Chapter Three: A Ring and A Promise

Lieutenant Greg Parker bit back a sigh as he rearranged the photos on the edge of his desk. Most of them were shots of himself and Dean, but he was slowly adding shots of Marina to the mix. The latest addition was all three of them beaming at the camera with a looming Triceratops in the background – a souvenir from their trip to the Royal Ontario Museum. And yet something about the snapshot felt…off. A nagging feeling that while the picture was accurate, it wasn't complete. Oddly enough, he was getting the same nagging feeling whenever he looked at any of the photos on his desk, hence the constant rearranging as he struggled to figure out what was wrong.

Stepping back, Parker surveyed the row, then nodded and returned to his computer. He still had a raft of paperwork to get through before he could get back to planning a very special evening. Dean had already agreed to spend the night with Clark, just as excited as his father over the prospect of expanding their tiny family. Yet even as he focused on the computer, his gaze strayed to one photo in particular. One of the first pictures he and Dean had taken together after his son had moved in with him. He was beaming at the camera and Dean was grinning just as wide, but there was just something…wrong. Not with his smile or Dean's, but why were they so far off to the side? The whole balance of the photo was off; he was no photographer, but even to his untrained eye, it looked like there should've been more people in the frame. He had no idea who might be missing, but he just couldn't shake that gut instinct that something had been wrong ever since the beginning of the week.

As he entered his office with a box in his arms, Greg couldn't quite help his lethal glare at the innocent laptop computer sitting quietly on his desk. It wasn't the laptop's fault that his judgment was so off that he'd put an eighteen-year-old in harm's way – no, that was on him. Ironic how Team One's draconic mascot had saved May Dalton's life, even though he should've been safe at the barn, not gallivanting around on Toronto's tech-side.

With any luck, it wouldn't happen again; Spyro might've saved May, but his stunt had been unacceptable on a number of levels. In the wake of his alienation from his former team, Parker was reduced to what he could pick up from the gossip chain, but he knew for a fact there had been shouting. The young dragon had more or less been banished from the SRU and last Greg had heard, he'd been making the rounds of Team One's extended family.

The lieutenant did feel bad about how he'd treated Eddie; his best friend hadn't deserved that cold, harsh, unfeeling reaction from him, but if he hadn't cut the other man off at the pass, Ed never would've given up trying to convince him to come back. Although he'd need to mend fences sooner or later, hopefully he could wait until it was clear he wasn't going on any more hot calls. Much safer for everyone that way.

In the meantime, if he was going to be stuck in his office every day, he might as well finally make it his space. Firmly setting aside the part of himself already chafing at the idea of doing paperwork for the rest of his career, Greg focused on the box still in his arms and moved around his desk; kicking out, he turned his chair and set the box down on its cushion.

Smiling to himself, the lieutenant plucked the first photo out of the box: a shot of himself, Dean, and his nipotes. All four of them were grinning wildly at the camera, delighted by Dean's arrival in Toronto. Lance and Alanna had insisted on him being closest to Dean and they'd taken up stances on his right, mischief glowing. With a soft chuckle, Greg set up the photo at an angle where he could see it, but any guests coming in could see it, too. He was proud of his kids and he didn't care who knew that.

Bit by bit, he unpacked the photos; he wanted them in place before he added any other knick-knacks. Most of them drew smiles, but the last one wasn't quite what he'd thought. Himself, Marina, and Dean at the museum, posing in front of a Triceratops skeleton; the T-Rex was more impressive, but his son's eyes had lit up at the ancient herbivore and he'd known where they just had to take their photo.

An uneasy feeling stirred in his gut; where were Lance and Alanna? Hadn't they been there for this picture? He knew they'd come to the museum, so why weren't they in the photo? Or had he…had he let Marina push them aside during yet another outing? Well, it wouldn't happen again; yes, he'd found the perfect ring, but she wasn't getting it. Not until she started treating his nipotes with every bit of the same regard she had for Dean. Parker grimaced; he'd let it go on for much too long, but he couldn't continue to overlook her behavior.

A knock on the door brought his head up and around just as it opened. "Good morning, sir," the lieutenant greeted his boss.

"Good morning, Greg," Commander Holleran replied, though a shade of concern lingered in his dark eyes.

A wave of vertigo swept through him; Parker rocked, but remained upright – he'd been through much worse. "Something I can do for you, sir?" he asked, setting his last photo down in the new row on his desk, absently wondering why he'd been holding it so long. Nothing wrong with it, after all. Just himself, Marina, and Dean at the museum.

Holleran frowned, a flash of unease there and gone. "I noticed you took yourself off the duty roster."

"Yes, sir," Greg confirmed. "I need to focus more on the paperwork side of things, Commander."

Skepticism gleamed and Commander Holleran closed the door behind him. "Greg. Does this have anything to do with the TPI on Team One's last call?"

Parker flinched.

His commander rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Greg. I read the report and listened to the audio. Every member of Team One signed off on involving Miss Dalton."

He couldn't look up. "Yes, sir," Greg acknowledged. "But I knew it was a bad idea and I did it anyway." Throat working, he admitted, "I didn't want to override Sergeant Lane's leadership, not in front of his team."

Holleran sighed and pulled away from his subordinate. "Parker. You read the signs as clearly as they did; your negotiation bought time and got the civilians out of range, but you didn't have enough of a rapport to talk him all the way down." Moving farther into the office, the commander leaned on the edge of his second's desk. "Miss Dalton's involvement was always going to be unpredictable, even if she hadn't snuck a handgun along with her."

Greg shook his head fiercely. "I refused to override Sergeant Lane and instead I put him in a spot where he nearly had to shoot an eighteen-year-old girl!"

"Ah." The commander regarded him. "You're not angry at Miss Dalton; you're angry at yourself."

Hazel finally came up. "They trusted me to do the profile right and instead she slipped right in and nearly got herself killed. But if I hadn't signed off on it, she never would've had that chance, sir."

Eyes darker than his own never flinched. Then Commander Holleran leaned forward, voice firm. "Greg. Sometimes we're wrong." He let the words hang, then drove on, merciless. "I did not promote you so you could hide in here and do all my paperwork, Lieutenant."

The stocky man flushed, eyes dropping once more at the rebuke. "Yes, sir," he whispered.

"Now that said, I will permit you to hide in here for now," the commander continued. At the flash of confusion on his subordinate's face, he smiled wanly. "You've got until Sergeant Lane or his team corner you and turn your own favorite tactic back on you. You will listen to their negotiation and answer each of their concerns. And then I expect you to apologize for how you handled the end of your last hot call with them."

Shame-faced, Parker could only nod.

"Not just how you spoke to Sergeant Lane," Holleran chided. "You cut them out of Miss Dalton's arrest as well." He paused, watching Greg's flush get deeper. "I understand why you did that, but if you were serious about maintaining Sergeant Lane's authority, you wouldn't have arrested her behind his back."

"Sir, that's not why I kept them out," Greg protested. At the arched brow, he hurried to explain. "Miss Dalton…May…she has a gift for influencing people, sir. It's…it's a lot like mine." A hesitation. "If not for what happened, she might've made one heck of a negotiator some day."

"Go on," Holleran urged when he paused again.

With a heavy sigh, Parker admitted, "Their Animagus instincts responded to that, sir. Once that happened, they started deferring to her as if she was me. I knew what was going on, but I didn't step in and I should have."

"Why?" Holleran inquired. "I understand these instincts are still unfamiliar, but they need to learn how to handle them, Lieutenant. They won't learn if you shelter them." The commander's expression turned thoughtful. "You cut them out of the arrest because they'd already let their instincts win?"

"Yes, sir," Greg confirmed. "I didn't need to fight her for authority over my own men right when I was arresting her."

Commander Holleran considered, then nodded acceptance. "Very well, Lieutenant Parker. You don't need to apologize for the arrest then. Only your behavior." He straightened. "If I were you, I would start planning on a very large serving of humble pie."

"Copy that, Commander," Parker whispered, shame rising anew as his boss left. Slumping against his desk, his gaze fell on his favorite photo, the one with himself and Dean. A frown emerged; something…something about the picture was wrong. But what?

Shaking his head, Greg forced his attention back to his laptop and started on his daily chore of paperwork. For the past couple days, Team One hadn't come near him and the lieutenant suspected they were either still angry with him or plotting their approach. He missed them and wished they would just corner him and get it over with, but Holleran had been clear. His punishment was a generous serving of crow and being forced to wait on his friends to make the first move.

As if his thoughts had drawn the man, Parker stiffened at the sound of his best friend's footsteps. By the time he heard a knock on the door, his head was already up, though his gaze snagged on his favorite photo…again. Pushing away the tug of wrong, wrong, wrong, he called, "Enter."

Ed pushed the door open, playful mischief shining as if there wasn't any rift between them at all. "What's this I hear about a ring, Greg?"

Yep, he definitely should've known. He'd done his best to hide his latest acquisition, but keeping a secret in a busy, close-knit unit like this was nigh-impossible. And apparently hostilities had been suspended in light of the occasion. A faint flush rose, but he did his best to deflect. "I don't know, Eddie. You know how gossip gets."

The taller man snorted and leaned against his desk. "Yeah, right, buddy. Try that again without turning red and I might believe you." Crossing his arms, Eddie grinned. "You doing it here?"

"Absolutely not!" Parker blurted without thinking; when his words registered, he went brick red.

Lane snickered. "Smart man; I wouldn't give me blackmail material either." At the narrow-eyed glare, the snicker turned into a smug grin. "I claim best man rights."

"Funny," Greg snarked. "I thought the groom chose the best man, not the other way around."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Ed waved away the jab with the air of a man who'd heard much better counter-arguments. "Word can head up the groomsmen, but I get to be best man." Leaning forward, he wriggled his fingers in a 'come-hither' gesture. "Now come on, show me."

"You can see it if she says yes," Parker countered.

"Like she's gonna say no," his friend mocked him.

Shaking his head, Greg reached out and snatched up his favorite photo, tossing it to Ed. "What's wrong with that?"

Confused, the sniper turned the photo, inspecting it. "What, you aren't grinning wide enough or something?"

"It's been bugging me since Monday," the lieutenant complained. "Something's off, but I can't figure out what." Standing, he moved around his desk and gestured to the figures. "I mean, look at it; the balance is all off."

Ed frowned, inspecting the picture with a hawk's intensity. "See what you mean," he agreed, tone absent. Gentle, he traced the empty side of the picture, fingers moving as if there were figures, if unseen. Greg noted the movement and filed it away to consider later. After several minutes, the bald man shrugged and offered the photo back. "Maybe show it to Dean? See what he thinks?"

"But you see it, too, right?"

"I see what you're talking about," Ed confirmed. "But I'm not sure what the big deal is. The photographer screwed up, that's all."

Parker looked down at the photo. Was it really that simple? Rationality insisted it was, but his gut continued to churn, crying out as if he was missing…everything. His mind demanded an explanation, but his heart couldn't answer – it could only keen in grief that grew stronger by the day.

"Greg?"

Sorrow shone in hazel. "Ed, something… Something is wrong. It's been wrong since Monday and I have no idea what changed. I can't figure out what I'm missing."

"I can think of something," the sniper pointed out, voice turning tart.

"No, it's not that, Eddie." Greg turned away, still cradling the photo in his hands. "It has something to do with this, Eddie. I am sure of that, but whenever I try to pin it down…"

"It just slips right through?" Ed ventured.

Glancing back, Parker nodded once.

The Sergeant scowled and crossed his arms, thinking hard. "Want me to ask Word and Sam if they're feeling like something's off?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "Maybe Giles and Revan, too."

"Copy that, Boss." Ed backed up, then pointed at his best friend. "You are gonna show me that ring, though."

"No, I'm not," Greg countered. "Marina gets to see it first."

There was a laugh, then Ed left, leaving his boss behind to regard the photo once more. The longer he stared at it, the more convinced he became that he was missing something critical. And he needed to figure out what it was…soon.

Greg felt as nervous as a schoolboy wearing his first suit as he escorted Marina into her favorite high-end restaurant. He always felt out of place here – a 'common' police officer rubbing elbows with white-collar business people who lived in places three times as expensive as his and were perfectly comfortable jetting around the world. Still, he was going to do this right and give Marina an evening to really, truly remember. One that, if all went well, they could talk about and even laugh about in the years ahead.

From her spot at his side with her hand tucked in the crook of his elbow, Marina beamed, impeccably dressed and presented as always. The smile grew as her boyfriend informed the maître d' that he'd made reservations under the name Parker. The tall man in a pristine white and black suit scanned through his system, then nodded approvingly and guided his guests to their table. Greg declined the wine list, but Marina took it, scanning for her favorite while her boyfriend forged his way through the menu filled with French.

When the waiter arrived to take their drink order, Greg waited for Marina to settle on a choice before inquiring about non-alcoholic beverages. After some thought, he settled on what he thought was lemonade, but couldn't be sure with how fast their waiter had rattled the name off. Glancing back at the menu, he picked a likely prospect off the list of meat entrées. His pragmatic inner gryphon tended to enjoy any sort of meat, regardless of how it was cooked or seasoned. The closer it got to his big moment, the more his palms seemed to sweat, but he wasn't about to back down now.

Once Marina settled on a choice of her own, their waiter materialized, as though he'd been able to sense the very moment his customers were ready. He leaned in attentively as Marina turned the menu and switched to French as she ordered. Both men struggled not to wince at the awkward accent and mispronunciations, but the waiter offered Marina a smile for her effort before turning to Greg with a soundless sigh.

Settling on the better part of valor, Greg ordered in English, letting the waiter assume he was too boorish to attempt any French. Best not to let on that if he had ordered in French, he would've shown up his girlfriend. It was only when the man took the menu, arching a sardonic brow at the officer that he realized he'd translated the name of his entrée into English rather than struggling through the French as Marina had. Which he couldn't have done if he hadn't been able to understand the language. Oops.

Marina caught the interplay, but not the underlying reasons for it, much to her boyfriend's silent relief. Instead she waited for the waiter to leave, then stirred her drink and asked, "Have you made up with your old team yet?"

Ashamed, Greg shook his head. "Commander Holleran won't let me," he admitted.

Both brows shot up. "Won't let you?" Marina exclaimed.

Squirming, Greg explained, "He's punishing me for how I acted. Part of that is waiting for them to come to me and tell me why I was wrong."

Understanding filtered in and Marina smiled. "So you already know what you did wrong, but instead of apologizing, now you have to wait on them, huh?"

"Something like that," her boyfriend agreed. "I think he's also trying to get Eddie to confront me."

"He wouldn't ordinarily?"

"Not like this," Greg murmured. He sighed, slumping down. "I don't think he's had to before, actually."

"Greg. We all make mistakes," Marina chided. "Ed won't leave you waiting for long, just you see. The two of you are too good of friends to each other to let things stay like they are." Thoughtful, she regarded him. "Why did you react like that, Greg? It's not like you at all."

His throat closed an instant. Gazing down at the table, he confessed, "Marina, that call…it was the first time I've negotiated since I came back."

Gray eyes gleamed. "And then it went wrong," she whispered, earning a miserable nod. "Knocked you right off your game, didn't it?"

"Yeah," he conceded, voice shaky. Then he shook his head. "Enough about me, Marina. How are things going at work?"

Marina smiled, understanding why he was changing the subject. She reached across, lightly touching his hand, then turned to her own recent work issues, including the reaction to a small plaque she'd finally been able to get delivered. A memorial for the two lives that had been lost on that day – the day his then team had responded to multiple 911 calls from her business. Greg still remembered the gunshot he'd heard over the comm during the first 911 call. The way Marina's voice had trembled during her own 911 call – and the shot that had ended her admirer's threat to her. Hard to imagine how life could've unfolded if his team hadn't been the ones on that call.

As the couple waited for their dinner, Greg listened attentively to Marina's flow of words, switching topics with an effortlessness he admired. She'd picked up on his conflict with his former team almost before he could tell her himself and had spent the last few days urging him to mend fences and get back in the game. Odd how Commander Holleran agreed with her on both fronts, only he was holding his lieutenant back until he'd learned a few hard lessons about the consequences of impulsive, emotional decision-making.

Once their meals arrived, Greg excused himself to head for the restroom, then detoured to draw the waiter aside and arrange to pay upfront; he had another plan in mind for when the 'receipt' arrived after they ate. The man grinned at the card he was given, then casually remarked, "All shall be as you have asked, Monsieur Parker."

Greg sighed. "I didn't fool you for a second, did I?"

The waiter bowed. "You did at first," he remarked. "You speak it well."

"Thank you," the officer replied, deliberately swapping back to English. "Once you deliver it, could you…?"

"I will ensure you and your lady are not disturbed," the waiter reassured him. "You are hardly the first, Monsieur, and you will not be the last to use our fine establishment for a proposal."

Flushing, Greg thanked the man again, then headed for the restroom to calm his racing nerves and compose himself. It was almost time.

After their meal, Greg waited for the dishes to be cleared away and the 'receipt' to arrive, tension humming within as the seconds counted down. Almost…almost there. When their waiter arrived with a small black tray, he set it down in front of Marina, then cast a wink at his co-conspirator and disappeared.

Disappointed, Marina pulled the receipt to her. When she saw what was written on it, she gasped, her eyes flying up to meet Greg's as her hands cupped her mouth.

Gathering himself, Greg pulled out a small box and stood so he could move to be in front of Marina's chair. Kneeling, he gazed up at her, summoning up every ounce of his courage. "Marina, I know we met at a low point," she laughed, a sob mixed in, "but I've never had cause to regret our meeting." Flipping the box open, he lifted it, revealing the simple white-gold band with diamonds arranged into a flower with a curved leaf on either side. "Marina, will you marry me?"

She surged forward, seizing him around the neck in a hug. "Yes!" And if her cry was mixed with a sob, he chalked it up to the emotion of the moment and hugged her back even as he gently slid the ring onto her finger.