Chapter Two: The Bloody Cost of Heroism
Wordy slipped out of Ed's car, the two of them trading grim looks before the brunet lifted his hand in farewell and turned to walk towards his house. In the cool night air, Wordy let his pace slow to a stop so he could let his temper simmer down. It had been stupid to deliberately hunt down Fusco, just so they could taunt him with Sarge's survival, family, and promotion, but the team leader still couldn't find it in himself to regret their actions. However dumb their taunts might've been, Fusco had hurt Sarge – and so had they. Sarge…he'd never, ever accept an apology. The noble git honestly believed that he deserved the way they'd treated him after finding out about the magical orders. So since they couldn't apologize, payback on his behalf was the next best thing. However idiotic and foolish it turned out to be.
With a tiny sigh, Wordy stepped up on his porch and slipped inside his house to head for the kitchen. He wasn't surprised to find Shelley, Lance, and Alanna waiting for him. All three had mugs in front of them…hot chocolate if he knew Shelley. And, sure enough, Shelley was nudging a fourth mug across the table to him. Wordy sat down, pulling the mug to him and inspecting it for an instant. He smiled sadly at the mug; it was one he'd had forever and he'd even let Alanna put runes on it to convert it into a Self-Heating mug. Gently, he rubbed his thumb over the Toronto Police Academy emblem emblazoned on the side.
"Kevin? How did it go?"
Wordy shrugged without looking up. "It went," he replied. "Not sure it was the greatest idea we've ever had, but we did it."
Shelley frowned, but didn't press him further. Instead, she waited until he'd sipped at his drink for another few minutes before clearing her throat rather pointedly.
Mentally, Wordy winced. Sighing, he looked up at his patient audience. "All right, all right. The girls are in bed?"
His wife's lips pursed. "Yes and Greg hasn't stirred even once since you left."
The brunet nodded at the news and turned the mug in his hands, flicking a glance down at the hot chocolate. Inside his mind, he reached out to the 'team sense', careful not to disturb his sleeping boss, but needing that tangible reassurance that he was alive. Especially if he was going to be telling the whole, miserable story.
"Kevin."
Gray struggled to meet his wife's blue. "You, ah, you want the whole story or just the gory details?"
"Let's start with the injuries," Lance decided before Shelley could speak.
Wordy smiled sadly. "Copy that, kiddo." Flicking his gaze down at the hot chocolate again, he said, "Okay, like I said earlier, Sarge pretty much walked all the way home."
"From Colorado?" Shelley questioned.
The big man shook his head. "Lexington, Kentucky, actually. That's where Amber lives." He twitched a half-smile, half-grimace. "She drove from Colorado to Kentucky with a gryphon in the back of her new pickup truck."
Lance whistled low and Alanna's eyes went wide. Shelley arched a brow, eyeing her husband significantly. "Does he like her?"
The kids traded astonished glances and turned back to Wordy, eager for the answer. For his part, Wordy frowned thoughtfully. Shelley's question implied that it was a foregone conclusion that Amber liked Sarge and… "Well…Lou said he went brick red when Spike started teasing him about her over the comm right before we went undercover." A shrug. "All Sarge would say is that he's at least twenty years older than her, with three kids. Oh, and he has a girlfriend already."
Huh. Maybe Shel, Ed, and Spike had a point. Now that he thought about it, all of Sarge's objections had been about himself, not Amber. Not that that was out of the ordinary when it came to Sarge; he seemed to revel in being his biggest critic and his own worst enemy, all in one. Still… it was curious that Sarge had religiously stuck to those objections whenever pressed, as if they were all he could cling to. Perhaps, Wordy mused, he doth protest too much. Or however that little snippet went.
Shelley nodded acceptance of her husband's report, but Wordy recognized the gleam in her eyes. She'd be watching the situation closely and if she liked what she saw, his boss might find himself dealing at least one matchmaker, possibly two if Shel roped in Sophie.
Alanna cleared her throat. "So his hands and feet are all ripped up?"
Forced back to the main topic of discussion, Wordy blew out his breath. "Yeah," he confirmed. "But it's more than that." Misery shone. "He's lost at least fifty pounds – might be closer to sixty – so he's way underweight. His system is so outta whack that he's stuck on broth and soup for another week; that's why the Healer put him on nutrient potions, too." The brunet grimaced. "And to top it all off, while we were undercover, his magical core had a partial shutdown."
Lance swore and Alanna went ghostly pale.
Wordy stared at the table, raking his hands through his longer-than-usual hair. Before going undercover, he'd been planning to get a haircut, but well…he had a feeling any haircuts were going to have to wait. Drawing in a deep, fortifying breath, he soldiered on. " 'Lanna, those potions Neal gave you. One is for his hands and the other's for his feet, but, ah…he wasn't supposed to be wearing shoes until, well…about now."
"But he wore them," Lance filled in, expression solemn.
A miserable nod. "Jules got loafers, trying to keep the damage down, but about all we could do was keep it from getting any worse." Gray closed in anguish. "I'm not even sure we were able to do that much." He swallowed around a lump. "He can't stand for very long right now, 'cause of his feet and how much he had to overuse his muscles coming home. His hands have nerve damage – don't know about his feet. When he first woke up, he was having some trouble talking, but I think maybe he just had to get used to being human again."
"Or it was a side-effect of his core," Lance mused.
To Wordy's shock, Alanna nodded agreement. "Extreme magical exhaustion."
"Wait, I thought the symptoms were different…" Wordy trailed off, not particularly wanting Shelley to find out he'd suffered two episodes of magical exhaustion himself.
Alanna tossed her head, resettling her hair. "A speech impediment isn't a common symptom," she admitted. "But I've heard of it happening sometimes." A tiny shrug. "Once the core recovers, it goes away."
The constable frowned. "Can it be overcome by using magic?"
Violet widened in unfeigned horror. "By the Lion, don't tell me Uncle Greg did that!"
Wordy squirmed, then winced as Alanna voiced her opinion in a flood of furious, colorful language that sounded like…Ancient Greek? He wasn't going to ask.
" 'Lanna, chill. It's done, it's over. You can yell at Uncle Greg in a couple days when he's feeling better." Lance turned his head, skewering Wordy with intent sapphire. "You didn't know."
Wordy shook his head.
A slight nod. "Then Uncle Greg didn't know either." The young man's shoulders slumped. "How…how long?"
The brunet sighed heavily. "At least two months," he replied. "Probably closer to three." He shrugged limply. "Healer Queenscove said he'd make a full recovery, but that was before we had to go undercover for a week and totally ignore the treatment plan."
Lance's eyes narrowed. "And why did you have to go undercover?" he demanded. "Especially if Uncle Greg's as bad as you say."
Wordy's laugh was bitter. "Because it turns out the mayor hired Castor Troy's twin brother as his executive assistant."
The kids blinked.
"He did what?" Shelley hissed in outrage.
The big man's smirk was mirthless. "Geb Romulus, aka Pollux Troy. Sarge figured it out right off, pretty much as soon as Holleran said the name. Pollux was threatening to send Roy undercover in Sarge's place, but we all knew that wouldn't work."
"But still," Lance whispered.
"I know, kiddo, I know. Even Ed was sayin' Sarge should stay put, that Giles could watch Roy's back until Holleran could get Sarge back in the SRU. But Sarge wouldn't risk it." Solemn gray regarded the two teenagers. "He wouldn't risk Pollux figuring out that either one of you existed."
"And all of you went with him," Shelley murmured.
Sorrowful, Wordy nodded. "He couldn't do it on his own, Shel. And…" The constable stopped, wincing.
"And?" Shelley pressed.
Broad shoulders slumped. "And if he hadn't, he'd've been out of the SRU," Wordy admitted. "Toth… After Sarge disappeared, Toth started pulling his own strings." And hadn't that been a surprise, that Sarge's second biggest critic had been lobbying for him. "Even went to the mayor." Another bitter smirk. "But the mayor was more worried about saving his own bacon than doin' the right thing." Fury shone. "He gave Sarge three options. Retirement, a permanent transfer to IS, or one last week undercover before coming back to the SRU."
The teens hissed their own fury and Shelley's eyes narrowed to thin slits.
One shoulder hiked. "Sarge took door number three and never let on that he was hurt. Not even once." Ed had explained it later, to all of them, why Sarge had done that, but somehow, it hadn't sunk in for Wordy until Sarge had steadfastly insisted that if he had shown weakness, it would've been open season on himself and his family.
Silence fell and Wordy turned back to his hot chocolate, idly turning the mug and sipping from it. He felt numb and frozen. In a way, explaining what had happened and why it had happened was almost worse than what they'd gone through. He knew it was necessary, especially since Sarge's recovery was going to take a very long time, but…it still hurt. Still ripped and tore at the wounds he bore on heart and soul. Wounds that wouldn't heal until Sarge was back on his feet and on-duty again.
"So Uncle Greg didn't want us to know he was alive…because we'd be in danger?" Alanna's voice was small and tentative, hurt evident on her face.
Shelley hugged the redhead and Wordy met her eyes, trying to channel reassurance in her direction. The girl ducked her chin and the brunet reached across, tipping it back up. "Hey, hey. I was there when he woke up the first time. And I've never seen anyone so ripped apart in my entire life. He wanted you guys, wanted you with all his heart, but he was scared. No, not scared, he was terrified." Gray held firm, meeting widening violet eyes. "Sarge and Holleran, they lived through Castor Troy's first rampage through this city, sweetheart. They knew if Castor ever found out that Sarge had family right here in Toronto, you'd never be safe. He would've hunted you guys down for as long as it took, just so he could murder you in front of Sarge."
"But Castor was dead when Uncle Greg came back," Lance pointed out coolly.
Wordy shook his head. "That just made it worse, kiddo. Think about it. Pollux had two siblings that we know of. Both of 'em died in that fire two months ago. If he'd found out about you guys, that would've been the perfect way to get back at Sarge."
Shelley sucked in a breath and Alanna's eyes filled with tears, but Wordy couldn't help but notice that Lance sat stiffly, expression almost blank as he listened. After a few minutes, the young man nodded acceptance, but his eyes remained wary and guarded. Something was still bothering him, but until Wordy could figure out what the problem was, there was nothing he could do. In short, he had to be patient – and after four months of painful waiting…he loathed patience.
Wordy huffed a sigh to himself as he ghosted through the hallways of his own home towards the guest room. His head knew Sarge was alive, but after waking up from yet another nightmare, his heart needed a fresh reminder. The constable paused when he heard noise ahead of him. Slowing, he peered through the dim shadows and spied a gleam of long hair on the person hovering next to the guest room. Alanna.
The girl turned as the big man joined her, peering over her into the room. Sarge was curled up on the bed, breathing slow, steady, and soft, but audible. Rather than withdraw, Wordy nudged Alanna into the room and crossed to the bed. The constable sat down, wincing at the tiny creak from the bed frame, and reached out to rub at the spot that would keep his boss asleep. He felt, more than saw, Alanna join him.
"It doesn't seem real."
Wordy glanced over at her, watching as his niece/cousin hugged herself. "You can touch him, you know."
It took another few seconds, then she scooted forward and rested a hand on Sarge's side. Then she pulled back and hugged herself again. "It still doesn't seem real."
The big constable sighed and stretched out his free arm, tucking the young woman close even as he kept rubbing Sarge's back. "I know. The first two days, he was all dosed up on sleeping potions and completely out of it, but we couldn't stop fighting over who got to sit with him. Sam and Jules just about hit the roof when Ed wouldn't let them stay overnight." A pause. "And when we were undercover, every last one of us kept sneaking into his room, just to make sure he was still there."
Alanna giggled and nuzzled into his chest. Her hand found Sarge's side again, fingers clenching the coverlet.
"Any idea what's up with your brother, sweetheart?" Wordy asked.
The shrug he felt made him frown; the frown grew deeper when Alanna ducked her head and avoided his gaze. It took a few minutes, but Alanna finally said, "I think he's mad."
"Because we hid Sarge being alive from you guys?" Wordy ventured.
Another shrug, but the girl said nothing more.
Sighing mentally, Wordy resigned himself to waiting, watching, and giving Sarge a heads up on Lance's…unhappiness…in the morning. "Okay, kiddo, back to bed," he decided. Gingerly, he edged back off the bed and pulled Alanna with him. The pair ghosted back out of the room and Wordy closed the door behind them. Then he escorted Alanna back to the living room and headed back to his own bedroom.
The morning brought its own complications. Wordy had just finished getting his boss through a shower and the first round of potions when he heard someone knocking at the door. With a frown, Wordy rose and headed for the door, absently noting that Claire was bringing the wooden TV tray for Sarge to use. He hadn't seen Lance all morning, but Alanna was in the kitchen with Shelley, helping to get breakfast ready.
Partway to his front door, Wordy registered a sharp rap against the 'team sense'. He stiffened, then stifled a groan as he identified the source.
In the background, Sarge inquired, 'Eddie?'
'Sorry, Boss; Soph's on the war path. Word, try not to get run over.'
'Copy,' Wordy grumped, shifting to brace himself as he opened the front door.
Sure enough, Sophie Lane was on his front step, almost trembling in fury. Ed was a good meter behind her, clearly attempting to remain out of blast range. "Where is he?" the brunette spat.
Nonchalantly, Wordy leaned against the doorway and hiked a brow. "Where's who?" he asked innocently.
Sophie's eyes narrowed, a truly lethal expression appearing on her face. Wordy felt himself freeze, a cold sweat breaking out on his back. The brunette valkyrie studied him in absolute, utter rage and Wordy found himself taking a step backwards without even thinking, Adam's apple bobbing in a gulp. The Lane matriarch swept in, casting Wordy one final glare that sent shudders down his spine, then dismissed him as a mere obstruction to her ultimate goal and stormed towards the kitchen. For several seconds, Wordy couldn't even muster the will to move, so deadly had been Sophie's anger.
"You're a braver man than I am, Word," Ed murmured as he stepped inside.
"More like stupider than you are," Wordy countered, shivering. "How mad is she?"
Before Ed could reply, the enraged valkyrie shrieked, "Gregory Allen Parker, where on Earth have you been!? How dare you! How dare you make us think you'd started drinking again! How dare you disappear on us and leave us grieving for four months!"
Ed scrambled past and Wordy kicked the door shut as he followed his Sergeant; ahead of them, Sophie's rant escalated to a new octave.
"Do you have any idea what that did to us? How we struggled to accept what you'd done? To explain to your children why you'd done that to us. To them! How dare you leave us hanging; how dare you do that to Eddie, you selfish, cowardly scut!"
The men surged into the living room just in time for Ed to catch his wife's wrist before she could slap their cowering, cringing boss. "Sophie, enough," the sniper ordered, hauling her backwards. "Yell all you want, but don't hit him. He's taken enough hits."
"After what he did to you, Eddie?"
The lean man shook his head. "Soph, stop. This wasn't Greg's fault."
"Wasn't his fault?" the brunette valkyrie shrilled. "He lied to you, tricked you into thinking he was drinking all the time and he didn't care about us anymore."
Wordy swallowed hard, unable to help but notice the utter…despair on Sarge's face. And yet the gaunt, injured man offered not a word of protest. It was as if he believed he deserved every bit of Sophie's furious attack. Except…
"What was he supposed to do?" All attention snapped to the big man, but the brunet refused to back down. "Was he supposed to tell the mayor and the commissioner to shove it? Tell them sorry, but I'm not gonna obey a gag order? I'm not gonna transfer to IS and go undercover?"
"Yes," Sophie hissed.
"They'd've fired him on the spot," Wordy snarled right back. "And then that monster would've had a free shot at him and the kids."
Sophie froze – and so did Shelley – but Ed's expression was grave. "Wordy's right," he put in sorrowfully. "If Greg hadn't gone undercover as ordered, he would've lost any and all protection he had. No backup, no legal authority, no nothing."
"As it is," Wordy cut in, "Sarge is the only survivor left from the original trial." Bitter, he shook his head. "Before that scum escaped, there were three."
The last of Sophie's anger drained away at the declaration. Dark eyes regarded her husband, his teammate, and finally his boss. Indignation flared anew. "So where have you been for the past two months?"
Sarge eyed her warily. "I was Portkeyed to the Colorado Rockies and trapped in my Animagus form," he explained, defensiveness radiating. "I got a ride as far as Kentucky, but after that, I had to walk home."
"Soph, cool it; he got back just in time to pull my bacon out of that fire at the apartment complex," Ed interjected. "But it took another day before we could get the collar off."
"Collar?" Sophie echoed.
Wordy winced, as did Sarge. "The, um, the collar that was keeping Sarge stuck in his form."
Sophie eyed Wordy, then inspected Sarge from head to toe. "And I suppose all this is why you look like a walking skeleton?" Derisive sarcasm rang.
Sarge flinched and stared down at the floor, hunching in on himself again. The guilt, shame, and sheer regret on his face was unmistakable.
"Sophie, stop it," Shelley intervened, stepping forward to be between the furious brunette and her target. "It was an awful, terrible situation and Greg did the best he could." Blue narrowed and the blonde frowned, a slight gesture keeping Sophie quiet. "I'm not saying he handled it perfectly, Sophie. Far from it, but Kevin and Ed are right. He survived, we survived, and the kids survived. From what Kevin told us last night, that's a better outcome than anyone else got in this whole mess."
"He even got a promotion," Ed pointed out.
The whole room swung to him. "A promotion?" Shelley asked, caught off guard.
One brow rose. "Word? You didn't tell them?"
Wordy frowned, thinking hard, then his expression turned rather sheepish. "Ah…yeah…I kinda…forgot about that…"
Sophie snorted, Shelley giggled, and Ed shook his head in affectionate dismay. Then the Sergeant produced a deep blue velvet box and offered it to his boss. "Greg? You wanna do the honors or should I?"
Sarge reached out, taking the box, smiling ever so slightly at Alanna's inquisitive gaze. "All yours, Eddie."
The sniper grinned at the curious women – and a sullen Lance hovering in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. "Soph, Shelley…ladies…meet the SRU's first ever lieutenant."