Chapter Five: Catch Me If You Can

Author note: My parents will be flying from Chicago to Dallas today to stay with me for Christmas. Please pray that their flight will be safe and that we will be able to link up successfully on the ground.

And now...enjoy...

Greg alternated between 'his' human – she'd introduced herself as Amber Drake – and the two FBI profilers. Part of him hoped they'd figure out who he was, but the Sergeant knew it was unlikely at best. To the profilers, he was a Toronto police Sergeant they'd met once and none of them had ever been told about his Animagus form. In all honestly, he wouldn't be a bit surprised if all of them thought he was extremely unprofessional. After all, he had shot a subject and endangered two of his constables; that his magic had been tainted and very much out of his control hadn't been something he'd found out until later.

Beneath the surface, old shame burbled, but Greg firmly pushed it aside. He hadn't been physically capable of controlling his magic; that it had taken until Fletcher Stadium before his tainted magic completely rebelled was a miracle. Although it had taken him most of his time undercover to come to terms with the fact, the truth, that the tainted magic's behavior wasn't his fault, he had and he wasn't about to let misplaced guilt erase that progress.

At least, he reflected ruefully, he was no longer the 'mountain lion with wings'. Agents Morgan and Prentiss had immediately put paid to that, correctly identifying him as a gryphon. Which just made Drake squeal – why were women's voices capable of such high, piercing decibels? Greg had ensured he stayed far, far away from the woman until she calmed down.

On the other side of the group, the two surviving campers were starting to grieve for their friends. Wrong place, wrong time, that was all it had taken. Greg kept half an eye on them, wishing he could talk to them. They hadn't done anything wrong and neither had Drake. The only ones to blame for the killings were the subjects. They, at least, would never see the light of day again; from what Greg could overhear, the pair was responsible for deaths going back a good twenty years and there had apparently been a third serial killer, now deceased.

"Hotch, we got 'em." Parker glanced up at Agent Morgan, but kept quiet. Bad enough that he was openly flouting the Statute of Secrecy without letting Morgan's cell phone pick up gryphon sounds. "You alone?"

Faintly, from the other side, Greg heard, "Morgan, is something wrong?"

Morgan glanced down at the gryphon keeping pace. "Unsubs are in cuffs and we rescued three near victims."

"But?"

"You and Gideon aren't gonna believe this."

"Morgan." Though the word was flat, Greg easily picked up the gritted undertone and wordless demand for an explanation.

"Hotch, our unsubs got taken down by a griffin."

"What?"

"Yeah and it's hanging around, like it wants something. Got a collar, too."

"Could it belong to one of the victims?"

Greg bristled; he did not belong to anyone! But Morgan was already shaking his head, though Agent Hotchner couldn't see him. "Don't think so, Hotch. One of the campers it rescued called it a, and I quote, 'mountain lion with wings'."

Over the phone, Hotchner snorted laughter.

"Hotch, it's not flyin' at all, like it knows if it flies, it's breaking the Statute."

"And?" Greg bobbed his head, pleased at the probing undertone.

Morgan was silent a moment or two. When he spoke, his words were slow. Careful. "Hotch, there's something weird about this. It could've killed the unsubs, but it didn't. Not even when one of 'em almost got loose right when we got there. I mean, they're banged up, but that's it. What kinda animal is gonna do that?"

"You think it might be an Animagus?"

"Maybe." For another breath, silence hung, then Morgan cleared his throat. "Anyway, we're on our way down. If this guy sticks with us, you can see him when we get back."

As if Greg was going anywhere; they'd already guessed the fundamentals, if not the specifics. To leave now meant passing up a one-of-a-kind opportunity. If the profilers – or an American Auror – could get this blasted collar off, then he could transform and borrow a phone long enough to call Commander Holleran. Might take another day or two, but he'd be home. And perhaps they could figure out who'd slapped the collar on him in the first place. Whoever it was, they'd either hit him from behind or snatched him after a piece of debris knocked him out. Although he owed his life to the intervention, Parker was fairly sure that slapping this stupid collar on him and Portkeying him to the Rocky Mountains negated the debt. Big time. Not to mention leaving his family thinking he was dead. Fresh determination flooded him; he wasn't giving up now. Not when he was so close.

When Agent Morgan hung up, Greg let out a happy squrr and rubbed against the profiler, doing his best to communicate that yes, he was an Animagus and yes, he was sticking around. At least long enough to get the collar on his neck off.

To Greg's private relief, he was able to hitch a ride in a pickup truck on their way down the mountain, saving his paws and talons some wear and tear. The gryphon huddled up in the truck bed and kept his head down, hoping to go unnoticed by anyone besides the LEOs and his rescuees. Assuming his half-baked idea worked, he was already in a boatload of trouble; the Sergeant had lost count of how many people he'd broken the Statute of Secrecy in front of. He didn't need to add any more.

Agents Morgan and Prentiss seemed to have the same idea; before leaving the crime scene, they draped a lightweight tarp over the big predator, doing their best to shield his features from casual observation. The tarp was rather dusty and smelt of the outdoors, but Greg truly didn't mind. It was at least a token effort to keep the Statute somewhat intact.

At the base of the mountain, Greg waited for the truck to park and for the tailgate to be lowered before he moved. He kept low before leaping out, landing in the circle of profilers and officers. Beyond the circle, he could see the campers and Drake being guided into a building nearby. They would be interviewed and arrangements made to help them get home as well as replace what they'd lost. The couple's camping gear had become evidence in two homicides; plus, unless Greg missed his guess, they scarce wanted anything to do with gear that would only remind them of the friends they'd seen murdered. As for Amber, it was entirely possible that all she had were the clothes on her back, but it was no longer his concern. She was alive and safe; that would have to do.

The gryphon turned his attention back to the group around him, ears pricked and head cocked slightly to the side. Agent Morgan made a huffing sound, then gestured for Greg to follow; he trailed after the profiler, automatically noting his surroundings as they moved. Once inside the building, Parker tucked his wings as close as possible and kept his eyes open to avoid knocking into any walls or tables. He wasn't surprised when Agent Morgan guided him into a room with all the other American FBI profilers his team had met. The only one not present was Agent Jareau, which made sense; she was the only one who hadn't seen the video of Spike and Wordy's confrontation with Toronto's magical serial killer.

Of course, Greg reflected ruefully, knowing about magic didn't mean any of the profilers knew what to do with a magical creature. To a man, they gawped at the big predator, looking rather uneasy and fearful. The gryphon moved far enough into the room to keep from blocking the doorway, then sat, tucking his hindquarters close and lashing his tail around. Movement complete, he tilted his head to the side and churred a greeting. Best to be on his best behavior, especially considering the stakes.

"You weren't kidding, were you?" Agent – Doctor – Reid murmured, edging closer to get a better look at Greg's appearance.

"I don't kid about stuff like this, Reid," Agent Morgan replied, tone flat. Glancing over at a stoic Agent Hotcher, he added, "We think it's a guy, Hotch. One of the women said he really didn't like being called a girl."

Greg flinched, something Agent Hotcher's dark eyes didn't miss. "I see," the agent observed, tone thoughtful. "Anything else we know?"

"He crushed the unsubs' bows," Agent Morgan reported. "We think he took the unsubs down, then brought the vics back to help him tie 'em up. They all said he bit the strings off the bows for them to use as restraints. And I already told Hotch how he didn't slice either of the unsubs up. Just knocked 'em around."

Black brows rose and, off to the side, Agent Reid looked quite impressed. The tall, slender doctor asked, "Would any magical creature do that, Hotch?"

"I don't know," the older profiler admitted. "I doubt it, though. That much reasoning suggests…"

"An Animagus," Agent Gideon put in from his own spot in the room, tucked in the room's darkest corner.

Greg turned his head, studying the man. Agent Gideon appeared far more wan and worn than he had in Toronto, suggesting that he was under a considerable amount of stress. More than just the current case, the Sergeant was sure. Unfortunately, there was nothing Parker could do to help; it was up to Agent Gideon's teammates to help. Assuming the elder man let them, which Greg's instincts weren't so sure about.

"So what do we do?" Agent Morgan asked, glancing back towards Agent Prentiss. She'd taken up a post in the doorway, keeping anyone outside of the profilers from wandering in to see the gryphon. "You'd think an Animagus would change back. Take the unsubs out with his wand."

Greg whined and shook his head forcefully. One forefoot rose, the talons briefly rubbing against the collar around his neck. All the agents noticed and Agent Reid even stepped forward before Agent Morgan waved him back. The gryphon held very still as the black man crouched, running his hands over the collar. Agent Morgan frowned, pausing at the very front of the collar. "Reid, you got a flashlight on you?"

"Sure," the younger man agreed, fishing in a pocket before coming up with a penlight.

Internally, Parker winced, but he continued to hold as still as possible. To his relief, the light didn't shine in his eyes. Agent Morgan angled it down at the collar before turning it on and he was careful to keep from moving the flashlight up as he inspected something on the collar.

"Okay, I see what looks like some kind of emblem on here. Red tree, black background. It's on what looks like a buckle, but I'm not seeing any way to make it unlatch." Greg felt the man's fingers curl around the collar, feeling the back and searching for something, but still, the collar did not release and he could practically sense Agent Morgan's frustration. At last, the fingers withdrew and Agent Morgan turned back to his colleagues. "I think we're gonna need somebody who knows a whole lot more than we do about magic."

"I'll make the call," Agent Hotchner agreed.

Greg did his best to stay low and out of sight in the small law enforcement office. Unfortunately, word about the gryphon had spread like wildfire, making it nearly impossible for Parker to stay anonymous. The profilers did what they could, but the big predator was most unhappy when the safest place for him turned out to be a disused office, behind an old desk. There was scarcely room to breathe, never mind move or turn around.

Dejected, but resigned, Greg curled up and tried to sleep, but it was no use. His mind was far too active, longing for home wrenching heart and soul. Would it ever be the same? Eddie had been Team One's Sergeant for two months; it was hardly fair to demand he step aside in favor of a man who'd lied to him. He hadn't had any choice, not with the gag order, but still…

A tiny sniffle registered; hang it all! It was his form, he knew; gryphons ran on emotions and instinct. Hiding emotions weren't necessary for them. Or maybe it was knowing how much he'd have to rebuild. Broken faith, broken trust. His undercover assignment had been bad enough, but to die on them… Grief spiraled through him, a twisting pain that reminded the Sergeant of the day he'd woken from a drunken haze to find his family gone. Only…this time he'd left them. Not intentionally by any means, but he had nonetheless.

Even once he made it home, it would take time and effort to rebuild the relationships he'd been forced to shatter. A pang ran through him – none of his friendships would ever be what they'd been before. He would, of course, do his best to rebuild them into something far stronger, but he knew it was far more likely that they'd be weak, fragile, and prone to breakage – and that was assuming he could restore the trust he'd obliterated in the first place.

But surely it was better to try than to just give up? What was the phrase? Better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all? Foolish romantic nonsense, except for how true those words rang. Greg would willingly grovel for days if it meant he could have his family back. Would willingly retire and leave Eddie with Team One if that meant they would give him another chance.

One thing he would not do. They could cajole, bully, and threaten, but he wasn't going undercover ever again. He wasn't going to lie to his people, to his family ever again, no matter how many gag orders he had on him. Castor Troy had used his loyalty to the force, his obedience to the law, as a weapon against him. Against his team and his family. Troy might not have known the cop Greg Parker had become, but he – and his loathsome sister – had gambled that Greg would bow to an illegitimate transfer and a pre-emptive gag order because they were technically legal. They had bet that they could isolate him and cut him off from every last scrap of support he had.

He'd walked right into it. And because he'd walked right into their trap, his family was suffering. Worse, he'd inflicted most of that suffering all by himself. Utterly, completely unforgivable. If they forgave him, it would be far, far more than he deserved. Grace that he could never repay.

Before Greg could finish chasing that train of thought all the way back to its rabbit hole, he heard the office door open. The gryphon tensed, only to relax as Agent Morgan's footsteps made their way around the desk. Awkward, Parker craned around, letting out a soft, inquiring trill.

"Come on, big guy," Agent Morgan replied, crouching down and running a hand down Greg's flank. "Auror's here."

Copy that.

Careful to keep from banging his head or wings…or beak, Parker slunk out from under the ancient, dust-ridden desk and followed the FBI profiler out of the tiny room. Time to reclaim the life Castor Troy had stolen from him.

Agent Morgan and Greg entered the 'FBI section' of the office just as Agent Rossi wrapped up his explanation of the an-Animagus-stopped-our-unsubs theory to the American Auror. "We think he might be trapped and that's why he hasn't changed back," the agent finished, glancing over at the new arrivals.

Parker rumbled to himself, quite pleased with how quick the profilers had been on the uptake. Even for intelligent, intuitive investigators, it was a bit of a leap to go from 'animal that acts like a human' to 'Animagus'. Curious, yet cautious, he turned his attention to the Auror. She was blonde and rather short, but he couldn't tell much more than that with her back to him. Hope surged within him; with any luck, his nightmare was almost over. And yet… The woman's stance hinted at a sense of arrogance and superiority. Her head was tilted to the side; though Greg couldn't see the witch's expression, he could see Agent Rossi's frustration with it.

Then she turned and he met cool gray eyes for an instant before she laughed. "A griffin?" she jeered. "You think a griffin is an Animagus?"

Greg's ears flicked back, a growl rumbling in his chest at her scorn.

"Animagi can't be magical animals," the Auror snapped, disdain echoing.

Wait, what? The gryphon's ears laid back, flattening in outrage. That was an outright lie. While it was true that magical Animagus forms were almost unheard of, requiring extremely powerful wizards, they weren't impossible. Half-magical forms, such as a half-kneazle (3), were more common for powerful wizards, while non-magical animals comprised the bulk of known Animagus forms.

Privately, though, Greg wondered. Animagus training wasn't a common endeavour in the magical world, so it was possible that the purely magical creature forms were unknown because Animagi were rare. Still, for some high-handed witch to declare the idea of a magical Animagus form impossible was utterly outrageous. His growl grew louder, adding a furious bird-like hiss, and his sixth sense started looking for a hasty exit. He just might need one.

"Then how come he's got a collar?" Agent Morgan challenged the Auror. "He wants it off, can tell you that much."

Internally, Greg cringed. Neither a collar nor wanting it off were definite proof that he was, in fact, human. Any animal might want the same. Still, the Animagus held his position, meeting the other's gaze with his own challenge. He wasn't giving up. Not now, not when he was so close.

The witch paused, then drew her wand, flicking it in a diagnostic around the collar. Her snub nose scrunched at the results. "Nasty," she muttered, casting the gryphon a faintly sympathetic glance, which only made him tense further. What was wrong with the collar?

"Can you get it off?" Dr. Reid inquired.

The witch cast him an annoyed glance, then shook her head. "No." At the glares from the profilers, she held up her free hand and looked directly at Agent Morgan. "Did you try to get it off?"

Dread stirred. There was definitely something wrong with the collar, but what?

Agent Morgan offered a half-shrug. "I took a look at it, but I couldn't find any way to make it unlatch. Does that count?"

The Auror frowned, more thoughtful than angry or condescending. "I doubt it," she mused after a minute. Turning back, she flicked her wand in a second diagnostic, examining the results narrowly. At last she shook her head again. "No, it wouldn't, Agent Morgan. Physically attempting to remove the collar wouldn't trigger the curse."

Curse? What curse? Greg let out a plaintive squall-whine, doing his best to plead for an explanation.

Between Greg's animal plea and the expectant gazes around her, the Auror huffed a sigh. "There's a curse on the collar," she remarked, tone curt. "If anyone attempts to remove this collar magically, it will trigger a curse that goes after the caster and any blood family."

"What would it do?" Agent Hotchner inquired, voice level.

The Auror barked a laugh. "I don't know and I'm not planning on finding out," she snapped, an edge of 'do-I-look-that-stupid-to-you' in the sentence. "Doesn't matter," the witch added. "He's just going to a zoo anyway."

"But if he's an Animagus…" Dr. Reid attempted to protest.

"Didn't you hear me, No-Maj?" Scorn and fresh jeering. "It's a griffin, just a dumb animal. Not an Animagus, whatever you think about it." With that, she turned towards Greg, lifting her wand again.

The gryphon dodged, lunging past the humans for the nearest window. It wasn't big enough for his bulk, but that scarce mattered. He wasn't going to some zoo; he'd never get home if he did. The profilers ducked and the witch swore as glass shattered; Parker hissed as broken shards plucked at wings and flesh alike, but refused to slow. In moments, he was through the window, out of the building, and racing for the forest. The deepening night swallowed him before anyone could give chase.

[3] A kneazle is a magical cat; they have spotted, speckled or flecked fur, large ears, and a lightly plumed tail, akin to that of a lion's. They are also closely related enough to mundane cats to interbreed with them, hence the term, 'half-kneazle'.