Chapter Three: The Boy in the Locker Room

On Monday morning, Greg Parker took life by the horns and slid behind the wheel of his dark blue SUV to drive himself into work. Shelley had volunteered to drive him in again, but Greg felt well enough to take the chance that he could drive himself to and from work. If it didn't work out, he could beg a ride from Wordy, but Greg was willing to take the chance that he could manage.

All other things being equal, Greg might've let Shelley help him out, but Wordy and Team One had had a particularly nasty hot call on Sunday that had stretched well into the evening hours. By the time his former constable stumbled home, he'd been so exhausted he could hardly see straight. The Sergeant-turned-Lieutenant had therefore made an executive decision. He would drive himself so Shelley could focus on Wordy.

Greg gripped his steering wheel rather gingerly, wary of bringing his still tender palms in contact with the leather. His feet, well cushioned in their sneakers, only throbbed a little as he guided the vehicle out of the driveway and onto the road leading to the barn. The officer drove as defensively as he could, painfully aware that it was his first time driving himself since the first few days of his undercover assignment. Mob boss Carl Elias hadn't needed to drive himself anywhere; that's what minions were for.

By the time Parker arrived at the SRU, he was already wrung out from the stress of dealing with early morning rush hour traffic. Maybe he'd overestimated what he was capable of. Thankfully, after a few minutes of sitting in his parked car, eyes closed as he breathed in a slow, even manner, Greg regained enough energy to open his eyes again and clamber out of the car. The officer walked toward the entrance, pleased when the movement brought yet another fresh surge of energy.

Once inside, Greg let his steps slow, inwardly reveling in finally being back at work. As stressful as his job in the SRU could be at times, after over four months of being kept away, it felt like…coming home. The broad smile that lit his face simply couldn't be held back. One hand reached out, his fingers trailing on the wall. It was pure fantasy, but Greg fancied he could hear the building itself welcoming him back. Being back in his gryphon form…it simply didn't count. Being back while still under IS's jurisdiction, that didn't count either. And he'd been too ill and miserable to enjoy the moment when he'd come back after his final week undercover – or the prior Monday when Shelley had driven him in.

Without thinking, Greg turned towards the locker room, smile growing wider as he swept in, ready for a new day of keeping the peace. It wasn't until he found himself standing in front of an open, totally empty locker that he realized. He didn't have a locker any more…and even if he did, he only had one uniform at the moment. Which he was wearing. It was rather embarrassing, but both he and Shelley had forgotten about Commander Holleran's request that he try the uniform on and get back to the commander about how it fit until just that morning.

Flushing bright red, Greg backed away from his former locker. What had he expected to find? It had been over four months, it wasn't like the SRU would've kept his locker intact, especially with the story about him falling off the wagon and ending up in rehab. The thrill of being home drained away, his shoulders slumping as the fresh reminder that he wasn't Team One any more sank in. Unconsciously, he had expected it to go back to what it had been; intellectually, he'd known better, but oh how his heart had hoped.

Dejected, Greg began to turn away when a tiny noise reached his ears. The lieutenant froze in place, closing his eyes so he could listen. It took another few minutes, but just as Parker was about to give up, there was a whisper-soft squeak against the tile, followed by the sound of a gasp. Young, high-pitched, with a catch of fear behind the cry. And that squeak hadn't sounded like a shoe…

Razor focus replaced the dejection and Greg's head swung towards the sound, hazel narrowing. His stance shifted and the lieutenant moved forward, each foot placed with the precision of a predator. Without being consciously aware of it, Parker stalked his target, adopting the same tactics he'd used to catch deer as a gryphon. Not a single noise escaped to alert his prey to his movements. Just around the corner, Greg's eyes narrowed further at the sight of a pile of clothing on the floor, right between the wooden bench and the row of gray steel lockers that Team One used.

Parker moved to the clothing and crouched, frown deepening when his cautious investigation revealed the bumps and lines of keys and a wallet inside the jeans' pockets. The owner of the keys couldn't have gone too far…not unless they'd been planning on walking home. Without their keys, wallet, or jeans… Or shoes, Greg realized when he spotted them right next to the jeans, half-hidden by the blue denim. Only the shirt was missing…and maybe the socks. No, there were the socks, just a few steps beyond the pile of clothing he'd found, tangled with what looked like underwear. What the heck was going on?

Instinct whispered and Greg remained still, listening for the person he'd heard before. It took another minute or so, but then he heard a few small scuffing sounds, coming closer. The lieutenant held his breath, lifting his head towards the next row of lockers. He caught a flash of wide eyes, heard another gasp, then the figure retreated. In one movement, Greg was up and striding forward. He rounded the corner, hazel flashing; there was a squeak of fear and the other person tried to run.

Four brisk angry strides brought him in close, catching up to the unknown. One hand reached out and flicked the nearby light switch on. Then Greg froze in horror, anger evaporating as he stared down at a little blond-haired boy in a white t-shirt far too large for him. Wide blue eyes met Greg's hazel and the urchin was trembling in fear as he stared up at the adult looming over him. The child tried to back away, only to trip over the hem of the shirt; he let out a terrified cry as he fell.

Automatically, Greg swept down, catching the boy in the nick of time, right before he could bang his head on the wooden bench behind him. Despite the rescue, the blond screeched as if Parker was skinning him alive and scampered away as soon as the officer jerked back, caught off guard by the terror-stricken sound. The lieutenant forced himself to freeze in place, well aware that he'd frightened the child out of his wits. Inadvertently – and what was a little boy doing in the SRU locker room – but he'd still done it.

He was also between the urchin and the door, a fact the little blond was keenly attentive to as those wide blue eyes darted from Greg to the door and back, undisguised terror on his small face. Very cautiously, Parker lifted his hands, keeping them open, but the fingers closed in an effort to dial down his predator aura. "Hi there," he said softly. "I'm Greg Parker."

Wide blue eyes managed to go even wider, then the blond cocked his head to the side ever so slightly; Greg felt his heart stutter to a halt. The little boy…he looked just like Sam. He hadn't seen it at first, but that movement, it was so very…Sam. More, now that he was looking, the child had the rudiments of Sam's jaw line as well as blond hair that was only a few shades lighter than the blond hue Greg was familiar with. The lieutenant could well believe that Sam's hair had darkened as he'd grown up; one boy he'd gone to primary school with had had blond hair even paler than Sam's, only to end up with dark blond hair by the time he graduated high school.

Even as he stared in utter shock, the boy calmed down, even managing a smile as he came right up to Greg, lifting his hands in that unspoken request known to children everywhere. Parker reached out, scooping the miniature version of his former constable up as he rose to his feet. It took a little juggling, but he managed to get the blond safely situated, wincing as he realized Sam really was only wearing an adult-sized white t-shirt.

An idea nudged at him, but… Reflexively, Greg flicked a glance back at his locker, even though he knew it was empty. Cautiously, the lieutenant reached inwards, tapping against the 'team sense'. Sam looked a question up at him as he felt the magic within him shiver, but Greg gave him a reassuring smile and bounced the little boy in his arms, earning a surprised giggle. With exquisite care, Greg walled off Sam's connection with the rest of his teammates; the blond did not need to be frightened any more than he already had been. Once he'd done that, Parker reached out again, gently tapping against one particular link.

A few faint grumbles tumbled down the link, followed by Ed's annoyed, 'Yeah, Greg, what is it?'

'Sorry to bother you so early,' Greg apologized, 'But do you know what happened to the stuff in my locker?'

His former team leader paused, annoyance vibrating. 'This couldn't wait for a couple hours?'

'Sorry, Eddie, but I need something I left in there.'

'Now?'

'Yes,' Greg confirmed simply without elaboration. He absolutely was not explaining Sam's sudden reversion to his childhood over the 'team sense'.

Ed grumbled again, but replied, 'Fine, whatever. All your stuff is in my locker.' A mental image of the locker combination sailed down the link, along with a demand to not be bothered again for another couple of hours, then the connection shut down.

Parker winced and made a mental note to apologize later for waking his friend up. Armed with Eddie's locker combination, the lieutenant made his way to the locker and popped it open with his free hand. One eyebrow arched; Ed hadn't been kidding. One side of the locker was all of Ed's stuff and the other side was all of his. Greg found himself fighting back a sudden onslaught of dust in his eyes; Eddie really hadn't given up on him. His former team leader would've been justified in throwing out every last thing in his locker, but instead Ed had sacrificed half of his own locker space.

Forcing his attention back to the disaster at hand, Greg shifted and crouched to let little Sam down on the floor. "Give me a sec here, sport."

"Yes, sir," Sam replied, tone clear and strong despite his young age.

Greg straightened and dug through 'his' side of Ed's locker. It didn't take long to find the four-year-old sized sets of clothes from when Lance had been De-Aged. He'd been planning to either donate the clothing or give it to another SRU family, which was why he'd brought the clothes in the day before the annual picnic, but then everything had gone topsy-turvy. Still, it was proving to be fortuitous, since he still had child-sized clothing that might fit the miniature Sam doing his best to stay quiet and stand at-ease.

"All right, Sam," Greg began, turning towards the blond. "Puppies, a train, or, um…" He turned the final shirt to eyeball it. "…or a metal lion?"

Sam blinked, clearly perplexed by the question. "Sir?" he ventured uncertainly.

Parker took a half-step back and knelt, bringing the three kid-sized shirts down to Sam's level. "Which shirt would you like?" he asked.

The little boy stiffened, eyes widening as they darted to each shirt in turn, then up to Greg's face, and back to the shirts. As the cycle repeated, the stocky man felt his heart sink. Surely Sam had been allowed to pick out his own clothes as a child, hadn't he? Surely he hadn't been expected to dress like a miniature soldier practically from his cradle. And yet, as Sam began yet another cycle of staring between Greg and the shirts, practically frozen in fear, uncertainty, and indecision, the truth was obvious.

"Sam," Greg broke in, bringing fearful wide blue eyes snapping back to his. "It's okay. No matter which shirt you choose, I won't be angry at you."

The blond chewed his lip without responding, though his gaze darted to the lion shirt for an instant.

It was as much as he was going to get. Parker nodded as though the little boy had spoken and set the lion shirt down on the bench next to Sam. "The metal lion it is," he announced, forcing a jaunty note into his voice.

The lieutenant juggled the clothes for a minute, then dug out matching pants. To that, Greg added a child-sized pair of socks and a set of briefs. He straightened again, returning the rest of the clothes to Ed's locker and dug out the small pair of shoes Wordy had gotten for Lance. They used velcro instead of laces and lit up along the sides in a manner that had actually kept the four-year-old Lance busy for close to an hour as he churr-ed at the footwear and tried to figure out what made them light up.

"Okay, sport, let's go get you changed."

To Greg's renewed dismay, Sam's expression turned bewildered, as though he'd never been referred to by a nickname in his life.

Greg took Sam into the locker room's bathroom to change him. A bit more room, a bit more privacy, and no wooden benches for the little blond to clamber up on. Although Greg had considered putting Sam on a bench to change him, his imagination had immediately conjured up an image of Sam taking a step backwards, falling off the bench, and whacking his head against one of the lockers – or worse, the floor. Mentally shuddering at the thought, Greg discarded the bench idea and resolved to keep Sam firmly on the ground.

Inside the bathroom area, Greg crouched yet again and stacked the clothing in the best order before balancing it on the knee closest to Sam. Reaching out, he lifted the white t-shirt up enough so that Sam could put the clothing on himself. "Good enough, sport?" he asked.

Sam blinked in bewilderment, then understanding filtered into bright blue eyes. While Parker kept the overlarge shirt out of his way, the little boy pulled on the briefs and pants. Greg nodded approval and tugged the shirt off, giving the blond a free shot at the lion shirt; a grin appeared as Sam dove for the shirt, pulling it on in an almost gleeful fashion. The smile froze when Sam stiffened, a terrified expression lifting to look up at Greg, as though he was afraid of the officer's response to his innocent joy and impulsive reaction.

"Like it?" Parker asked, keeping his tone gentle.

Keen blue eyes studied Greg's face closely, then the stiffness left Sam's tiny frame and he managed a brief return smile. To the lieutenant's surprise, the little boy tried to cuddle up to him, leaning his head into the stocky man's chest. After scaring his miniature former teammate half to death, Sam still trusted him? And yet Sam was curling up against him, even as he tried to maintain his balance in his rather awkward crouch. One small hand gripped his wrist as the stocky man wobbled, forcing Greg to break free so he could catch himself with the palm of that hand. The negotiator grimaced as the raw flesh in the center of his palm objected to the contact with the floor, then adjusted his stance to let one knee down for better balance.

"O…Okay, Sam, let's get your shoes and socks on," Greg instructed, hiding another wince as his hand throbbed. He set both down on the floor and rose back to his feet, heading for the sink to wash the floor grit off his tender palm. The lieutenant half-turned to watch as Sam sat down on the floor and obediently put the socks and shoes on. When the shoes were secure, the blond stood up, turning to stand at-ease as he waited for Parker.

"Thank you, sir," Sam said.

Greg crouched again, using the fingers of one hand to maintain his balance as he looked the child in the eyes. "You're very welcome, Sam." The officer paused, mustering his smile. "You can call me Greg if you want."

Sam drew back, fear flickering. "Oh, no, sir. The Lieutenant would be angry if I was dus…dusruh…dusruhpecful."

Not even a scrap of the anger Greg felt made it to his face. Even as a preschooler, Sam had been expected to refer to his father by his rank and act like the perfect soldier-in-training. Greg's own fatherly experience nudged at him to correct Sam's pronunciation, but he squashed that urge firmly. No doubt Sam would react badly, because Aslan only knew how General Braddock would've dealt with his son's earnest attempt to pronounce a word far beyond his grade level.

Instead, Greg nodded acceptance of the boy's statement and asked, "Sam? Can we compromise? You can call me either Mr. Greg or Mr. Parker, but I need you to call me something other than 'sir', just so I know when you're talking to me, okay?

The blond frowned, struggling to deal with the new concept Parker was presenting. The officer let him think, holding his stance with a bit of concentration and careful balance. His muscles were beginning to ache, but Greg didn't want to loom over Sam and frighten him all over again. Nor did he want to pick the boy up until he had to; he only had so much physical strength to spare, even for a lightweight four or five-year-old.

After several minutes of intense consideration, Sam looked up at the patient officer. "Okay, Mr. Greg."

Greg let his breath out in a soft whoosh. "All right, Sam, let's go take care of the clothing and then we can start figuring things out."

"Yes, sir… Oh, um, I mean…Mr. Greg, sir."

Parker shook his head at Sam's anxious fidget. "Sam, it's okay. You'll catch on."

"The Lieutenant says soldiers get their orders right the first time."

One eyebrow arched as the negotiator reached over and picked the adult-sized white t-shirt up off the floor. "Well, Sam, that might be true for soldiers, but you are a little boy and little boys can get things wrong, all right?"

The blond didn't argue, but trailed after Greg with a pensive frown on his face. Parker slowed his pace to let Sam keep up, but focused on collecting his friend's discarded clothing. A quick tug on Sam's locker door confirmed that the constable had managed to close and lock it before he'd been attacked. With a mental sigh, Parker folded Sam's adult clothing as best he could and stacked the extra kid-sized outfits on top. Then he took the whole pile back to Ed's locker and slotted it in on 'his' side. He double-checked Sam's location to make sure he wouldn't get hit by the door, then closed Ed's locker.

Done with the immediate issues, Greg turned back to the miniature constable, only to pause as a thought struck him. "Sam? When was the last time you ate?"

The blond's stomach let out an audible growl, answering the question for him.

Greg took Sam out to his car, retrieving the lunch that Shelley had packed for him, 'just in case'. He'd tried to refuse it, knowing there was no way he had enough stamina for even half a day of work, much less a full day of work, but Shelley had insisted and now he was grateful for her persistence. It meant he had something to feed the hungry child who'd been trapped in the SRU locker room for the past several hours.

Meal in hand, the lieutenant headed back inside the barn and took Sam to the briefing room so the little boy could eat. Unfortunately, Greg's early morning arrival was working against them. Commander Holleran wouldn't be in for another half hour; same for whichever dispatcher was slated to be on-duty.

The SRU was supposed to be on-duty 24/7, but the budget for the past few years had made that the impossible dream, forcing the elite unit to cut some of their overnight coverage each week, since overnight working hours tended to accumulate generous amounts of overtime pay. Greg made a mental note to ask where the funds for his new gear were coming from; the SRU could scarce afford some of the gear and equipment Commander Holleran was planning to requisition for him.

Funny how it had never occurred to him to wonder why Commander Holleran was sharing budget details with a mere Sergeant. Funny how it had never dawned on him that Commander Holleran must have had something planned for him, to be sharing so many bureaucratic details with a Sergeant. The clues had been there, but he'd never looked…not until Commander Holleran had blindsided him with a promotion to lieutenant.

His stomach soured; lieutenant…the same rank General Braddock had held when Sam was in preschool. Lion's Mane; if Sam found out he was a lieutenant, then they were gonna be in a world of trouble because Sam would almost certainly equate Greg with his strict, uptight jerk of a father. Nor could Greg see how he could possibly avoid the revelation; as soon as Commander Holleran came in, the commander would refer to him with his new rank. In front of Sam.

Well, there was nothing for it, then. He was going to have to get as much information as possible from the little boy before Commander Holleran came in. With any luck, Sam would know who'd attacked him and what they'd done, but Parker wasn't holding his breath. If the De-Aging Potion used on Sam was anything like the De-Aging Potion that had been used on Lance, then little Sam had none of his adult memories and probably only remembered waking up in the SRU locker room with adult-sized clothes draping his preschooler-sized body.

Greg waited until Sam had almost finished eating before he leaned forward; the young boy lifted his chin, trying to appear calm and impassive, but his anxious expression gave him away. The negotiator kept his own expression open and friendly. "Sam. You're not in trouble; I just need to know how you got in the locker room."

"Yes, sir," Sam replied.

Mentally, Greg held his breath, but the blond didn't cringe at his mistake as he had before. Deciding against trying to fight a losing battle that would only cause more distress, the negotiator moved on. "Can you tell me what happened, Sam?" At the youngster's fearful look, he coaxed, "Take your time, sport. Just one step at a time, okay?"

For a minute, silence hung as blue eyes dropped to the plastic lunch container on the table. Sam frowned, thinking hard. Greg blinked as the child's magic stirred, nudging at the barrier he'd put in place to keep the links from frightening the De-Aged constable. With exquisite care, the lieutenant adjusted the barrier, allowing Sam's power to reach him, but kept any of the other links from activating. To Greg's surprise, as soon as the silvery magic curled around his core, Sam relaxed, as though the little boy had been able to feel – or sense – his adult self's commitment to the 'team sense'.

Without hesitation, Sam slid off the chair he was on and came over to Greg, reaching up in unspoken request. Greg hefted the blond up and rested him on one leg, keeping one arm behind Sam's back to prevent any falls. Although the negotiator wasn't altogether surprised when Sam hugged him as best he could, he was surprised to feel Sam's magic reacting as well, nuzzling in close to his own scarlet as if seeking comfort. Burying his unease, Parker nudged at his magic, conjuring up a mental image of his inner gryphon lifting a wing to give the silver power a spot next to his side to curl up in.

From his place of safety, Sam leaned against Greg's chest, the trust inherent in the movement enough to take the older man's breath away. "I just remember waking up there, sir."

Dang and blast. "Where were you before that?" the negotiator inquired.

A tiny shrug. "At home in my room, sir. Mother and the Lieutenant have been busy with my new sister."

Greg left the mention of Sam's family alone; whatever problems his constable had had as a child, they were decades old. "All right," he mused. "What happened after you woke up here, Sam?"

Sam considered the question, frowning in thought. "It was weird, sir. My clothes were big and heavy and I was on the ground." After a moment, the blond rubbed his head. "Everything hurt, sir, and…ummm…"

"And?" Greg coaxed gently, though he was inwardly alarmed that the De-Aging Potion had hurt Sam.

Blue eyes fell and Sam's rubbing moved from his head to his chest. "It felt like…like something's missing."

"Does it still feel like that?"

Another pause. "Not as much," Sam replied. Then blue widened and snapped up to him. "Sir! There was something by me when I woke up!"

Deliberately, Greg adjusted his hold on the miniature constable, rubbing slow, soothing circles on Sam's back. "Easy there, sport. We'll go look in a minute, okay?" A pause, long enough for the boy to nod. "Sam, when you woke up, did you hear anyone?"

Sam's frame relaxed into him as the rubbing worked its magic. "No, sir. Not till you came."

Greg kept his frown to himself. Sam had been trapped in the locker room for an unknown number of hours, all by himself in an unfamiliar location and probably frightened, cold, and hungry. Why hadn't anyone realized something was wrong? Surely Jules…

Chagrin and memory brought him to a halt. The lieutenant swung the little boy up as he rose and headed back to the locker room, letting recent conversations churn and swirl in the back of his mind. No, Jules wouldn't have known; she and Sam weren't living together at the moment. From what Ed and Wordy had told him, when he'd 'fallen off the wagon', Sam and Jules had hit one heck of a rocky patch. A rocky patch that had gotten even worse in the wake of Team One's trip out to Lyndhurst Flats and the danger Zach Callaghan had put Roy and Giles in. Not long afterwards, Sam had moved back to his apartment and the rest of Team One had learned not to bring up the couple's turbulent relationship around either of them for fear of getting their heads bitten off.

It had been more than a bit disturbing to find out that he was essential for Jules and Sam's relationship. Especially since Wordy had rather wryly informed him that the couple had gotten back together practically the same day that he'd come home. They hadn't yet reached the point of moving back in together, but still. For Greg, it was yet another reminder of how much his teammates had been affected by his magic. Not exactly a fun revelation for a man still struggling with guilt over the whole situation.

Pushing the sobering thought aside, Parker entered the locker room and headed directly for Sam's locker. On reaching the locker, he let the blond down on the ground, his muscles letting him know in no uncertain terms that they were not happy with him carrying a little boy around. Sam was oblivious as he scampered forward and ducked under the bench. Seconds later, he returned, holding up what looked like an empty potion vial. Greg knelt to take a closer look, mentally crowing when he spied a few traces of the mystery potion in the bottom of the vial.

"Good work, Sam," he praised; his insides writhed in fury at Sam's wide-eyed jaw drop. He covered the rage by clearing his throat and checking his watch. "Okay, sport, let's go talk to my boss."

"To your boss?" Sam wondered as Greg swung him up again.

"Yes, Sam; then we can figure out how to get you back where you belong."

Sam clutched at him, fear shining. "I belong here, sir. Don't send me away!"

Greg adjusted his hold, pulling the small child close. "Easy, Sam, easy. We'll fix this, I promise, and I'm not sending you anywhere you don't want to go." A low rumble came from his chest, too low for human hearing, but Sam relaxed regardless as the sound vibrated against his body. The lieutenant spared one final moment to run a hand through blond locks, then gently took the potion vial from Sam and headed out of the locker room to speak to Commander Holleran.