into genuine delight and joy. "Yes, Sarge," Kira immediately acknowledged.

"I woulda thought you'd lord it over us, Parker," another voice sneered.

Greg stiffened. Sergeant Roenick – and it sounded like his jealous streak had hit new heights in the wake of Team One's explosive return to the top of the SRU food chain. Turning to face the man, the officer cocked a brow. "That's Lieutenant Parker to you, Sergeant." Hazel hardened. "Only my friends get to keep calling me Sarge."

"Playing favorites, are we?" Team Two's Sergeant drawled.

"Respect is earned, Sergeant Roenick," Greg countered. "Earn mine and you can call me whatever you want." A deliberate pause. "You might start by apologizing to Sergeant Lane."

Roenick stiffened, realizing the new SRU lieutenant knew all about how Team Two had left Team One dangling in a hail of gunfire while they snapped up the gangsters from behind – and claimed credit for all the arrests. However effective the tactic had been, it was unbecoming of an SRU Sergeant to backstab his colleagues and risk their lives for his team's own benefit. Defeated, Roenick slunk away; this was not the man he'd met before, always seeking compromise and negotiation, no matter the provocation. This was a man who knew when he needed to use force, even if only in the form of a sharp verbal rebuke.

Shelley nodded approval. She'd heard all about that particular debacle from her husband, along with a number of other nasty tricks Sergeant Roenick had played on Team One in an effort to seize the top spot in the SRU. Greg's eyes flicked to her; although Wordy hadn't said anything and neither had anyone else on Team One, both Shelley and Sophie had set aside several hours one afternoon to bring him as up to date as they could on everything his former team had gone through since he'd been sent undercover.

The lieutenant's feet throbbed and he turned the chair so he could simply drop into it. Shelley cast him an amused, half-chiding glance, but didn't speak as she stepped up to sign the SRU's guest visitor book. Kira returned to her dispatcher duties and a comfortable silence descended. Greg fidgeted, puzzled by the lack of questions from the blonde. He'd expected and – indeed – braced himself for a flood of questions about his ordeal. Much as he wanted to turtle in and pretend it had never happened, Parker knew his coworkers deserved answers as to what had happened and why.

"Lieutenant Parker."

Aching feet or no, Greg shot up out of the chair, turning to face his commander. He didn't salute, but it was a near thing. "Sir."

"Easy there, Lieutenant," Holleran chided, reaching out to steady the unstable man. Behind wire rim glasses, the commander's dark eyes shifted to Greg's companion. "Mrs. Wordsworth," he greeted.

"Commander," Shelley returned, moving to Parker's other side. "Perhaps we could take this to your office?"

"Of course," the tall, lean officer agreed, adjusting his stance to bracket Greg.

Hazel glittered and Parker shook himself free. "I can walk, sir." He ignored the glance of affectionate exasperation the pair shared behind his back as he strode to the commander's office and found himself a new chair.

Commander Holleran followed Greg inside and went to his closet to pull out a bundle of clothing. Moving to his desk, he set the bundle down in front of Parker. "I spoke with your Healer, Greg, and it turns out his assistant has been keeping a close eye on your stats."

The recovering man blinked. "Kadie knows my new clothes size?"

Holleran's gaze turned wry. "In a word, yes, she does, Lieutenant."

Greg flushed bright red and ducked his head. "Yes, sir."

Shelley joined the men, inspecting the clothing with interest. "Commander Holleran? Is this Greg's new uniform?"

"Yes, it is, Mrs. Wordsworth," Holleran replied before shifting his attention back to his subordinate. "It's a bit on the large side, since Healer Queenscove believes you'll start regaining weight now that you're off the broth and soup regime. Once you've had a chance to try it on and see what you think, I'll order another set or two."

Greg brightened at the reminder. That had been extremely good news, that his system had recovered to the point that he could stop eating broth in favor of solid foods. Although his diet was still restricted – no steak or any other tough, chewy foods – the sheer variety of what he could eat far outshadowed the remaining restrictions. Even better, his body had healed enough that he could start – carefully – building his strength and endurance back up.

Commander Holleran's expression turned chiding. "Lieutenant…" A deliberate pause. "Greg. We just got you back. Don't push it."

Hazel dropped in slight shame. "Yes, sir."

Shelley's hand found his shoulder and squeezed as Holleran rapped his desk. "Greg. I am not saying you can't come back. Just don't push yourself too hard, understand?"

"Yes, sir," Greg acknowledged. "It's just…" He hesitated.

"He's going stir-crazy with nothing to do," Shelley put in tartly. "And he seems to be under the impression that he's imposing on me and my family."

Parker cringed, not bothering to argue the point. Shelley would just steamroll over his objections anyway. Morose, he poked at the bundle of clothes, painfully aware that his flip-flopping, uncontrollable moods were another sign that he had a long ways to go in his recovery. Assuming he was still a negotiator. Over the past two weeks, Greg had thought things over and come to the conclusion that his new role was likely to feature mostly desk time and paperwork without much – if any – action. Just as his days of being on Team One were over, so too were his days of actively keeping the peace.

Holleran made a thoughtful noise. "All right then," he mused. "We can start going over your new position, Greg."

Greg's attention snapped to his boss. "Yes, sir," he agreed.

The dark-skinned, pepper-haired commander leaned forward. "Understand, things are still in flux right now. This is a new position with new duties and I'll need to tailor your current duties to your physical limitations."

"I understand," Greg acknowledged.

A faint grimace. "We'll also have to wait on some of the new equipment I've put in for. It will probably arrive before you need it, but we'll have to wait and see."

Thoughtful, Greg nodded. "I assume…paperwork," he hazarded.

Amusement pinned him. "Are you up for more than that, Greg?"

Reluctant, Greg shook his head ruefully. "I, ah… My handwriting is terrible right now," he confessed.

"I'm aware," Holleran rumbled. "Healer Queenscove made it clear that the nerve damage in your hands and feet will take quite awhile to heal. Your new laptop arrived this morning and it's been fully set up to connect to the network and the printer. I'll walk you through it tomorrow."

Embarrassment shadowed the relief and Greg ducked his head again.

"For today, we'll go over how I envision your role working once you're back fulltime and completely up to speed."

Interest surged and it was Greg's turn to lean forward, intent and fully engaged as his commander began to explain.

Shelley sighed to herself as she helped Greg into the passenger side of the Wordsworth minivan. He said all the right things and he was scrupulously following the Healer's orders and yet… Despite Healer Queenscove clearing him for light duty, Greg was exhausted. After only two hours that had been mostly Commander Holleran talking. Even with the best sneakers and support insoles Shelley had been able to find, Greg could barely walk. Something wasn't jiving; why was Greg cleared to resume work when he so clearly couldn't handle it yet?

"Greg, I'm going to go back and get your new uniform, okay?"

"Thanks, Shelley," Greg breathed, closing his eyes in relief.

The blonde slipped away and back into the station, going directly to Commander Holleran's office. The tall black man was waiting for her, holding a plastic bag. Shelley took the bag, glancing inside to see Greg's new uniform. Her mouth smiled, but worry shone in her eyes.

"Did he come back too soon?" Commander Holleran asked quietly.

Unhappiness twisted her mouth. "Healer Queenscove cleared him for light duty," she replied. "And he's been following all his instructions to a 't'." Shelley managed a small, affectionate smile. "Even the 'broth-only' edict – and believe me, Greg was getting sick of it."

Commander Holleran chuckled softly, then sobered. "He's not ready."

Shelley shook her head. "No, I don't think so. Once I get him home, I'm putting him right to bed and calling Healer Queenscove." Her lips pursed. "We're missing something, because I agreed with Greg's conclusion; light duty meant he was good to start back."

The commander nodded once. "That was my assumption as well, Mrs. Wordsworth." He offered a smile of his own. "If Parker was told that he was cleared for light duty, then he didn't do anything wrong. Let me know when he's ready to try again." Tilting his head at the plastic bag, he added, "If you can get him into trying that on and seeing how it fits, I'd appreciate it."

"I'll let you know," Shelley promised. She left the office, giving the blonde dispatcher a quick wave as she headed back to her minivan; the willowy woman was unsurprised to find Greg fast asleep. Something had gotten lost in translation and she intended to find out what. Decision made, she started the car and drove home.

The dismay on Healer Queenscove's face might've been comical if Shelley hadn't been so angry. "What do you mean he's only supposed to walk around at home?" she hissed. "You said he was cleared for light duty!"

"Yes, of course," Healer Queenscove replied, tone matter of fact. "Aurors on light duty are homebound, but can owl their work in if necessary." A frown appeared. "Given Parker's circumstances, I presumed he would add a small exercise regime to his day and wear sneakers during that."

Shelley forced herself to calm down. "Healer Queenscove," she began, through gritted teeth, "we believed that 'light duty' meant Greg could go to work again." Blue narrowed dangerously. "Now, I know Greg Parker, sir, and now that he's managed to make it in, he's going to keep going in. So perhaps you have some ideas on how to make a man far too stubborn for his own good stay put?"

The older man paled at her vehemence, then frowned thoughtfully. "As a matter of fact, Mrs. Wordsworth, I do have an idea or two…"

Kevin eyed the potions lined up on the kitchen counter, a wary gleam in his eyes. "Shel?"

Shelley sighed heavily as she turned to her husband. "So…apparently, when Healer Queenscove told Greg he was cleared for 'light duty', he meant, 'stay home for another few weeks and maybe do some paperwork. If you absolutely have to.' "

Kevin goggled. "Wait, what?"

The blonde grimaced. "I know. Light duty sounds like he can go back to work. That's what I thought."

Her husband nodded. "Me too."

"That's how Greg took it," Shelley murmured. "Commander Holleran agreed with me as well, but we were only there for two hours or so and Greg could barely stay awake long enough for me to get him back to bed."

The brunet groaned and buried his face in his hands for a moment. "That's just great," he moaned. "No way is Sarge gonna be okay with staying here all day."

"That's what I told Healer Queenscove," Shelley replied, gesturing to the potions.

Kevin paused, studying the potions again. "Sleeping potions?"

"Half of them are," Shelley confessed. "He took Lance and Alanna aside and taught them how to spell the potions right into Greg's system." With a brief gesture at the front row of potions, she explained, "These are for during the day."

Her husband frowned. "What about mealtimes?"

With a tiny sigh, Shelley pointed to the cabinet right above the two rows of glass vials. "Extra-strength nutrient potions. They should be enough to keep him from losing any more weight." With another sigh, she confessed, "Queenscove's going to have Kadie come over every day to help out and start building his muscles back up, but you and I both know that Greg's too stubborn for his own good. The Healer told him he could go back to work, so that's what he's going to do."

For several seconds, husband and wife gazed at each other, then Kevin's shoulders slumped. "So we gotta keep him asleep for what? Another week?"

"Yes," Shelley confirmed. "Healer Queenscove said the other potions are for overnight."

Kevin's eyebrows hiked. "Only for overnight?"

"That's right," Shelley replied. "Lance will spell the first overnight potion in later this evening and Alanna volunteered to take the mornings."

Although Kevin didn't look very pleased, he nodded acceptance and said nothing more. Shelley understood his ambiguity; she wasn't best pleased with Healer Queenscove's solution either. At first, she'd refused to essentially keep Greg in a magical coma for a week, only for the kids to agree with the Healer. When Healer Queenscove had dangled the carrot that the overnight potion would heal Greg's magical core faster, she'd surrendered the argument. Although she still didn't understand why an incredibly useful potion like that could only be applied overnight.

Lance sighed to himself as he picked up the first overnight potion. He'd been rather surprised when Healer Queenscove pulled himself and Alanna aside, quietly asking if they were aware of their uncle's status vis-à-vis his team. It hadn't taken long to figure out that he knew about the 'team sense', but it had been even more of a surprise to find out that there were potions capable of affecting the magical core.

Uncle Wordy had already figured it out, though Aunt Shelley was still clueless as to why Healer Queenscove was so adamant that the light blue potion only be applied during the nighttime hours. After dinner, the big man had tugged them into Uncle Greg's room to ask a few questions.

"How long are the overnight potions supposed to last?"

"Eight hours," Lance replied promptly. "Healer Queenscove said it won't actually last that long, though."

"And how does he know that?" Uncle Wordy asked nervously.

Alanna sighed. "The first one was supposed to last a full day, but everyone woke up by early afternoon."

"Sarge woke up first," Uncle Wordy pointed out. "He said it took another hour after he woke up for the rest of us to wake up."

The teens traded nervous glances of their own, then Alanna volunteered, "Healer Queenscove said you guys would be just fine as long as Uncle Greg gets the potion by ten."

"The regular sleeping potions don't affect the magical core," Lance added before Uncle Wordy could ask. " 'Lanna's gonna have to get up a little early, but, um… Healer Queenscove said as long as Uncle Greg doesn't get any more sleeping potions for a couple of weeks after this, it should be okay."

"And since we're keeping him down anyway, might as well accelerate his magical core's healing?" Uncle Wordy guessed.

Both teenagers nodded solemnly.

Uncle Wordy grimaced, then sighed and nodded back. "Copy that."

Between dinner and bedtime, Uncle Wordy had gotten in touch with the rest of Team One, giving them a heads up on the latest development. Afterwards, he'd whispered a time in Lance's ear, earning a quiet acknowledgement. The young man waited until it was close to the requested time, then retrieved the potion and headed for the guest room. Inside, he waited, watch in hand as it counted down. At 9:55 PM on the dot, Lance cast the Switching Spell, placing the light blue potion directly into his uncle's system. The sleeping man seemed to relax, minutely slumping down further in the bed.

With his guardian safely asleep, Lance set the vial down on the nearby dresser and pushed himself up to sit on the bed. In the silence, the brunet gazed at his uncle, desperation shining in the depths of sapphire eyes. He wanted to believe that he and his sister were the most important people in his uncle's life, but doubt gnawed at him. Miss Marina wasn't coming over, but that was because of Aunt Shelley's edict, not anything Uncle Greg had done.

And…and wasn't it fair that Uncle Greg have his own life? Wasn't it fair for him to have someone in his life who made him happy? Why would he choose two pathetic little orphans over the woman he loved? Miss Marina made Uncle Greg happy – and she hadn't brought magic into Uncle Greg's life. She hadn't made his magical core blow up, she hadn't left him struggling to manage Animagus instincts and rogue Wild Magic and…and… She hadn't left him stuck between two worlds, neither wholly magical nor wholly techie. Never again could Uncle Greg be solely one or the other – and the same went for the rest of Team One, too. If they'd never come, then Uncle Greg wouldn't be lying there in the bed, suffering from Aslan only knew what.

Tears slipped down the teenager's cheeks. After everything they'd put Uncle Greg through, how could he still love them? The situation he was in, it was their fault. He and Team One would spend the rest of their lives struggling with what two young Wild Mages had done to them. They hadn't meant to do it to their adoptive family, but they still had. Once Uncle Greg found a new apartment and Miss Marina moved in, Lance knew he and his sister would need a new place to live. They'd be out on their own again, with no family or friends or even a place to call home. And that…that was only just, even if the truth of it hurt even worse than the night his parents had died.

Awareness returned slowly. Greg shifted on the bed, his mind sluggish and bleary. It felt like he'd been sleeping a whole lot longer than just an afternoon… For several minutes, the stocky man struggled to pull his focus together enough to figure out why everything was so…floaty. His body felt heavy, almost begging him to sleep. Even as he strained to wake up, he heard footsteps coming closer. A tiny sniffle brought him on full alert and he tried to roll over, to reach out. Then his stomach lurched and he felt the magic curl around his core, a soothing thrum pulling him back down into slumber.

For the next several days, Greg strained and struggled to wake up, but each time, just as he seemed to be gaining ground, a fresh potion would hit his system, dragging him back down into sweet oblivion. Although he couldn't remember any of the things he felt or heard during his brief awakenings, frustration began to build regardless. Where memory failed, instinct did not and it knew something he didn't – something that had to do with one or both of his nipotes…something that he needed to fix. And fast. If only he could wake up.

Magic tingled in his chest, lively and energetic like nothing Greg had ever felt before. His mind and body still felt heavy and sluggish, but his hands and feet weren't throbbing nearly as much as they had been before. It took several minutes before the stocky man managed to wake up enough to realize that he must've been sleeping for more than just a day or so. Although magic had been known to work miracles, Healer Queenscove had been adamant that it would take him a significant time to heal and yet he felt a hundred times better than he'd felt before his…nap? Slumber? Maybe a coma?

"Good morning, Greg."

Hazel blinked for several seconds, regaining focus, then Parker gazed at Shelley, eyes narrowing in spite of her cheery tone. "How long?" he demanded quietly.

Shelley's bright countenance fell. "Today's Friday," she admitted, biting her lip.

Hurt shone. "Shelley, why?"

The blonde sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. "After we got home and I got you to bed, I called Healer Queenscove."

Dread stirred and Greg pushed himself to a sitting position. "And?"

The willowy woman's mouth twisted in disdain. "Apparently, in the magical world, light duty means you're stuck at home and you mail in your paperwork if it's necessary."

It took a moment for her words to sink in, then Parker groaned and buried his face in his hands. "So when I went to work…"

"Greg, stop. We all thought light duty meant you were ready to go back," Shelley interrupted, tone gentle. "Don't blame yourself when we all made the exact same assumption."

The rest was easy to put together. Reluctant, Greg lifted his gaze to his former teammate's wife. "So you figured that since I'd made it into the barn once, I'd go all obstinate and not listen to Healer's orders?" The worst of it was, he couldn't even blame Shelley for her assumption that he would refuse to stay put. Before his undercover stint, he would have done just that. Well enough to make it in, well enough to work and never mind what anyone else said.

After a minute of silence, Shelley reached out and put a hand on his arm, her gaze concerned and her tone hesitant. "Greg?"

Sorrowful hazel returned her regard. "I hear you, Shelley. I just… maybe next time you could ask first?" Shame dropped his eyes. "I'd like to think I can learn from past mistakes."

"Greg, I…" Shelley stopped, then laughed ruefully, the change in the sound enough to tell Greg that she was looking down, too. "I'm sorry, Greg. I did assume and I didn't give you a chance to prove me wrong."

He shrugged limply. "It's okay, Shelley." With his free hand, he tapped his chest. "You, ah, you got that light blue potion from Healer Queenscove for last night?"

"For the last four nights," Shelley corrected, unaware of Greg's internal freeze. "You won't be able to take any more sleeping potions for a month or so, but Healer Queenscove said there won't be any long-term consequences." A pause. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Greg replied. Curiosity surged and he tugged his arm free so he could lift both hands and turn them over.

To his utter shock, his hands…looked almost normal. Not completely healed by any means, but only a few days earlier, they'd still looked like he'd put them through a meat grinder. But now… Awe flooded him as he stared down at freshly healed skin. He could see the gun calluses he'd built up over the years and the flesh at the center of his palms still had yet to heal, but… Gingerly, Greg flexed his hands, almost thrilling in the lack of pain. He'd expected scarring, but not only were his hands healing without scars from the ravaging he'd given them on the trip home, the straight line scars across his palms were…gone. He'd gotten them the day he and Spike had been jumped, the day he'd found out just how much his body had changed physically thanks to his Animagus form, but now those raised white lines were nothing but a memory. Greg wasn't sure how he felt about that, but there was little point in complaining. He hadn't liked those scars much anyway – they'd been a nasty reminder of just how destructive he could be if he ever let loose.

Shelley sucked in her breath, one hand rising to her mouth as she too regarded his hands. "Greg, that's amazing," she whispered.

He nodded, but his mouth twisted. "I bet the nerve damage isn't healed yet."

"No, but at least we're getting somewhere," Shelley pointed out, practical as ever. "Now come on, let's see how you do on your feet."

"Copy," Parker agreed, struggling to get out from under the blankets. "So, what, I'm trying again on Monday?"

Shelley made a noise of approval. "That's the plan," she replied. "If you're up for it, I've got a preliminary list of possible apartments we can check out this weekend."

Greg nodded and started to swing out of the bed, then halted. "Shelley?"

At his tentative tone, she turned back and arched an eyebrow.

"How…how are mio nipotes doing? Really doing?"

Silence hung between them and Greg swallowed hard at the blonde's uncertainty. Finally, Shelley sighed and turned away. "I think you need to ask them that, Greg."

"I have," Greg countered. "Alanna will talk to me, but Lance won't." Frustration shone, twisting his expression into a grimace. "I've asked him what's wrong several times, but he just says nothing's wrong." One fist slammed the bed, enough to make the pillow behind him bounce. "I'm not blind, I know something's wrong. Otherwise he wouldn't be calling me sir all the time and avoiding my eyes. He wouldn't be finding reasons to never be alone with me and running away whenever he thinks I'll react badly. But he won't talk to me."

For several minutes, neither spoke, the ticking of the clock on the bedside table almost loud. Shelley fidgeted, thinking through her response. "I think…I think you're right, Greg. But I'm not sure what to tell you; he hasn't talked to any of us either. Not…not since everything…started."

The dread was back, along with fear, dismay, and a growing horror. "Shelley, what do I do?" Greg pleaded. "I hurt them, I know that, but what do I do? How do I fix it?" How do I get my kids back?

Again, the clock ticked away in their ears, impossibly loud in spite of its small size. Shelley's expression turned uncertain and wary. "Greg…I… I don't know what to say."

"Please, Shelley," Greg pleaded, begging without an ounce of shame. She knew something – or suspected something – he could tell. Why wouldn't she tell him?

The blonde woman stiffened, taking a step back. Then her chin rose, defiance flashing. "I think you need to make a choice," she snapped. "Who do you care about more – them or her?" Without giving him time to reply, Shelley swept out and yet Greg caught a glimpse of her hands. They were trembling, a sure sign that her defiance was fragile.

Left behind on the bed, Greg's mouth dried up. In those few moments, Shelley had been afraid of him. She'd reacted to him like…like an abused woman. Suddenly, he hoped Wordy never found out about the conversation – his constable would slaughter him for frightening Shelley so badly, links or impossible trust notwithstanding. A part of him couldn't understand why Shelley would react that way – he'd never, ever hurt her – but the rest of him did understand, just as he understood perfectly well who Shelley had been referring to.

The SRU lieutenant and former negotiator shivered. It appeared he'd come to yet another crossroads in his life. Because Shelley was absolutely correct. He had to decide who he loved more – who he was going to choose.

His kids…or Marina.