Chapter One: The Rise of Castor Troy

Story Title (since this site is being stubborn): Face/Off

Author note: This story is the sixty-first in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "Greatest of These".

Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own Flashpoint, Harry Potter, Narnia, or Merlin.

Quick note for those of you reading this on October 13th, 2020: If you haven't read the seventh chapter Epilogue for "Greatest of These", please go read that now before you jump into this story. I usually only post one chapter on Tuesdays and one chapter on Fridays, but my glee has gotten the better of me today.

The day after the SRU annual picnic, Ed raided Sophie's stash of Clark's discarded school supplies for pens, pencils, and one of the nicer notebooks. He wasn't sure why Sophie still kept the old supplies, but it was making his fledgling investigation easier, so he wasn't about to complain. Notebook in hand, the sniper headed for his garage and spread his pilfered materials out on the hood of his SUV.

His plan was simple. Over the weekend, he would make notes on what he knew about the 'team sense'. On Monday, he would hunt down either Revan or Greg; the former for more intel on Wild Magic in general and the latter to run his ideas by. He'd spent most of the picnic and his evening baby-sitting Izzy thinking over everything Greg had said and come to a conclusion. For the sake of Greg's mental health, if nothing else, something had to give. Something had to change or Greg's conscience was going to rip him to shreds, no matter what his teammates did. Greg was too good a leader, too good a friend, to just 'get over' violating his team's free will. Even if his friend never did so, the potential alone…it was devastating.

But if he and Greg could find a way for the Boss to wriggle out from under that particular... component… to the 'team sense', then they could move forward. It would take time for Greg to recover from the emotional fallout, but Ed was sure his friend would get better. If they could remove the largest obstacle to that recovery. With that in mind, Ed bent over the notebook, writing swiftly in Narnian – there was no way he was going to let Sophie find out about this problem. She really would take Greg's head off if she did.

As morning edged into afternoon, the lean man straightened from his hunched over position, grimacing and knuckling his back to work out the kinks. Gah; if only the SUV sat as high as the trucks…that would be a much better writing surface. As a portion of his mind mentally groaned and griped over the pain in his lower back, Ed inspected his progress, letting his gaze linger on several more important sections of his note-taking while he organized his thoughts and a few tentative conclusions.

First off, it was plain as day to see that most of the 'team sense' was every bit the advantage they'd grudgingly come to accept. Although Ed still couldn't figure out how wanting Greg to live after the Netherworld had ended with them surrendering their free will! Greg hadn't wanted that, they hadn't wanted that, so how – and why – had it happened? Unless…

The team leader paused, nudging at his sudden idea, a deep frown crossing his face. Unless Greg had really, truly been beyond any form of help, magical or otherwise. Internally he shuddered, remembering, vividly, how both Greg's soul and body had been dying, right in front of them, despite the best the goblins could do. What if the only way to save Greg had been to magically bind them. Bind their souls to Greg's until his core could recover. Another temporary solution? Except…by the time Greg had been stable enough to not need the bindings any longer, it had been too late. Temporary had, once again, become permanent.

Just a theory and yet Ed felt a chill up his back, as if the magic within him was in agreement. Confirming his awful, awful suspicions. Scowling at his notes, the sniper flipped to a fresh page and started writing again – painful as it was, he needed to record everything, even the theories, if they were going to solve this. And, terrible as his idea was, Ed's turbulent emotions settled. If that had been the only way to save his best friend, then so be it. Yes, he wanted that surrendered free will back, but he wanted Greg alive more. Maybe, just maybe, he could have both.

Sophie came to get him for dinner, eyeing the notebook that her husband carried inside with curiosity. Ed set the research aside, focusing on his family and simply letting the back of his mind mull and muse on the problem while he himself enjoyed a rare evening off. Sophie had started recruiting Clark for more baby-sitting, determined that, despite their age differences, Clark and Izzy were going to bond as siblings. Even if Clark did complain about the baby spit on his favorite polo.

To Ed's surprise, Sophie brought the pilfered notebook into the living room, one eyebrow up. "Since when are you writing in other languages, Eddie?"

Blue narrowed and he snatched the notebook away from her. "Since when are you prying at my work stuff?" he countered.

At the angry set to his jaw and the dangerous gleam in his eyes, Sophie deflated. "Just, please, Eddie, tell me it's not another problem with Greg."

Ed winced at the reminder of the havoc Greg's gryphon side had caused, but he couldn't, wouldn't, lie to her. "Soph…" He sighed, running a hand over his head. "He's in bad shape emotionally. Last week, Toth comes in to suspend him, then leaves the paperwork with him, saying he had a week to decide whether or not he was gonna sign it."

Her dark eyes widened. "Did he burn it?"

A bitter laugh. "Sophie, I thought he would, but he didn't. He almost signed it." Lowering his gaze to the notebook, Ed added quietly, "He needs help, but for me to help him, Soph, I gotta figure out how."

"And you don't want me to know, do you?"

The sniper winced and shook his head.

Sophie's silence was telling; she wasn't happy with him. Then she spoke. "Okay, Eddie, I won't pry. Just…"

He glanced up. "Just?"

A sorrowful look. "Just make sure you take care of yourself, too." And us, her eyes seemed to say.

"I will, Soph."

On Sunday morning, Ed was back at it, though he'd moved inside to spare his lower back the agony of a long, hunched-over-the-hood-of-an-SUV session. He skimmed his page of theories; in addition to his theory of a temporary solution gone permanent, he'd had another thought. What if…what if it was still temporary – Greg hadn't exactly gone easy on his damaged core, what with his stunt to save Roy and his later two stunts to save Wordy. Plus whatever havoc that blasted gryphon and Fletcher Stadium had wrecked on an already unstable magical core.

Another theory he was bouncing around concerned the 're-establishment' of the links after Fletcher Stadium. Maybe…maybe before that, everything had been in the realm of 'temporary', only to go 'permanent' when he and his teammates had accepted the new 'team sense'. He huffed a sigh. Some of it might be right, all of it might be wrong. There was just no way to know and that bugged him. He liked having answers. Plus, theories about how they'd gotten in this pickle didn't give him any ideas for how to get out of said pickle.

Flipping to the next page, Ed clicked his pen and started a new section. In the course of all the theories, he'd started wondering. How had Greg found out what he could do? His friend didn't think like that; it never would've occurred to him to command them magically because he didn't need to. While it was possible that Greg had stumbled on the ability by accident, Ed rather doubted it; he suspected that the first 'one' to use magical commands had been the gryphon. It would fit with his memories of the last chain of events at Fletcher Stadium; Greg losing control, falling even as his own throat locked in place – a magical command? But his boss remembered none of that; even now, he didn't remember anything after his farewell/suicide note. So someone must have told him.

Horror surged within Ed; someone had told Greg about his awful, horrid ability. Told him and promptly left him on his own to deal with the emotional fallout. Anger stirred, a roiling fury at the unknown informant. No wonder his boss had gotten so squirky with orders, no wonder he'd gone to extreme lengths to avoid accidental magical orders. And no wonder it had all happened overnight. Right. After. Fletcher. Stadium. Greg had known and he must've been terrified; he'd over-reacted to be sure, but Ed didn't think he would've done any better. They were just lucky that Greg was so honorably stubborn – the incredible temptation that sort of power represented…

I'm not better than you, Greg. You have this power and you hate it. You hate it because it hurts us. You'll never use it because it hurts us. Sorrow flashed in blue eyes. You're the best of us, boss; I just wish you'd see it.

By the afternoon, Ed had finished his notes and was massaging his cramped writing hand. Owww… He was not used to writing that much anymore; even the worst stack of paperwork was mostly filling in blanks and maybe a paragraph of narrative. Still, the team leader was satisfied with his progress. A bit of analysis, a few theories, and some speculation that Greg could possibly confirm. He'd even rounded off his notes with a list of the 'team sense' abilities, not that he expected the list to be much help in solving the whole magical orders problem.

Speaking in other languages topped his list – it was definitely from the Wild Magic; all three Parker-Calvins had known Narnian without hardly trying, although it had taken Greg a bit longer than the kids to pick up on how to magically 'translate' foreign languages into English. Or was it Italian for Greg? Whatever, didn't matter. Ironically, for all that the kids had almost instinctively known how to translate to English, Greg had been the one who'd developed the knack for making it go the other way.

Ed wasn't as sure about the emotion sensing, but that had been there from the beginning for Greg, even before the Netherworld. A side effect of the original 'team sense' that had carried over to the later two versions? Definitely plausible; the goblins had admitted right up front that their boss would have permanent 'damage' from the original 'injury'.

Frowning, he inspected the next two items on his list. The telepathy – he shuddered – and Greg's uncanny ability to track his teammates. He wasn't sure if the latter dated to before the Netherworld, though it definitely had turned up afterwards. Frankly, the team leader regarded the tracking as the 'team sense's most valuable ability, even if wards tended to screw it up more often than not. As for the telepathy – again, he shuddered – if he'd had his druthers, it never would've cropped up at all, never mind starting off as a 'sneak preview' and re-appearing to ruin his post-takedown high. Still, in practical terms, it was just as useful as the tracking; moreso, if it could bypass wards that tended to block Greg's tracking talents.

Of course, all of this assumed that Greg would be amenable to using the 'team sense' on a regular basis – unlikely until his friend's emotional state improved. Or until they solved the whole magical orders problem. Part of Ed wished he could pull more of their teammates in on the issue, but he'd given Greg his word. To go back on that, particularly when Greg had trusted him enough to vent – not a good idea.

The team leader skimmed through his notes one last time, then nodded and took the notebook out to his car. He could show it to Greg after the debrief and get his friend's permission to sound Revan out. Without more intel, they couldn't solve the problem and they had to solve it. Before Greg broke.

On Monday morning, Ed arrived at the barn a bit earlier than normal. If he could get his notes to Greg before shift, then Greg could look them over and they could get started on intel gathering that much sooner. The team leader parked his SUV, dug out the hidden notebook, and clambered out, glancing around for any other early arrivals. Even in the SRU-only parking lot, some guys never seemed to learn how to drive.

Heading for the building, he flipped the notebook open, absently scanning his notes for any more possible additions. Caught up in his musing and plotting, he registered the quick tap against the 'team sense', almost as if Greg was doing a quick check on where his teammates were, but spared it no more than a split second of consideration. A sudden idea on another possible avenue of investigation drew Ed to a halt inside the atrium; he took advantage of a handy pillar as a makeshift writing surface, plucking a pen from where he'd tucked it in the spine.

A locker door slammed, followed by a furious, "What do you think you're doing, Sergeant?"

Ed snapped sideways, almost dropping his notebook. That had been Holleran. The team leader took off, racing past the dispatcher desk – and a bewildered Kira – towards the locker room. One shoulder smashed the locker room's door open; he skidded to a halt at the sight inside.

Greg clutched a liquor bottle possessively as he stood, pinned against the locker next to his and glaring as best he could at their commander; blood-shot eyes made it crystal clear he was drunk, as did the slur as he replied, "Gitt'n re'dy for shift, s'r."

In a low, dangerous tone, Commander Holleran asked, "And you need vodka to do that?"

The Sergeant managed a sloppy shrug; the bottle cap squeaked as he unscrewed it.

"Greg, what the heck?" Ed blurted, drawing both men's attention.

"M'rning, Eddie," the drunken man replied, struggling to salute his team leader with his bottle.

Holleran grabbed for the bottle; Greg yanked it back, taking a swing with his opposite fist. In one fluid move, the graying commander hauled his subordinate forward, twisting him around and slamming him down on his knees; how Greg kept his grip on the vodka, Ed hadn't a clue. Fury blazed in the commander's dark eyes. "Suspension, Sergeant Parker," he hissed.

Greg snorted, clearly uninterested in anything besides his precious bottle of vodka.

His heart thudded in his chest, but he couldn't just stand there and do nothing to help his boss. His friend, his brother in all but blood. "Sir, all due respect, what about rehab?" Ed suggested, edging farther into the locker room.

"Wh' s'ys I w'nt reh'b?" Greg slurred.

"Shut up, Greg."

"M'k' me, Eddie." And yet, Parker happily knocked the loose cap off his vodka and took a swig of the burning liquid within, completely ignoring his commander and his subordinate.

Until, that was, Ed snatched the vodka away, ignoring the aborted protest from his boss. "Stop it, Greg; you're better than this."

The Sergeant snorted, grimacing as he fought to break free from Holleran's hold and retrieve his bottle of vodka. Lane backed away, taking the bottle with him and getting it well out of his friend's range.

Forcing his voice to remain steady, Ed growled, "Greg, if you don't go to rehab, I'll make sure you never see any of us ever again. Understand?" A gamble, but if some of his theories were correct…

Greg froze, wide hazel snapping up to Ed's enraged blue. Convulsively, the Sergeant swallowed, Adam's Apple bobbing. Then, as if the threat had cleared the haze from the stocky man's mind, he said, "You drive a hard bargain, Eddie."

"You'll go?"

It took a long moment for Greg to slump, but he did. "Okay, Ed, you win. I'll go."

Coldly, Commander Holleran yanked his subordinate to his feet. "Come with me, Sergeant, and we'll discuss the terms of your theoretical return to duty." Brown eyes shifted to Ed, softening. "Constable, I'll let Kira know when to send you in." Jerking his head at the locker, Holleran added, "And make sure there's nothing left in there."

"Yes, sir," Ed whispered, unable to look at Greg as Holleran dragged him out. Why, why, why? How could Greg do this to them?

Unable to answer that question, Ed set the bottle of vodka down on the bench and searched Greg's locker from top to bottom. By the time he was done, five more bottles had joined the first and the team leader was utterly, completely numb.

This couldn't be happening. But it was…

Resignation shone in Ed Lane's blue eyes as he regarded the paperwork in front of him. "You want me to be Team One's new Sergeant?"

Commander Holleran sighed, folding his hands beneath his chin. "You're the best choice, Ed. I can't afford to leave Team One without an active Sergeant and allowing Parker to remain as Sergeant…" He shook his head.

Much as he hated it, Ed understood. There were no guarantees that Greg was even coming back, much less as their Sergeant. To leave Greg on the roster…it meant implying that Greg was coming back, that he would be forgiven and given his old job back as though he hadn't just broken trust with his entire team – not to mention his boss.

"What happens to Greg?"

A curious gleam appeared in Holleran's dark eyes. "If he complies with the conditions I've set, he'll have a place here, Sergeant Lane. But he will no longer be Team One's Sergeant."

Part of Ed wanted to deny this was happening. To wake up from this awful nightmare where his friend had buried himself in a bottle again. But… The truth was, maybe he'd been too late. Maybe he'd been too slow to catch on and Greg had already been on his way down. Maybe nothing could have stopped that fall. A nasty voice whispered that it could've been worse – he could've walked in to find Greg slumped over with his service pistol in a lax death grip.

Feeling as though his world was being ripped in two, Ed swallowed hard, nodded, and signed the paperwork. Commander Holleran took the folder back, inspecting his signature, then added his own. A pair of sergeant's chevrons were produced and pushed across the desk. "Kira will help you stitch those on, Sergeant Lane, and I'll speak to Commander Locksley about expediting your promotion magic-side. For now, let's have Team One run as a six-man team. Once you get used to handling your new role, we'll discuss recruiting a new member."

"Yes, sir," Ed whispered. Still numb, he pushed himself up and turned for the door.

"Ed."

Aching sorrow and grief turned back; Holleran's gaze darkened with that same sorrow. "You earned this. We would've been discussing your promotion even if Parker hadn't pulled that stunt. You are not being given this out of pity or to keep a familiar leader on your team. Do you understand?"

The new Sergeant's breath caught and he nodded, a bit less numb than before. "Thank you, sir."

Kira sniffled as she helped the newest SRU Sergeant stitch his new chevrons in place. "I'll miss him," she murmured.

"He's not dead," Ed replied, almost as much for his own benefit as hers.

"I know, but…"

Ed could only gaze at her in equal sorrow. Even if Greg, by some miracle, came back, it would never be the same. To tell the team what had happened, he dreaded it, but it was absolutely, completely unavoidable. As soon as they came in, as soon as they saw the chevrons on his uniform, they would know.

On his belt, his Auror badge warmed and he pulled it off, absently triggering its transformation back to a badge wallet before opening it up. Everything was the same, except for his rank, which now read Auror Sergeant instead of Auror Constable. A stone sank into his gut. It was done, Greg was gone, out of the SRU, almost certainly for good.

Why, Greg, why? Why would you do that, why would you leave us?

Ed stayed out of the briefing room while his teammates assembled. No need to do it one at a time, no, he could do it all at once. Get it all out at once so they could hear the truth. The truth that the man they all trusted – had betrayed them. Bitterness pooled, along with regret that he hadn't known before. Maybe, maybe, maybe he could've prevented this if only he'd known. If only Greg had told him before about the 'team sense'. Part of him wanted to tell them everything, but he knew he wouldn't. He'd given Greg his word and that meant something. Just because Greg had turned on him didn't mean he had to turn on Greg.

Once his teammates – his constables and gah, how utterly strange and off that sounded – were in the briefing room, the new Sergeant fingered the bottle in his hands and walked in, not bothering to hide his sorrow. Dead silence hung as Team One took in Ed's expression and saw the chevrons on his uniform.

"Ed, is that Sarge's uniform?" Wordy asked, the awful hope in his voice almost more than Ed could bear.

Instead of responding, Ed reached out and set the bottle down firmly on the table. The same bottle of vodka that Greg had been guzzling that morning, the same bottle that Holleran had caught him with, and the same bottle that Ed had snatched away from his friend. "As of this morning," the sniper began heavily, "Sergeant Parker is no longer on this team. In fact, he may not even be a sergeant anymore; I forgot to ask."

The constables' eyes widened. "Ed, what happened?" Jules cried.

"Commander Holleran caught him in the locker room," Ed replied simply, indicating the vodka. "He was drunk, guys, so bad he was slurring his words. Holleran tried to get the bottle away and he took a swing at him. He's off the team and Commander Holleran promoted me."

Disbelief swept the room, coupled with horror and dismay, but none of them questioned their new Sergeant. Although the 'team sense' had blinded each and every one of them to how bad it was getting, they'd still noticed. Which just made Ed's gut churn and twist all the more. They'd noticed, but they hadn't bloody well done anything about it. Why, why, why? Why hadn't they done anything, why had they let Greg fall?

Blue eyes shifted back to the bottle and he shuddered. This bottle…it was just as much their fault as it was Greg's; they'd let the best of them fall, let him carry shame and guilt and self-hatred until he shattered.

What have we done?

Grief shone, but Ed forced himself to clear his throat and continue. "Commander Holleran promoted me in Parker's place, so we'll need a new team leader."

"What about…" Lou stopped, pain running across his face.

Lean shoulders slumped. "For now, Lou, we run as a six-man team. Once I've gotten used to being Sergeant, we'll see. Holleran's orders."

All protest died at the last sentence. If Commander Holleran was waiving the seven-man team requirement, then that was that. The constables exchanged looks and a faint hope glimmered in Sam's eyes, but Ed already knew who the choice would be.

"Wordy." Spike, right on cue.

"Seconded," Lou concurred.

The brunet swallowed hard, but nodded, glancing over at Sam and Jules. Jules flicked a regretful look to her boyfriend, then returned her attention to Wordy. "Thirded," she whispered, acknowledging the obvious. Sam had broken trust with the team – he would never be their team leader; Wordy might've hidden his Parkinson's, but he had not violated SRU policy.

Best friends locked gazes, the new Sergeant and the equally new team leader. Both wished it had never come to this and both knew nothing would ever be the same again. Then Wordy drew in a shuddering breath. "Sam? Backup team leader."

"Copy," the blond replied.

Gray eyes shifted to their techs. "Spike, Lou, I want you swapping off who's in the truck. We're down to six, so we're going to have to cross-train more."

Sorrowful, they accepted that with twin nods.

Drawing in a deep breath, Wordy turned to their final member. "We're all trained to negotiate, Jules, but now you're primary."

"We need a new backup negotiator," Jules filled in. Speculation shone in her dark eyes. "Give me some time?"

"Sure thing," Wordy agreed.

"Okay," Ed broke in. "Everyone except Wordy, hit the workout room. Holleran moved us to secondary today, so keep that in mind." Blue met gray and Ed tried for a smile. "Come on, Word, let's go get the team leader paperwork done."

"You got it…Boss."

Boss. At least Word hadn't said Sarge. Ed wasn't sure he could take that. Not yet…maybe not ever.

Why Greg…why did you do it?

He and Wordy headed for their former Sergeant's apartment together, wary of meeting the man, but Commander Holleran had ordered Wordy to pick up Greg's two teenagers. With Greg headed for rehab, the kids needed a place to live – they could hardly live by themselves. As Wordy was already listed as next in line for the kids' guardianship, he and Shelley were the natural choice.

Ed frowned to himself; sure Wordy was the natural choice, but wasn't Holleran moving a bit fast? Unless Holleran didn't want to leave the kids alone with a drunk ex-Sergeant. Definitely a possibility. The brand-new Sergeant flicked his gaze forward to a grim Wordy; neither of them were looking forward to telling the kids what had happened or what the fallout was going to be.

Clenching his fists, Wordy halted in front of Greg's door. He reached out and knocked, but no one answered. The door was locked, forcing the two men to fumble for the spare keys their ex-boss had given them. Ed dug his out first and unlocked the door. A swift check proved that no one was in the apartment, which was a surprise; Lane had honestly expected to find Greg halfway down another bottle. On the kitchen table, there were two letters, marked with the kids' names, but there was no other sign that Greg had even come back to his apartment after getting kicked out of the SRU.

"Word, see if you can find any more bottles," Ed ordered.

"Copy," the brunet acknowledged unhappily before stalking away to search the apartment.

Left behind, Ed let out his breath in a soft, regretful sigh. His eyes slid closed when he heard the unmistakable sounds of a key in the front door's lock. Bunk. He'd been hoping to have a few more minutes before facing the kids…

Blue swung around, resignation shining in them. The door to the apartment creaked open, Alanna calling, "Uncle Greg, we're home!"

How could Greg do this to them? Bad enough that he'd done this to the team, but to his kids? Grief clenched his chest. His jaw worked, but no sound came from his throat. Instead, the former team leader and now Sergeant watched as Lance and Alanna trailed in, registering his presence instead of their uncle's at once. Numb, he watched as they recoiled in fear, silently pleading with him for their uncle to be alive.

"Ed."

His eyes swung up to a grim Wordy, standing just behind the teens. "How many?" he managed.

"I've found eight so far and that was just in his bedroom," the brunet reported, anger glimmering.

"What's going on?" Alanna asked anxiously, swinging between the two adults.

Ed pulled in a shuddering lungful of air and forced the words out as he crouched to meet the teenager's gaze. "This morning, Commander Holleran caught your uncle with alcohol." Sorrow draped his frame. "I found another five bottles in his locker."

Dismay and disbelief blazed from Alanna, but Lance's expression twisted in anger. "Where is he?" the young man demanded.

"Holleran sent him to rehab after Ed talked Parker into it," Wordy replied, his own fury vibrating. "You two are coming home with me."

"Uncle Greg wouldn't do this!" Alanna insisted, turning on her brother. "He wouldn't! Lance, you know he wouldn't do this!"

Lance didn't reply and Ed's heart sank. Alanna might've missed Greg's emotional state, but Lance, quite plainly, had not. But like any child, Lance hadn't had a clue of what to do, how to help. Nor had it been the teenager's job to help; no, it was Greg's job to help the kids, to put them first, no matter what.

Meeting both their gazes, the newest SRU Sergeant said, "Look, you two go with Wordy; he'll look after you right now. We're not giving up on him, I promise, but right now, rehab is where he's going and rehab is where he needs to be if he's ever going to come home." He stopped, watching their faces. "You have my word; I will never give up on him and I'll keep trying to reach him for as long as it takes."

I promise, Greg; I failed you once, I won't fail you again.

One last thing remained to be done. Ed dialed the number he'd gotten from his former boss's address book, listening to the other end ring before it picked up with a quick, "Hello?"

"Marina?"

"Ed!" Delight spilled down the line, the blonde's genuine joy audible.

Despite the technical breach in policy her relationship with Greg represented – not to mention the spell that had obliterated Parker's original six-month no contact agreement, Marina Levin had been very good for his friend. The few times Ed had seen the pair together, Marina had brought out the best in Greg, supporting him in ways he'd rarely – if ever – been supported before. Though she was still working past her issues from the stalking and the hot call that had brought her into their lives, Marina seemed to know when to push and when to back off, just like Greg.

The only fly in the romantic ointment had been the kids. Or rather, Marina's response to 'not immediately being introduced to them'. Despite peace offering after peace offering from the pair, Marina had made no secret of the fact that she didn't like Greg's nipotes and very much wanted them out of her – and by extension – Greg's life. Though his friend hadn't yet dropped an ultimatum regarding the blonde's behavior, Ed had known it was coming. After all, family came first for Greg. Always and forever. At least…that was what Ed had always thought. Now…now he wasn't so sure. Why, Greg, why?

"Listen, Marina, do you have a minute?"

"Of course," Marina reassured the sniper. "I'm just finishing up a few things at work."

Ed swallowed hard, hating what he had to do, what he had to tell her. "Well, um, the reason I'm calling is, um…" Just spit it out, Lane! "…we caught Greg drinking today."

For a moment, she stilled. "Drinking?"

"Vodka." Ed forced the word out, around a lump. "There were five more bottles in his locker and eight in his bedroom at the apartment."

"But he never drinks," Marina cried. "He doesn't even want me bringing any alcohol over to the apartment!"

"Yeah." A rasp. "That's what we all thought, Marina. It…it was just lucky that Holleran caught him before he went on-duty today."

"Where…where is he?"

"Rehab," Ed said simply. "I'd give you the number, but Holleran doesn't want anyone outside of Team One to have it." He left out that the commander had extracted a promise that no one would call Greg while on-duty. "I'll…I'll keep you updated, Marina."

"Yes, thank you, Ed," she whispered before hanging up.

Hanging up himself, the newest SRU Sergeant choked back an irrational sob before heading back inside his house. Maybe a few hours with Clark and Izzy would take his mind off the situation…

"Tryin' ag'in, Eddie?" Greg slurred and his former team leader cringed. In the week since Greg's collapse back into alcoholism, the new Sergeant had called his friend every day, desperately trying to understand and even more desperately trying to reach Greg. It wasn't working; even in rehab, Greg was somehow getting ahold of enough alcohol to get drunk on, slurring his way through every conversation and hurling insults at his former teammates.

"Greg, I'm not giving up on you," Ed countered firmly. "Maybe you're giving up on us, but I'm not giving up on you. That's a promise, Boss."

The other man snorted and audibly took a swig of his drink. "S' wh't's th' 'rgum'nt th's t'm', Eddie?"

His throat tightened. "Why, Greg? Why'd you do it? I…" The words choked off.

"Wh' y'u th'nk?" Greg snarled, the effect ruined by the slur and clear struggle to stay conscious.

Leaning against the wall, Ed forced the sorrow back. "Greg, I was going to help. I was trying to find a way out."

"M'yb' I l'k' th's w'y better." Another gurgle of liquid and an exaggerated swallow; Ed hated that sound with all his heart.

"You like hurting your kids this way?" Ed sneered. "You like leaving them with Wordy, wondering what they did wrong?"

Silence. Ed could still hear his boss's heavy breathing, soaked with alcohol, but maybe, just maybe, the first tinges of guilt. Then, roughly, with no slur at all, Greg countered, "It's safer for them there," and hung up before Ed could respond.

Quizzically, the Sergeant stared at his phone. Safer?

The next day, Ed heard the first rumors from Troy Vio. Whispers about a new crime boss in Toronto's underworld, one whom even the criminals feared and viewed as utterly ruthless. One eyebrow hiked as he regarded Troy. "So this guy's a bit scarier than some of the other scum bags out there. So what?"

Troy didn't smile. "My old training officer called to warn me about this guy; he's been retired for six years."

The other brow rose. "How does your old training officer know about a new guy?"

His fellow Sergeant shook his head. "No idea, but he was scared, Ed. He told me to stay away from this guy. Told me to keep my guys away if I valued their lives."

Lane blinked, then frowned thoughtfully. "So who is this new guy anyway?"

Troy shrugged. "His name's Castor Troy."

"Troy?"

The other man flushed. "I know…just a coincidence, though."

Lane considered, then nodded once. Oddly enough, the name sounded…familiar. In a vague, distant sort of way, as though Ed had only heard it in passing. The sniper considered, then glanced back at his fellow Sergeant. "Can you get back in touch with your old training officer?"

"Get some more details?" Troy filled in.

A sharp nod. "If this new guy is an old timer, then that means he knows cops."

"He knows what we can do," Troy breathed.

"Not entirely," Ed mused. "But he knows more than most. We'll have to be more careful."

Troy nodded agreement. A dangerous crime boss meant he would probably end up being their problem. It didn't get much more high risk than a ruthless criminal with a horde of goons just as brutal as he was.

An hour later, Ed swung down from his truck, wincing internally. He'd hoped for a few more days' grace before his team plunged into hot calls again. Unfortunately, the criminals of Toronto were singularly uninterested in giving any of them a break. "Lou, what do we got?"

From the Command Truck, Lou replied, "Uniforms say the woman was walking down the street, minding her own business, and this guy just grabbed her, put a gun to her head, and demanded SRU Team One."

Both brows shot up. "Demanded us specifically?"

"Yep. I'm running him now, see if we crossed his path before."

"Ed?"

The sniper paused. "Go ahead, Jules."

Audibly grimacing, Jules reported, "He wants to talk to Team One's Sergeant."

Lane's breath caught. "He wants Greg."

"I think so."

And Greg…Greg wasn't an option any more. "Okay, Jules, I'm coming to you."

"Sam, up high," Wordy ordered. "Cover the Boss."

"Copy," the blond acknowledged coldly. "I'm almost to a Scorpio position."

"Spike, with me," their team leader added.

"He makes a move, you've got Scorpio," Ed interjected. "He wanted us here, he wants to talk to Greg, something's not right."

"Ed, wait till Sam's in position," Wordy spoke up. "He sees you instead of Parker…"

Understanding his friend's silent concern, Ed halted and stayed behind the trucks until Sam confirmed he had the solution. Then he strode out, joining Jules behind a sheltering concrete planter. Jules should've had someone with her, holding a shield – they'd have to keep that in mind for the next hot call.

Raising his voice, Ed called, "I'm Sergeant Ed Lane with the Strategic Response Unit. I understand you wanted to talk to me?"

From behind his victim, the scraggly, unshaven man stared at him, bewildered. "I want Parker," he yelled.

Blue and brown met for a split second, aching sorrow in both gazes. They wanted him, too. Shifting back to the subject, Ed replied, "I'm sorry, sir, but Greg Parker isn't with the SRU anymore. I'm Team One's new Sergeant."

He drew breath to say more, but the subject snarled in wordless frustration and hurled his hostage down, bringing the gun around to point towards Ed and Jules. An instant later, the man fell, Sam's bullet through his skull.

After the debrief and before he could sneak home, Commander Holleran called him into his office. Ed sidled in, still unused to this portion of his new job. Instead of reporting to Greg, he was reporting directly to Holleran. The commander looked up from his work and indicated the chair in front of his desk.

"Ed, I don't bite, no matter what Greg may have told you."

At the wry tease, Ed relaxed a touch. "No, sir," he agreed earnestly, dropping down into the chair.

Once he was down, Holleran asked, "How are you settling in, Ed?"

A pang ran through his chest, along with confusion. This wasn't about the hot call? "It's…it's hard right now, sir."

Sympathy shone. "Ed, I understand, believe me. I never would've expected it of him, either."

Involuntarily, the sniper's fists clenched. "I keep…" He stopped, then closed his eyes and forced the words out. "I keep wondering what I did wrong."

"Nothing." Holleran's voice was sharp, commanding. "You did nothing wrong, Ed." He paused, eyeing his subordinate, then moved on. "I heard about the hot call today; is it true the subject was looking for Greg?"

"Yes, sir."

Behind the commander's glasses, dark eyes narrowed. Then he shook his head and changed the subject. "How is the team adjusting?"

Ed managed a faint smile, accepting the conversation pivot. "It's rough on them right now, too, sir. The call today…it was awkward, even without that guy looking for Greg; I kept looking for him and we forgot to have someone shielding Jules."

Holleran winced, but didn't comment.

Lane swallowed hard, eyes lowering rather than continue. He said nothing about the fact that none of his constables called him 'Sarge' and only called him 'Boss' when they had to; he was grateful for that. It would be months before he'd be comfortable with either nickname.

After a moment, Commander Holleran nodded, a quiet sigh escaping. Reaching down to a drawer, he pulled out a file. "I assume you've heard some of the rumors floating around?"

Blue sharpened, recalling his conversation with Troy before the hot call. "Castor Troy, sir?"

Holleran flinched. "Yes, him." The lanky commander rose, adjusting his glasses with his free hand; the hand that held the folder trembled.

"Sir?" Ed wasn't blind – he knew fear when he saw it.

Dark eyes turned to him, eyes that creased with old pain and went even darker with memory.

"He's not a new guy, is he?"

Holleran's laugh was harsh and echoing. "No, Sergeant Lane, he's not. I remember hearing stories about him when I was in the Academy."

Breath hissed against Ed's teeth. "He's been around that long?" Why had he never heard of this Castor Troy before?

Bitterness shone. "Once Archer took him down, we buried the memories, Ed. We buried the stories and the shame and moved on; he was sentenced to life imprisonment."

Ed blinked at that. "Wait…if he's in prison…"

"We don't know how he escaped, Ed, but he did. And now Castor Troy is back in Toronto, picking up right where he left off."

Shoulders tensed. "Tell me," Lane urged quietly. "Tell me about him."

Holleran laid out the file, much smaller than it should've been. "Most of the original material is sealed, Ed."

"Sealed?"

A nod. "Yes, for the protection of several witnesses that testified at the trial; their real names are in the file and Archer wasn't about to risk those names leaking to Troy's hired thugs."

Translation: dirty cops. Ed growled low, indignation smoldering. "What do we know?"

Holleran grimaced. "Less than we'd like; I've already got a lawyer on unsealing the original file, but Detective Archer retired not long after the trial and moved to the States. The prosecutor died about seven years ago; heart attack."

"What about the judge?" Ed inquired.

"Name is in the file," Holleran replied. "Ed, I won't lie to you; Castor Troy used to strike fear into every cop that heard his name. You prayed you didn't catch his eye or cross his path because he wouldn't just take out you; he'd take out your whole family."

A sharp, angry breath.

Lost in memory, Holleran didn't even hear the sound. "Every year, he'd 'congratulate' the top-ranked cadets in the Academy; I remember competing for the eleventh spot."

"Eleventh?" Ed broke in, startled.

A bitter twist of the mouth. "No one wanted to be the top ten, Ed. They usually didn't survive their graduation."

Ed's jaw dropped open, working soundlessly.

"I remember, two years before I graduated, they didn't announce the top ten rankings, hoping that would be enough to stop him."

"What happened?" Ed rasped, knowing by the look in his commander's eyes that it hadn't been anything good.

Old grief shone. "Troy found out anyway, then he snatched the top twenty cadets. Some of them survived, some of them didn't. None of them stayed in the force."

"But this Archer guy still went after him?"

Holleran nodded grimly. "Castor Troy tried to take Detective Archer out personally. Shot him in the chest, but it didn't kill him."

Ed froze, his question clear.

"The bullet went through him and hit his three-year-old son, Ed. The boy died instantly."

The rest was easy to piece together; with a clear personal vendetta, Archer should've been off the case, but given how Castor Troy had terrorized Toronto law enforcement, no one had been willing to take Archer's place as the crime boss's number one target. "Then Archer did it," Ed concluded quietly. "He caught Troy, took him down."

"Not quite," Holleran corrected reluctantly. "A rookie cop, just out of the Academy, spotted Troy while he was off-duty. Made the arrest on the spot, then spent the next few months in protective custody so he'd survive until the trial."

"Did he?" Ed asked.

Salt and pepper hair bobbed in affirmation. "He testified; he's one of the witnesses whose identity was concealed, even from the judge and jury. Two years after the trial, his assigned patrol car blew up; no one was ever caught, but Troy sent the precinct a bouquet of black roses."

And thus, Ed concluded, had gone one of their few links to the trial – and Castor Troy. Meeting his commander's eyes, he asked, "So we're gonna take him down?"

"Not yet," Holleran replied. "We need more information; Intelligence Services is handling that part. Your contact there is Brenda Kastor. I'll keep working on the trial information."

"What about Detective Archer?"

Holleran's expression tightened. "Archer isn't an option, Ed."

Ed wanted to ask why, but the forbidding glint in his commander's eyes silenced the question burning in his chest.

Ed didn't wait for his friend to slur a greeting at him. "Greg, ever heard of Castor Troy?"

He heard Greg's sharp breath and, in the background, the sound of a door closing. "Eddie?" No slur, as if the mere mention of the man had sobered Ed's drunken former boss.

Briefly, Ed explained the chain of events, finishing with, "So I was wondering what you might've heard back then, Greg. You've been on the force longer than me."

Minutes ticked by, but Ed could hear heavy breathing as well as the almost audible sound of the other man thinking. Finally, Greg murmured, "My graduating class was the last one before Troy was arrested."

Ed sat straight up. "You knew the guy who arrested him?"

A pause, then Greg drawled, "Yeah, Eddie, I did." The older man sighed; Ed could almost see the reflexive rake of one hand through thinning hair and over the bald patch. "For whatever reason, Ed, Troy skipped my class. The top ten cadets spent their first weeks on the job walking on eggshells, but nothing ever happened to them. Then he got arrested and well, you know what happened."

"Guilty verdict," Ed murmured.

"His lawyer pulled every stunt in the book, Ed, but yeah. He got convicted and most of his organization fell apart. There were a few hardliners; you know how it goes."

He did. "Anything else you know about him, Greg?"

For a moment, Ed dared to hope. Dared to hope that Castor Troy was enough to catch his friend's interest, get him back in the game. Then he heard the unmistakable sounds of a bottle being opened and that horrible first swig.

"I know I'm not drunk enough for this, Eddie." Another swig, then Greg's voice turned harsh. "Stay away from him, Ed. You and the guys; he doesn't tolerate threats and from what I heard back then, he leaves his target for last."

A chill ran down Ed's back, one that had nothing to do with Greg's drinking. If he was hearing Greg right, if he'd heard Holleran right, then any cop unfortunate enough to attract Castor Troy's attention had to watch as their entire family was killed. Leaving them alive just long enough to regret what they'd done…