Chapter Four: On Girlfriends and Apartment Shopping

On Sunday morning, Greg hesitantly asked if Wordy and Shelley would mind if he called Marina to let her know he was still alive. He knew, perfectly well, that his nipotes weren't happy with his girlfriend and wouldn't mind in the slightest if she never found out he was alive, but that wasn't fair to Marina. To leave her grieving for him… Parker refused to even consider it.

Wordy and Shelley disappeared to discuss his request for a few minutes, then Wordy came back with a counter-offer. Instead of giving Marina a heart attack when she heard a 'dead man's' voice on her phone line, they would have Ed call her and break the news. That way, Ed could accompany Marina to the Wordsworth homestead and hopefully share the worst of the situation before another shrieking valkyrie descended on them. Greg cringed at the last point; if he could avoid being screamed at again, that would definitely be a plus.

As Wordy headed off to call Ed, the negotiator eyed his unhappy charges. Alanna ducked her head, embarrassed over the momentary resentment that had flashed across her face at the mention of Marina, but Lance's expression went shuttered. Aside from a hurt and angry glitter in the depths of blue eyes, he maintained a steady, almost unconcerned demeanor. But Greg Parker had been a negotiator far too long to be fooled; a mask meant Lance not only didn't want Greg to know his feelings towards Marina, he didn't trust Greg with what those emotions would reveal.

"Lance, is there something I should know?" Greg asked, keeping his own tone neutral.

Lance's gaze dropped immediately, posture turning submissive. "No, sir."

Sir, not uncle. Unease rippled into concern; his nephew was treating him like an unknown, untrusted authority figure. Hazel locked on the young man, inner turmoil leaking into his voice. "Lance? Whatever you have to say won't leave this room, I promise you."

"It's nothing, sir."

It was not nothing, not with Lance still calling him sir and the way he was lowering his gaze even more, tilting his head to the side to expose his neck as he did so. Not with the way Alanna was avoiding his eyes just as much as her brother. But if he pressed them further, it was entirely possible that they would lash out instead of opening up. So Greg nodded reluctant acceptance. "All right, then. But Lance?" He waited until the teen looked up. "If you ever want to talk to me, I'm willing to listen." A wry smile. "Even if it's something embarrassing, you hear me?"

"Yes, sir," Lance replied before shuffling backwards and making a quick exit. Alanna bit her lip, but followed, slipping past Wordy as he came back into the living room.

"Let them go," Greg ordered before Wordy could call either teenager back.

"Copy that, Sarge," Wordy agreed, though gray eyes flickered at the unhappiness the older man didn't bother to hide. "Everything okay?"

Parker shook his head. "No, but until they tell me what's wrong, I can't do anything."

Understanding shone. "Like that, huh?" Sighing, Wordy hefted the handset in his hand. "Ed's calling her right now. Figure we have maybe another hour before they turn up."

The lieutenant bit back the urge to groan. "Any chance of another pain potion?"

"Sure thing, Sarge."

"Are you gonna tell him?"

Lance flicked a glance at his sister. "Tell him what, sis?"

"About what she said."

The brunet turned away, sneering. "Why bother?"

"Lance!" Alanna objected.

A snarl curled the older boy's lip as he whipped back to his sister. "No! First chance he got, he's going back to her! We didn't even get a weekend with him before she gets him! I'm not telling him anything; rather not get kicked out, thanks."

"He wouldn't," Alanna argued.

"Fine. You go tell him." When the redhead hesitated, Lance nodded grim satisfaction. "Didn't think so."

Determination shone. "Uncle Greg cares about us! He wouldn't kick us out!"

"Got a funny way of showin' it," Lance countered. "Disappears on us for four months, then comes sailin' back, cryin' on us right before he calls her." He turned away, anguish flashing for an instant before his expression hardened. "Whatever. I'm of age now, so if he kicks us out, we can get another place, no problem."

"But he hasn't said anything about that," Alanna pointed out.

"And he won't, not till she moves in," Lance replied. "Once she moves in, we're expendable. He'll have a real family again, not two orphan rejects that got dumped on him." A shiver racked the young man's body. "Won't have to worry about his magic going crazy on him anymore if we're not here, makin' it worse."

Beside him, Alanna's mouth opened, working for a few seconds before she sighed and closed it again. Then she leaned against the fence, cuddling close to her brother. Lance immediately drew her in, sharing his warmth. His father had told him to take care of her and that was exactly what he was going to do. No matter what.

More than once during the drive, Ed Lane was tempted to turn the car around and drive Marina right back to her apartment without letting her see Greg at all; she was rambling on and on about how awful it was that Greg had had to lie to them – her – and how Greg should come right home with her so she could look after him. Which might've been all well and good if she hadn't been talking about herself exclusively, with not so much as a syllable spared for Greg's kids or how they might've been affected by Greg's 'death'.

Not to mention, Ed knew from Greg that prior to the undercover op, Marina had been lobbying for either Greg moving in with her or herself moving in with Greg. Knowing that Marina's relationship with the kids was antagonistic to say the least, his friend had put his foot down, flatly refusing to even consider any live in arrangements. Not until Marina either shaped up or until the kids moved out when they hit eighteen. Seeing as Alanna was only fifteen, Ed wasn't betting on Marina moving in with Greg anytime soon.

Mentally gritting his teeth, Ed pulled up to Wordy's house and parked on the street. Marina didn't wait for him; as soon as the car came to a full stop, she was off like a bolt, heading straight for the door. Sighing to himself, the Sergeant leaned back and tapped the 'team sense' before getting out of his vehicle. 'Greg, Word; we're here.'

'Copy,' Wordy acknowledged.

'Wait for my signal,' Ed added. 'She took off for the door, but I wanna be right there when you open up.'

'You got it,' his team leader agreed. 'How angry is she?'

The grimace was unfeigned and Ed transmitted his annoyance through the links. 'More frantic than anything else, but she's already jabbering about you moving in with her, Boss.'

'Which won't be happening,' Greg rumbled, his own anger stirring.

'Figured that,' Ed remarked. Lazily joining Marina at the front door, he rolled his eyes at her accusing glare and reached out, knocking on the wood she'd been pounding on, without any response from within. 'Word, in position.'

Wordy pulled the door open and gave Marina a hard stare. "If you're gonna yell, do it to me," he ordered. "Sarge doesn't need that right now." Gray narrowed. "And you don't need to batter down my front door; we heard you the first time."

The big man's bulk kept Marina from being able to muscle past him, a fact she huffed at before adopting an apologetic expression mixed with a hefty dose of desperation. "I'm sorry, Wordy. It's just… When Ed told me Greg's alive…"

Gaze softening, Wordy nodded and backed up, letting her in. "Know what you mean," he agreed. "We were stunned, too, let me tell you."

"Any idea why he didn't get in touch for two months?" Marina asked anxiously.

The team leader grimaced. "The criminal buddies he made while he was undercover got him outta the fire, but they practically had him under lock and key." A shrug. "He finally snuck past 'em, but he's still really banged up from that fire."

Marina gasped. "They didn't take him to a doctor?"

"Nope," Ed lied. "Probably thought he'd be too exposed or something."

Without another word, Marina scurried past and headed for the living room. The two SRU officers followed her, grateful when she didn't scream at the recovering man. "Oh, Greg," the blonde cried, torn between hugging him and trying not to aggravate his injuries.

The gaunt man solved the problem for her by staggering to his feet and wrapping her in a hug, though his subordinates glared at him behind her back for the stunt. As Marina shuddered and cried in his arms, Parker held steady, letting his presence soak into her awareness and gently rubbing her back.

As soon as Marina pulled back, Wordy stepped in, supporting the injured man back down to the couch. "You know Queenscove's gonna take a strip outta you if he finds out about that one, Sarge," the brunet chided.

"What's wrong with him?" Marina demanded, hovering just behind the big man.

From behind her, Ed reeled off the highlights, though he amended his report to match their cover story. "The fire burned his hands and feet pretty bad; by the time Greg made it back to the SRU, they were in really bad shape. Plus he's lost a lot of weight."

"Eddie," the lieutenant chided. Shifting back to Marina, pained hazel met her eyes. "It's going to take me awhile to get back on my feet, Marina, but it's not as bad as Ed's making it sound."

"Yes, it is," Wordy interjected, a frown backing up his statement. "Don't downplay it, Sarge."

"They starved you?" Marina cried.

Ed and Wordy shifted uneasily. There was no way to hide their boss's extreme weight loss, but starvation really didn't match the whole 'criminal buddies' cover story. They'd reckoned without the gaunt man's negotiation skills, though.

"No, Marina, they didn't," Parker claimed. "I did lose some weight after the fire, but I had to slim down before that." He grimaced. "I can't get into it, but there were quite a few turf wars while I was under."

Marina swallowed hard, but nodded acceptance of her boyfriend's claim. "Why?" she whispered, anger and panic breaking through her forced calm. "Why would you do that to us?"

With a sigh, Greg shifted over on the couch and patted the cushions. Once Marina was sitting next to him, he explained as much of the story as he could to her, only keeping back any hints of magic and a few of the more personal tidbits as the tale unwound. By the time he was done, Ed could see his friend's strength was fading despite his brave façade. Seeing the same, Marina started fussing over her boyfriend, trying to insist that he come home with her and, for heaven's sake, eat something substantial. The exhausted man pushed back against her campaign, but the effort itself cost him reserves he didn't have any more.

As the fussing continued, Ed traded an uneasy look with his best friend. It hadn't escaped his notice that neither of Greg's nipotes had appeared, nor that Marina hadn't made any mention of them at all. In fact, if one listened to Marina, she was the only person in all of Toronto that could possibly understand what Greg had gone through – more, she'd been affected the worst by the situation. There wasn't even a whisper about Greg's kids losing their guardian – arguably a much worse situation than 'merely' losing a boyfriend – or Team One losing their longtime Sergeant. And in spite of her frequent references to Greg's 'ordeal', she didn't seem to realize that meant Greg had been affected just as much as the rest of them.

The injured man stood his ground, refusing point-blank to let Marina cart him off to her apartment, and Shelley intervened when Marina kept insisting that Greg eat something more than soup and broth, brandishing the 'doctor's orders' as both shield and weapon. It took another two hours for the negotiator to calm his girlfriend down; the process bit ever more deeply into his meager reserves of energy and Parker's friends finally had to intervene to end the visit. As Ed ushered Marina out, Wordy blocked the doorway to keep her from darting right back into the living room. It took several more minutes of persistence on Ed's part, but he finally got the vibrating, anxious blonde back to his car without mishap.

Still, as Ed slid into the driver's seat to drive Marina back to her apartment, something about the expression on her face unsettled him. Beneath the anxiety, he could see a certain sense of…smugness? Victory, maybe? All of sudden, the SRU Sergeant realized something. Greg had insisted yet again that he would not consider living with Marina until his kids moved out. Both he and Wordy had assumed that meant the whole topic wouldn't be an issue until Alanna was older. But what if Marina had taken it another way? What if Marina saw the kids as an obstacle to moving in with her boyfriend? And why did he have a nasty feeling that Greg had just opened up a can of worms that they'd all come to regret, sooner or later?

Wordy didn't speak as he half-carried his boss back to the guest room. If he had to guess, Sarge would be up for dinner, if that, and nothing else for the rest of the day. But that wasn't what was bothering the big constable the most. He'd expected that Sarge would be wiped out and taxed by Marina's visit – what he hadn't expected was Marina's almost…possessive…behavior. When Shelley had come in to confront her about Sarge's dietary restrictions…if looks could kill, he'd be a widower right now. Marina had only calmed down – marginally – when he'd introduced Shelley as his wife. It didn't take a genius to figure out why; she'd seen Shelley as competition. Competition for Sarge's time and affection, heck, maybe even competition for his friendship. 'Cause Marina had that same attitude towards himself and Ed. Less so and harder to notice, but Wordy was SRU; he'd been trained to pick up on the undercurrents of a situation.

It really made the brunet wonder. Sure it was possible – even probable – that Marina's possessiveness was temporary, based in large part on the emotional rollercoaster they'd all gone through over the past four months, but… If Marina was getting possessive, well, then, they had a problem because the kids were the ultimate competition. They'd been there first, after all. Their claim on Sarge was closer and longer standing. As his family, they had more of a right to his love than Marina did – and she knew it.

Maybe it wasn't such a mystery as to why she was relentlessly antagonistic towards the teenagers; if she'd seen them all along as competition, then of course she wanted them out of her way – and out of Sarge's life, to boot. Wordy wasn't sure if Sarge knew, but he'd bet his last dollar that the kids knew. No wonder they'd disappeared during her visit and… Wait a sec…if the kids knew, then maybe he'd just figured out why Lance was so unhappy and hostile. The constable swallowed a sudden lump in his throat as he edged back out of the guest room and closed the door. Despite the fact that Sarge had done the right thing by letting his girlfriend know he was still alive, he had a nasty feeling that his boss had just screwed things up with his nipotes…big time.

"I don't want her here again, Kevin."

Wordy turned towards Shelley and arched a brow. "She's his girlfriend."

Blue eyes flashed. "And she treats his niece and nephew like they don't exist! I won't have it, Kevin. Not in my home." A brief pause. "Make sure Ed tells her it was my decision."

"Yes, ma'am," Wordy replied. He didn't ask why Shelley was ensuring she got the blame; he already knew. If Marina knew it had been Shelley's decision, then she couldn't – legitimately – blame the kids. Unfortunately, he didn't think it would work – at this point, Marina was far more likely to blame her competition for anything and everything that kept her away from Sarge.

For the first week, Greg was essentially left alone to recover. Not physically alone; the 'team sense' was on 24/7 as per Healer Queenscove's orders and he could hardly twitch without someone descending. He was, however, left alone to sleep as long as he wanted and despite being restricted to broth and soft soups, he could also eat as much as he wanted. The two paste-like potions were applied morning and evening without fail and each meal featured a nutrient potion which fortunately tasted better than any of the other potions he'd ever had.

But beyond his recovery, none of his friends brought up what needed to happen after he recovered. He had at least weaseled Wordy into telling him about how his old apartment had been given up in the wake of the fire, but the big constable didn't take the opportunity to bring up searching for a new apartment – or, indeed, any of the other tasks that came with recovery and returning to ordinary, everyday life. Parker had a sneaking suspicion as to why that was; a few times he'd been woken up by either the sound of the door opening or the bed creaking only to be lulled right back to sleep by someone rubbing his 'sweet spot'. Despite the memories being rather foggy, it hadn't taken long to put the pieces together; Wordy was sneaking into his room regularly, just to make sure he was still there.

It only confirmed to the lieutenant that it was going to take just as long for his friends and family to recover from the trauma of his 'death' as it would for him to physically recover. Unfortunately, much as he didn't want to yank that 'safety net' away from Wordy, he couldn't see how it could work long term. Lance and Alanna deserved to have a place of their own to sleep and he wasn't ignorant as to whose bedroom he was really in…the walls had given it away as soon as Greg had gotten enough sleep under his belt to look around. In that same vein, Wordy's family deserved to have their home to themselves, rather than cramming the three Parker-Calvins into a house that already sported five residents.

It had been one thing during the Castor Troy mess – and during the 'homeward bound' debacle – to give Wordy custody of his charges, but now that he was home and taking his first tentative steps on the road to recovery, it was time and past for his family to move out of the Wordsworth homestead. Not to mention time for Greg himself to get some clothing that actually fit his reduced frame.

The negotiator eyed the notepad in front of him, grateful for the protective spell his niece had cast on his hands so he could use them. Hmmm…an apartment, clothing…what else? His SUV hadn't been sold or transferred out of his name, so he did still have a vehicle even if he couldn't drive at the moment. Ah ha! Shoes…he was definitely going to need new shoes. Although his shoe size hadn't changed – and he was barred from wearing shoes for another week or so – his current sneakers were so old he couldn't even remember when he'd bought them. As comfortable as the shoes were, the stocky man had a sneaking suspicion that Queenscove would have an absolute fit if he found out his patient was running around in a old, ragged pair of sneakers that had no support whatsoever. Plus, new sneakers would be a touch more professional once he was back at work – at least until he was cleared to wear his SRU boots again.

"Greg? Alanna said you needed me for something?"

Parker glanced up from his writing to smile at the blonde woman. "Hey, Shelley. Do you have time to talk right now?"

Shelley laughed and moved closer to the living room couch Greg was 'holding court' on. "I asked Alanna to keep Ally busy so we could talk as long as you need to." Sinking onto the furniture next to her husband's boss, she turned to meet his gaze, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. "So…I notice you wanted to talk to me instead of Kevin."

Greg huffed a sigh and resisted the urge to rub his head. "Wordy…Kevin… He's having a harder time with…all of this than you are, Shelley." A rueful grimace as Shelley nodded silent agreement. "If I bring this up to him, I'm afraid he'll panic."

"And what is 'this'?" Shelley asked carefully.

In response, Greg held out his notepad.

The blonde took the notepad, frowning thoughtfully as she worked her way through Greg's currently atrocious handwriting. To call it chicken scratch was generous and the lieutenant was already hoping his commander would let him type out reports until he recovered from the nerve damage to his hands. After a few minutes of squinting and turning the paper this way and that, Shelley's expression cleared. "Oh! You want to start getting back in the swing of things?"

"Yes," Greg confirmed. "I know I'm not nearly recovered enough yet to even walk around much, Shelley, but I was thinking…if we start planning now…"

Shelley started nodding even as he spoke. "…by the time you reach that point, we'll have options ready to go." She studied the list again. "It's fairly short," she observed.

Parker squirmed. "I only started thinking about this today," he admitted.

Warm blue met his hazel. "Greg. It's a place to start," Shelley rebuked him gently. "Stop shortchanging yourself; that you can even think about resuming normal life so soon… I don't think I could do it in your shoes." She was silent a moment, examining the list again. "I suppose the part you're afraid Kevin will balk at is the apartment, am I right?"

He let out his breath. "Yeah," he replied. "Wordy doesn't know I know, but he's been sneaking into the guest room almost every night." Helplessness shone. "If we leave, he loses that reassurance."

"He won't lose it yet," Shelley pointed out, tone practical. "Finding you a new apartment will take time, especially if we want to do it right. And you aren't recovered enough to look at apartments yet." She grimaced. "Even getting you new clothing might be out of the question."

Greg sighed unhappily. "I know, but I might have to just suck it up and do it. I only have three sets of clothing right now, Shelley. It was barely enough to get through my undercover assignment."

Shelley's grimace grew more pronounced. "And how long can you stand or walk?"

The stocky man slumped, the mere movement enough to answer.

The blonde sighed quietly. "Greg. I know you don't want to hear this, but I can't get you clothes without knowing your size. And if you collapse in a store, I'm not strong enough to lift you by myself." A hesitation. "Could the children shrink your old clothing down?"

For a long minute, Greg considered, expression thoughtful. Then he sighed himself, closed his eyes, and nodded. "That might be the best solution right now, Shelley."

The slender woman returned the nod. "All right, then. I'll get your clothing out of storage." Another pause. "Do you know if they can shrink down your clothing based on what's already been done?"

Greg shrugged helplessly, but help came from an unexpected source. "I think I could look up the spells for that," Lance offered from the doorway.

Both adults looked to the teenager in some surprise. Parker arched a brow. "Let me guess. Family library?"

Lance flashed a brilliant smile, so different from the sullen looks he'd been sporting of late. "With a family as old as ours, Uncle Greg, the library has spells from just about any profession you can imagine. Aurors, enchanters, even blacksmithing."

Greg's other brow joined the first, then he smiled himself. "You mean wizards used to ride horses?" he teased gently.

The young man laughed outright and slipped into the living room, sapphire alight with mischief. "Not everyone likes Apparition or Flooing, Uncle Greg," he explained. "And that stuff had to be developed anyway." One shoulder hiked in a shrug. "Old Magic transportation spells might be better, but they take more power, especially for long distance."

The stocky man chuckled and nodded before returning to the subject at hand. "So you think you can find some tailoring spells?"

"Betcha I can," Lance replied, plunking himself down on the carpet. "And, hey, if that doesn't work out, we can still do it one at a time if you don't mind putting on stuff that's too large in the morning."

Greg caught on at once – if need be, he could put on his older clothing each morning and get it 'custom shrunk'. A tedious procedure, true, but effective and it would buy him valuable recovery time. Shelley was right; until he could reliably stand and walk on his own, trying to go out and buy clothing would be a nightmare. Perhaps, he mused, he should get it done with his shirts regardless. They were already customized for his wings, a fact that had already come in handy on more than one occasion.

"Or I could take a set of clothes to the magic-side mall and get it checked at their clothing shop," Lance offered.

Caught off guard, Greg blinked. "Beg pardon?"

Lance met his gaze. "People get custom stuff all the time in the wizarding world, Uncle Greg. Some of the shops are so high-end, they'll actually come to you to do fittings."

"Wouldn't those be robes?" Shelley asked.

The teen see-sawed his hand. "Sure, most of 'em," he admitted. "But I bet I could get 'em to do regular techie clothing." A smirk peeked out. "Especially your shirts."

Greg returned the smirk. "A challenge, eh?" At his nephew's nod, his gaze turned concerned. "But what about your status?"

Lance deflated a trifle. "Yeah…" he whispered. Then he shook his head and looked down. "It would be okay, Uncle Greg. I'm seventeen now, remember?"

Before Shelley could speak, Greg's eyes widened. "You took up the Headship?"

Without looking up, Lance whispered, "Yeah, I did."

And as Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Calvin, Lance held a political status that made it much harder to discriminate against him for his magic. Especially since… Closing his eyes, Greg murmured, "Money talks."

A sardonic lilt entered the teen's voice. "Yup."

Well, there was nothing for it now. In truth, Lance had been absolutely right to do as he did; with his uncle 'dead', the young man would have been expected to step up and do his duty to his remaining family. Although the Calvin family had lost a good deal of its prestige in protecting Wordy, a known Squib, they still retained some political power.

Greg opened his eyes again and met his nephew's gaze. "All right. Let's try the family library and your other idea first, mio nipote. We can hold that last option in reserve."

"Copy that, Uncle Greg."

Before Lance could move, Parker held up a hand. "Any other ideas, mio nipote?"

The brunet hesitated, biting his lip thoughtfully. "You, um… We're looking for a new apartment, right?"

Greg nodded. "And once I can walk, I'll need to buy sneakers," he added. "That's my list so far."

Sapphire blinked, then Lance bobbed his head. "So that's our start," he muttered, almost to himself as he nibbled and considered. After a few minutes, he glanced up. "Um, well, the only thing I can think of now is…"

"Is?" Greg prodded, hoping to engage his standoffish nephew.

The moment hung, then Lance drew in a breath and blurted, "We need an apartment big enough for Dean." Then he was gone before Greg could even blink.

Beside him, Shelley giggled at his poleaxed expression. When he turned to her, still bewildered, she offered a nod of her own. "I like it. If your son wants to come, he'll have a place of his own."

"Or…" Greg frowned, trying to envision the scenario. "Or I could get an apartment with two larger bedrooms, plus a smaller one?" Alanna needed her own, after all, and it might be good for Lance to share with Dean. That way, the boys could have their space, Alanna could have hers – and he could have his.

"I like it," Shelley agreed, writing it down on the pad. "We can start looking around now and I'll take a look at the best sneaker brands for support. If we come up with anything else you need immediately, I'll add it to our list."

Greg ducked his head. "Thank you, Shelley."

Shelley reached out and gently nudged his chin up. "Greg. You were in a bad spot; no good choices, just the lesser of two evils, am I right?"

He did his best not to wilt. "It felt like that," he whispered, not meeting her eyes.

For several minutes, the blonde didn't speak. Then she shook her head. "Kevin will get better, Greg. Just like you'll get better, too." She smiled sadly. "I knew he was sneaking into your room. Just like I know he needs you more than he needs anyone else in his life."

The lieutenant froze in horror. Had it really gotten that bad? That Wordy could need him more than he needed his wife and kids? Oh, dear Aslan, what had he done? What had his magic done? It wasn't fair, it wasn't right.

Shelley's smile turned genuine. "I knew you'd react like that."

Speechless, Greg gawked at her, torn between his horror and being impressed at her people-reading skills.

The blonde shook her head. "No, it's not alright, Greg. But I know you; you'll find a way to fix it."

"If I can," Greg rasped.

Her smile brightened. "You'll find a way." A soft laugh. "And who knows. Maybe it's just for right now."

Mental gears ground back into motion. "You mean, because it's still fresh and raw?"

Shelley inclined her chin. "Don't worry about it right now, Greg. Kevin's not shortchanging any of us. Let's see how it is once you're back on your feet."

A large part of Greg wanted to fret and cling to the issue Shelley had just raised, but rationality intruded. She was right; it was entirely possible that Wordy's emotional needs were temporary – based in large part on the trauma he'd just been through. He needed to give his friend time and possibly space, though the latter was quite impossible at the moment. After several minutes, he jerked a nod, unable to speak.

Shelley pulled him close in a brief hug. "I'm glad you're not dead, Greg."

He smiled weakly. "Problems and all?"

"Always," Shelley vowed. "You are our family, Gregory Parker. I would much rather have you here, battered and bruised, then be standing beside Kevin and your children as they're handed a folded flag at your funeral."

Greg's breath caught and it took another minute of mental wrestling before he could whisper, "Thank you, Shelley." As she smiled, rose, and left, Parker fought back tears. He'd hurt them so badly and yet they still wanted him. Clung to him as if afraid he would disappear if they let go, even for a second.

Why? Why was he worth it to them? Why was he worth all the pain and anguish they'd gone through? He was just a broken down failure. A foolish, incompetent rookie who'd rocked the boat and gotten other, better, cops killed. A pathetic drunk who hadn't even been able to hack Homicide, even with all his 'advantages'. A lying, cheating so-called negotiator who'd left his team to sink or swim in the wake of his 'betrayal'.

Silently, Greg vowed to be the man they deserved. He wouldn't let them down again, no matter what. He would work as hard and as long as he needed to, to regain his family's faith and trust, to craft his new position and career. He wouldn't let the ghost of Castor Troy take away any more of his life. Gazing down at his hands, he opened them, refusing to flinch at the sight. He would take this agony and use it to become a better officer, friend, and superior. No matter how long it took or how much it hurt, he would keep going until he'd succeeded.

Determination shone behind hazel eyes. He wasn't Team One any more – and that hurt – but he was still SRU. That would have to be enough.

~ Fin

Author note: And fade to black... *cue Flashpoint closing music*

I hope everyone enjoyed our detour to see the aftermath of Greg's 'return from the dead'. As always, I adore reviews and I cherish each one my readers give me. So please read and review.

In the meantime, our route shall take us back to the main It's a Magical Flashpoint storyline as we kick off "Mali Sniperist" on Friday, April 16th 2021, over in the Flashpoint/Merlin archive.

See you on the Battlefield!