Chapter Two: Last Men Standing
Having been used as Portkeys, both smartphones were completely dead. Lou located the charger in the safe house and hooked up his own phone, mostly because Shelley still had Wordy's and they only had the one charger anyway. As he hooked up his phone, Wordy retrieved the backup weapons from their hiding place in a gun safe that had been cemented into the safe house's basement floor. The safe itself sported a ten digit number and wards to check the magical signature of whoever was trying to open the safe.
Lou knew Team Three's safe house had all the same precautions save the magical signature ward – which really should've tipped him off. The ward predated Fletcher Stadium, but somehow the less-lethal specialist had never thought to question how four pure techies could be detected by magical signature. Setting the matter aside, he looked up and took the gun belt and tactical holster Wordy offered him, buckling both in place before accepting the gun. He pulled the slide back, inspecting the chamber before he released the slide and popped out the magazine to check the rounds. Satisfied all was in order, he slapped the magazine back in place and holstered the weapon. No round in the chamber, but that was deliberate. Their best chance was to go undercover instead of charging in, guns blazing.
"Sa…Sarge's gun is still there."
The tan-skinned constable pretended not to notice the stutter. "We haven't been to the safe house in months, Wordy." Therefore, the gun was still there, waiting for a man who would never come.
"I know. I just…"
Lou turned, unwilling to let the hanging thought slide. "What?" He studied the other man for an instant. "Wordy, what? What did you think?"
Wordy met his gaze, then looked away. "I thought Blackroot said Gringotts would recall any weapons that don't have owners anymore."
A chill ran up Lou's back, then he shook his head. "Wordy. They're the SRU's guns."
For a long moment, his team leader stilled, then he huffed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Copy," he whispered, anguish shining for a split second before he locked it away, expression turning cold and rigid. "Can you turn your phone on?"
"Not yet," Lou admitted. "Gonna need some more power in the battery." And for all the work that Gringotts had put into the phones, the battery was one of the weak points. If it was fully drained, it would take almost half a day to recharge. He flicked his gaze up, meeting Wordy's eyes. "How long since you last ate?"
Gray flickered. "Not important right now."
"Yeah, it is," Lou countered. "We aren't going anywhere if you keel over from hunger, Word. And drop the act; it's not gonna help them."
Wordy glared, but Lou wasn't about to let it go. Not anymore; it was time and past for his team leader to stop freezing them out. Not to mention, if they were going to save their teammates, they couldn't afford anything less than true unity.
As the team leader's glare deepened, Lou's eyes narrowed. "Downstairs," he ordered. Not giving Wordy a chance to argue, he prodded and shoved the other man towards the stairs, only pausing long enough to stick his head into the safe house's tiny kitchen and ask the two women to find something for all of them to eat. Lisa opened her mouth, but her boyfriend shook his head and ducked back out. Whatever she had to say would wait long enough for him to – hopefully – straighten Wordy out once and for all.
Down in the basement, the two men faced off, Wordy's gaze so cold and rigid that Lou felt like shivering. But they didn't have time for Wordy to get over whatever had been bugging him since Sarge died. Their teammates needed them, but he couldn't trust the other man to have his six. Not as he was.
"Wordy, we all miss him," Lou started, holding up a hand before the brunet could interrupt. "But you're taking it way too far, man. It's like I don't even know you anymore." He drew in a deep breath. "Wordy, I don't trust you right now."
Gray darkened and the team leader turned away; Lou let him. Jules was doing her best and so was he, but he knew he still had a ways to go before he could really be a negotiator beyond the cross-training all of them had. All he could offer were his heartfelt convictions and observations. Inside, he prayed it would be enough; he wanted his friend back.
After a minute, Wordy glanced over his shoulder at his patient teammate, expression rigid and unforgiving. "That's all you got to say, Young? You don't trust me anymore? Just like that?" Cold fury rang. "Our teammates are under the Imperius and you choose now to not trust me?"
"Wordy, listen to yourself," Lou begged, heart breaking. "Would you trust you right now? Would you trust a team leader who's all about results and all about the bottom line instead of looking out for the team?" Frustration rose. "C'mon, Wordy, right now I'd trust Team Four's old bomb tech before I trusted you."
The big constable stiffened at the deliberate insult. "You'd trust the guy who shot Giles over me?"
No, not really, but Lou jerked a nod, refusing to let Wordy see the lie. If the lie would break through his friend's self-imposed shell, then it was worth it. "When's the last time you asked any of us how we're doing, man? When's the last time you laughed or pulled a prank? When's the last time you talked to Spike about how he's been acting? Or how about Jules and Sam; you check up on them lately?"
"Spike? What's wrong with Spike?"
A thread of worry, slender and hardly there, but Lou seized it like a lifeline. His dark eyes met Wordy's gray. "You really wanna know? Or you just gonna shut us out some more?"
The challenge rang, hanging between them like a drawn sword. Broad shoulders bunched in indignation, then hunched in shame, their owner reeling away from his teammate's accusing gaze. Eyes averted, he whispered, "Just tell me, Lou."
Lou frowned at the desolation, the ragged loss and the sense of inevitability. "You giving up on him already? What's that gonna do, huh?"
Wordy hunched even more, cringing away from Lou's penetrating stare. "I gave up on him."
The air chilled around the less lethal specialist and he knew his team leader wasn't talking about Spike. "We all did," he whispered back.
"Ed didn't."
Lou shook his head, ignoring the fact that Wordy wasn't looking at him. "Yes, he did," he countered firmly. "Wordy, we all gave up on Sarge. We all let him push us away and we all believed the lies he told us."
"At least you didn't give up on your brother."
It was Lou's turn to reel, eyes going wide as the pieces clicked together. He'd thought Spike was the only one of them who was Sarge's magical brother, but… But Wordy had done the magical brother ritual with Spike before Sarge had. For crying out loud, that first ritual was why Sarge had done the second one. Which meant… Lou swallowed hard, fists clenching as he absorbed the new information, but it didn't matter. Instead, he hardened his gaze and spat, "So you're gonna give up on your other brother?"
Wordy flinched violently, gray darting to meet Lou's.
"No, you know what, I take that back," Lou snarled, fresh outrage pooling in his gut. "You gonna give up on your other brothers? And your sister?"
The brunet's jaw dropped open, but as soon as the lean constable said the words, they both knew. It was true, though how it was true, neither of them could've explained. It simply was. Not by blood, except for Spike and Wordy, but still. Family by spirit, by heart, by magic. Lou felt power thrum within him and somehow, he wasn't at all surprised by the sensation. Some part of him had already known about the magic – known and accepted it. He could even feel a responding vibration from Wordy's magic.
Wordy retreated a step, but his eyes were wide with the same wonder that Lou felt. The magic…it felt like Sarge and yet, it was theirs. For several moments, the sudden warmth in their chests grew stronger, silently pleading with them to stand together. To bring back their family and restore their lost freedom. Lou's eyes slid closed at that grieving anguish; it was his and yet not. Following in its wake was an intense determination to do whatever was necessary to stop the Neo Death Eaters and free their teammates.
"Lou?"
He wrenched his eyes open again, almost gasping at the weight of the power pressing in on him. Even as he tried to meet Wordy's gaze, the magic intensified, demanding his instant compliance, his immediate action, regardless of the consequences.
Hands closed on his shoulders and gray caught his dark eyes. "Lou, breathe!"
The constable sucked in air, nearly choking on it, but as he did so, the foreign magic retreated. He shivered, waiting for it to press down on him again, but it didn't, instead retreating to the edge of his awareness. A second after that, it seemed to vanish and he couldn't feel it any more. "What…what the heck was that?"
"Wild Magic," Wordy replied, his tone coldly grim and yet, more like himself than it had been since his promotion to team leader. The big constable paused, eyeing Lou carefully, then continued. "It felt more like Lance's than Alanna's, though."
Lou shook his head. "No, man, it felt like Sarge."
"Only not," Wordy murmured, his remark in perfect sync with Lou's thoughts.
The less-lethal specialist frowned, one hand brushing his chest. "Felt like us, too, but…"
"Still not," Wordy finished.
The two exchanged bewildered glances; what on Earth was going on? Abruptly, Lou felt the magic rise again, but it didn't feel like Sarge or himself. Didn't feel like Wordy either. Instead, he had a sudden, almost blinding sense of Sam, desperately fighting and struggling against an icy cold darkness. The sensation only lasted a few seconds, then it was gone, but in its wake, Lou saw the magic lurking within him from another angle.
"Like us," he muttered, "But not." Magic that was wild, yearning to be free. Unwilling – or unable – to submit to anything that tried to take that freedom. But how had they gotten Sarge's mag… Oh, crumb. "Wordy," he blurted, head jerking up, "It's the magic from when Sarge got dosed in the hospital!"
Wordy released him, jerking back with a slack-jawed gape. "I thought that went back to him."
"Me, too, man, but I don't think it did." Lou scrubbed his hands through his black buzzcut. "And think about it, it makes sense. Why would Sarge take the magic back, anyway? His core stopped generating too much magic, but it didn't stop generating magic, so when was he gonna take it back?"
The team leader backed away, expression turning decidedly unnerved. Lou felt the same; to have his dead Sergeant's magic running through his veins…the idea itself felt wrong. He shivered, resisting the urge to hurl – they had a dead man's magic. How was that even possible? Was it any wonder that they'd pulled away from each other? Had their subconscious sensed the unnaturalness of what was going on and started pushing them apart in some kind of attempt to end the situation?
Within him, magic flared back to life, its protest almost audible. And though Lou fought to push it back down, it would not be denied; he felt his eyes begin to burn, as if the magic was glowing within them. Instinctively, he turned his head away, closing his eyes as he continued to struggle against Sarge's magic.
"Wait a sec. Lou, look at me."
Confused, Lou obeyed, startled when his team leader's eyes widened in something like…hope. "Wordy?"
"Lou…your eyes. They're bronze. Not scarlet." When Lou kept staring at the brunet, bewildered, Wordy leaned forward. "That's your color, Lou. Not Sa…not his."
The magic pulsed in insistent agreement, wrapping around the constable with a sense of reassurance. Not foreign, not alien, not wrong. It was his, part of him even though he'd been born with none. And in that reassuring thrum of power, Lou felt something else. The links, they were still there. They were what he'd felt before, they had been the power pushing him to save his teammates. Wordy's magic had triggered the response, but it had been his magic that had forced that overwhelming need back.
His magic was still working, too, pulling on Wordy's magic, trying to communicate on a level neither man consciously understood – and yet they did. Rebuilding the bonds they'd nearly severed in the aftermath of their boss's death. Reluctance screamed, but Lou willed himself to grip the magic and pull it back. To force Wordy's choice, it was just as wrong as the Imperius.
"Lou. It's okay."
He'd closed his eyes again; the less-lethal specialist opened them, staring at Wordy in pure dismay. "It's okay?" he cried, fists clenching. To violate his friend's free will was okay?
Wordy flinched, looking away. Then he drew in a deep breath and swung his gaze back, an odd determination shining. "You're right, Lou. I'm pushing all of you away. I'm the team leader, I can't do that. You guys need to be able to trust me and you can't do that if I'm shutting you out." His gaze lowered, a miserable expression crossing his face. "But, Lou…I don't know how to let you in again."
"Yeah, you do," Lou insisted, stepping forward and grabbing his teammate's shoulders. "You're doing it right now, buddy."
"Because you're helping me," Wordy confessed, glancing up.
Lou swallowed hard, understanding. Because his magic was whispering to Wordy's and bypassing stubborn, newly ingrained defenses to speak directly to the heart. With a nod, he released his magic and held Wordy's gaze until it was done. To his mixed gratitude and dismay, Wordy returned the stare, never even flinching as his magic and Lou's magic combined to completely alter his mind.
Wordy supported Lou up the stairs, doing his best to ignore the implications of Lou having magic. Not just a magical signature, magic. Not to mention the even more unnerving implications of what their magic could do to them. The big man was careful to stay quiet as he bypassed the safe house's kitchen and headed up to the building's second floor.
Initially, there'd only been one small safe house for the entire SRU; just a bolthole, really. No gear, no weapons; it was the place their badge and phone Portkeys were set to and that was all. The loss of the Canadian Ministry of Magic changed that. Although it had taken months of planning, plotting, and sneaking behind the Neo Death Eaters' collective backs, all four SRU teams now had good-sized safe houses – though only the Team One and Three safe houses were in operation. In an emergency, the safe houses could act as a temporary miniature barn, complete with weapons, gear, food, and even beds. More had been envisioned, but there simply hadn't been enough time to get the safe houses fully stocked according to Holleran and Locksley's admittedly ambitious plans.
The team leader wasn't sure how much food they had, but he was sure the women had already taken stock. Hopefully, Lisa could get them more supplies if they needed it. Giles was out of town, visiting his son in McKean Magical Prison, so he was out. The kids…
Wordy froze partway up the steps, then hefted Lou's arm over his shoulder and behind his neck so they could move faster. Exhausted, Lou could hardly keep up and the team leader ended up almost dragging the other constable up the rest of the stairs and to the safe house's one bedroom. He let his teammate down on the bed, making sure his head hit the pillow before he strode out of the room and scrambled back down the stairs, angling for Lou's charging smartphone.
Shelley stepped out of the kitchen, only to jerk back as her husband swooped by. Wordy snatched up the phone, thumbing the power button and inputting the PIN set up for the team phones. There was an anxious moment as he flipped to the contacts, then he breathed out in relief and tapped a number.
The phone rang once, twice, three times before going to voice mail. "Call me on Lou's number," Wordy ordered before hanging up, fresh panic rising.
Seconds later, the phone in his hands rang and the constable snapped it back up to his ear. "Sorry, Uncle Lou, just missed it," Lance apologized, chagrin echoing.
Relief slammed the big man, forcing him to clear his throat before replying. "Hey, kiddo, it's me."
"Uncle Wordy?" the teenager asked. "Why are you using Uncle Lou's phone?"
"Mine is dead," Wordy admitted sheepishly. "Listen, where are you and your sister right now?"
"Getting ready to head back," Lance replied. "I, um, I was actually about to call you to let you know the Gringotts meeting ran late."
A fresh wave of relief ran through him and he sagged against the wall behind him. "Thank God."
"Uncle Wordy?" Bemusement rang; thanksgiving wasn't usually the response to a meeting running late.
Pain wrenched his chest, stealing breath and nerve alike, but Wordy forced the report out. "Don't go back to my place, Lance. Don't go anywhere near there; Team One's been Imperiused."
"They what?" Indignation and fury.
"Stand down," Wordy ordered, no give at all. "Shelley's safe, the girls are safe, and we might be down, but we are not out. Not by a long shot, kiddo. Lou and Lisa are here with us and we're gonna get them back, I promise." Without giving the young man any room to interject, he continued, "Now what I need you to do is look after your sister, okay? I need you to keep her safe and keep yourself safe, too. Let us worry about the rest of Team One."
"But…"
"No," Wordy countered, harsh and unyielding. "No, absolutely not, Lancelot. You gotta let us do our job and we can't do that if we're worrying about you and your sister, understand?"
It took several aching, long seconds, but finally, Lance managed, "Copy that, Uncle Wordy." He swallowed hard, then asked, "What about Aunt Sophie, Clark, and Izzy?"
The team leader slumped. "I'm sorry, kiddo, I don't know. All I know is that everyone besides me 'n' Lou are Imperiused."
He heard a whispered consultation on the other end of the phone, then Lance said, "We'll get them out."
"You will not," Wordy snapped.
"If you and Uncle Lou free Team One, then they're expendable," Lance retorted. Wordy's throat closed at the declaration. "Someone has to get them out before that. If we can't help you with Team One, then we can do this." It was Lance's turn to pause, then, with a soft, conciliatory note, he murmured, "We'll be really careful, Uncle Wordy. I promise. We'll even take Mindy with us; she can get us out if something goes wrong."
Air rasped through his lungs, but what could he say? No? If Ed's family died, his one remaining best friend would be shattered; Sophie, Clark, and Izzy were all that kept Ed going any more. But to lose Sarge's kids… Anguish screamed inside him – he, no, they, couldn't lose anyone else. Just losing Sarge had broken them. Through numb lips, he heard himself rasp, "You swear?"
"I promise, Uncle Wordy. You won't lose us and we'll get them back."
For a moment, his jaw worked, then he snapped, "You'd better not die on us. If you die, I swear I'll find a way to resurrect you and ground you until the next millennium. That clear?"
"Crystal," Lance agreed at once, wry amusement and laughter lurking in the background despite the situation.
Wordy sagged, but hung up, flipping through the contacts again to find another number. He eyed the battery level narrowly, but tapped the number anyway. The phone would just have to hold out a little longer.
To his surprise, the call was answered at once. "Constable Young, you'd better have one hell of a good explanation."
"Ah, sir?" Wordy stumbled. "It's, ah, Constable Wordsworth, actually."
Commander Holleran's freeze was momentary, but audible. In a much less hostile tone, he asked, "Any particular reason you're using your teammate's phone, Wordsworth?"
"Yes, sir, mine's dead," Wordy reported. He closed his eyes, then soldiered forward. "Commander, I'm declaring OMAC Project."
Holleran stilled again. "Anyone besides yourself unaffected, Constable?"
"Constable Young. They came for me first; tried to Imperius me, but I managed to get away and warn Lou. We're at the safe house right now." He fidgeted, wondering if he should explain further, but kept his mouth shut.
For close to a minute, Commander Holleran did not speak, weighing his constable's report, then he sighed heavily. "Wordsworth, Team Three is down."
"Sir?" No, no, no; they'd sent Team One after Team Three? "Is anyone…"
"No, thank God," Holleran replied. "No fatalities, but you and your teammate are on your own; they managed to take Roy Lane down, too."
"And Giles is out of town," Wordy filled in numbly.
"That's correct," Holleran agreed. "I can arrange for you and Young to get your magic-side armor and more supplies, but beyond that…"
Gray eyes flicked back and forth. "They hit the Auror Division, too?"
"That, I'm not sure of, but Commander Locksley is in the middle of tracking down a potential mole. If I call them in, I'll have to give them the location of the safe house."
Wordy winced, understanding and accepting his commander's decision. "Copy." He swallowed, then winced at a soft beep from Lou's phone. "Sir? I'm about to run out of battery power here. We'll take the armor and supplies."
"Copy that, Wordsworth; I'll be over there sometime tomorrow morning." With that, the line went dead.
Wordy let down the phone, almost numb. Team Three down and no Auror backup, just what Holleran could sneak under the radar. They really were well and truly on their own.
God help us.
Over the meager dinner Shelley had been able to put together, Wordy outlined their situation, refusing to hide anything, even with his daughters at the table. Lisa cringed when he was done. "The Imperius," she whispered. "By Morgana and the Morrigan."
Wordy met her gaze, refusing to flinch. "There's gotta be some way we can get it off them," he insisted. "How'd they get it off during the wars?"
Another cringe. "Usually, they didn't, Auror Wordsworth," Lisa admitted. "That was one of the things that terrified people most. You had no idea who you could trust and back during the First War, no one outside of the Death Eaters knew about the Dark Mark."
The team leader frowned. "So, they'd wear masks during the raids and 'cause no one knew about the Mark, there was no way to identify the Death Eaters?"
"That's right," Lisa replied. She scowled down at her meal. "I think…I think you can override the Imperius, but someone would have to cast it again. Replace the first Imperius, then lift it."
Wordy closed his eyes. Not an option for him and Lou regardless, plus he suspected if Lisa did it, she'd be arrested, regardless of her motive in casting an Unforgivable. "Any other ways we can get it off?"
The young witch winced. "Um, well, if someone has a strong enough will, they can sometimes throw it off, but…"
"But…?" Wordy prompted.
"But it would probably take a long time and it might leave them with permanent damage," Lisa confessed, biting her lip.
The team leader grimaced. "Well there goes that idea," he muttered. Although… Frowning, he attacked his meal, letting his mind sort through a…something…that had attracted his attention. Just under the surface, at the tip of his tongue. The beginnings of a plan.
He let it sift and percolate as Lisa and Shelley plotted out how to get more food supplies to the safe house without drawing attention. Outwardly, he chuckled at Shelley's now bright red hair and green eyes before she and Lisa left for a nearby magical grocery store. While they were gone, he took his daughters upstairs and set up bunk beds for them to sleep on, even as his mind churned. Even after the women returned safely and enlisted his help to put the groceries away in the tiny kitchen, he continued to think and muse. Throughout what remained of the evening, he kept quiet, allowing all the puzzle pieces to drift and fit into place, little by little.
By the time Lou stumbled down the stairs the next morning, still half-asleep, but starving, Wordy had a plan.
