Chapter Eight: Don't Be Fooled

Author note: A quick order of business for all my readers on this site. After nearly a week of the Halloween Glitch (new stories/chapters essentially inaccessible on the main site), it appears that things have finally been fixed. Praise the Lord!

That said, if something like this happens again, I cross-post to Archive of Our Own under the same screen name. I added the same to my profile, but it was also affected by the Halloween Glitch, so I'm not sure how many people were able to see that. Sometime in the next week, I'll update and refine the profile note to be a bit less frustrated.

And now... On with the show!

The call came mid-afternoon – Commander Holleran was out of surgery, awake, and asking for them. Well, asking for Ed, but Team One regarded such as the same difference. Three trucks rumbled through the streets, reaching the hospital in short order. The team parked, then headed inside, armed with their commander's room number, the files Spike had located, and a boatload of questions. With any luck, Holleran could ID his attacker and they'd have the louse cuffed and in custody by sunset.

Ed, in the lead, almost slid to a halt at the sight of a familiar silver-haired doctor inside their commander's room. Then he forced his chin high and marched in, trailed by his equally defiant team. Dr. Larry Toth didn't react to Team One's open hostility; gray flicked to Commander Holleran, expectant, but also…sorrowful. Holleran's eyes were closed, the injured officer conserving his remaining strength after the marathon of surgeries he'd just been through.

Wordy discretely cleared his throat and Ed nodded agreement. They could come back another day, after their commander had had time to rest and recover. The Sergeant gestured his team back, but before any of them could move, Toth pinned Ed with a glare. "And where do you think you're going, Sergeant Lane?"

Caught off guard, Ed blinked at the frontal assault. In the time it took him to fumble for a reply, Commander Holleran forced his eyes open and worked his way up on the hospital bed, groaning as the movement pulled at fresh stitches and staples. Dismissing Toth, Ed stepped forward. "Commander, stop. We'll get the guy, don't worry."

"Sir, he's right," Sam chipped in. "Just get better; we'll come back tomorrow." He cast a wary look at his boss, but Ed didn't care that the blond had overridden Wordy. Not with his commander so badly injured.

Despite the exhaustion written all over his face, Holleran shook his head. "No," he rasped. "This has gone on long enough." Grief flashed. "And…and it doesn't matter anymore, Sergeant."

Confusion glowed, echoed by every constable in the room. "What doesn't matter anymore, sir?"

"Your commander's shooter has been…dealt with," Dr. Toth replied softly, sorrow deepening.

Not understanding, Ed stared at both men, emotion burgeoning in his chest. Something was going on, something both of them knew about. "Sir? What do you mean, 'this has gone on long enough'?" He drew in a careful breath. "Does it have something to do with the files we found right by where you got shot?"

For a long minute, Toth and Holleran traded looks – Ed blinked, fairly sure that Toth had just silently offered to take the lead and just as silently been turned down. Then Commander Holleran's gaze swung to his officers and he gathered up what breath he could. "I…please, bear with me, Ed."

"You got it, Boss," Ed agreed at once; behind him, his teammates murmured their own agreement. Between the shooting and the surgeries, rushing was not something Holleran was capable of.

Another painful breath. "I told you, Ed, a bit about Castor Troy's history." A remembering grimace. "We…celebrated…when he was taken down. For weeks. But none of us wanted to know who the arresting officer was. That way…none of us had to go out of our way to…protect him."

Ed swallowed hard. "You didn't have to deal with the guilt when he ended up dead."

The nod was stiff, jerky, and full of old regret.

"But you do know who arrested him," the Sergeant pressed. "You told me about how his patrol car blew up two years after the trial."

Another nod. "Yes, Ed, I know who the arresting officer was." A deep, pained lungful of air. "But I wasn't told until years afterwards."

"Years afterwards?" Jules echoed. "But why would you be told at all? If he's dead…" She froze when Holleran flinched.

"Wait, Ed," Lou spoke up, drawing attention. "You said the patrol car blew up."

Wordy picked up the budding realization. "Commander? What about the cop? Was he in the car?"

"Commander." Toth stepped forward, resting a hand on Holleran's good shoulder. "Let me."

"No," Holleran grated out. "You don't know how it started."

Dread flooded the room. "How what started?" Ed half-asked, half-demanded.

On Friday morning, Commander Holleran arrived for work as usual, casting Winnie a quick smile before he swept into his office to start the day's work. With any luck he would be able to finish his pending paperwork in time to join the annual SRU outdoor lunch.

For a moment he fantasized about springing his surprise on Parker during the party, but reluctantly set the idea aside. The evaluations weren't complete and neither was the paperwork. More importantly, the commander wasn't blind. His Sergeant desperately needed a breather, time and space to come to grips with the events of the past several months as well as deal with the attendant stress he'd been under. No, for now Holleran would have to content himself with Parker's able assistance with his mounds of paperwork – though it was a shame he'd have to wait longer, he had a feeling if Parker had an inkling of what his commander was up to, he would scarper.

Sitting down at his desk, Holleran sorted through his stack, organizing it into three stacks. Critical – to be dealt with first; Important – to be dealt with by himself; Standard – to be dealt with by Sergeant Parker and checked over afterwards. Though his subordinate hadn't needed help with the upper-tier paperwork in weeks, it was still technically his paperwork. A few more sheets were slyly extracted from the stack slated for his Sergeant, then Holleran set to work on the other two with a will.

Half of the Critical stack later, the desk phone rang. The commander's head came up and he scowled at the offending device before reluctantly reaching out and snagging it. "Holleran."

"Commander?" The woman on the other end was nervous and audibly trembling. "Captain Cragen needs you down here, sir."

Dark eyes narrowed. The 27th Precinct. He knew Cragen by reputation, though he'd never met the man personally. Though the captain was a good man, he tended to hang onto his initial impressions of the men under his command and gave few allowances for human fallacy. That said, Cragen was no alarmist and he ran a tight ship. For one of his people to be audibly fearful, well. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Commander Holleran strode into an anxious beehive of activity, doing his best to ignore the wave of whispers in his wake. Instincts were jangling louder with each step – wrong, something was wrong. He just didn't know what.

The office door he approached was plain. Unassuming. Holleran rapped on it, waiting for the call to enter before he pushed the wood open. Inside, the setup was familiar, almost identical to his own, save for the personal touches and knick-knacks. Captain Cragen looked up from his desk, expression careworn and tired. Brown eyes met Holleran's; the other man was bald with a weathered complexion. Furrows carved themselves around his eyes and nose, as well as around his mouth and sagging chin.

"Commander," he greeted in a slightly booming voice.

"Captain," Holleran returned. One eyebrow arched. "It's not often that Homicide calls on the SRU outside of warrants. What seems to be the problem?" Not to mention, Captain Cragen never called on the SRU, even for warrants.

Cragen grimaced and waved to the seat across from him. Holleran slipped inside, closing the door behind him, but opted to remain standing instead of sitting in the offered seat. A strange tension wound itself tight around the office; Cragen jumped when the building AC rumbled, a fan blowing air down at the men. For a long moment, the officers faced off, then Cragen huffed. "Look, Commander, you know and I know, I don't like Parker."

The commander inclined his chin. A decade earlier, Captain Donald Cragen had been Detective Greg Parker's Sergeant and he'd not been impressed with Parker's self-destructive spiral, nor with the fact that Holleran's predecessor had seen fit to give the recovering alcoholic a chance to become one of the 'cool pants'. As far as Cragen was concerned, Parker's alcoholism should have disqualified him from the SRU right out of the gate. Hence his downright refusal to call the SRU in on any of his precinct's cases, even when it might've been warranted.

The captain leaned forward, pinning his guest with purpose and intent. "Now. I know you know the man. But you ever read his whole personnel file?"

Holleran opened his mouth to reply, then the implications slammed into him. "He's in prison," the commander hissed. "For life."

Cragen's expression turned bleak. "Not anymore," he replied, flipping open a folder on his desk; Holleran recoiled from the exposed image. The eyes were blank and staring, the face twisted in pain and despair… A human head. Neatly packaged and shipped.

"Archer," the commander rasped. Every cop in his generation knew the detective who'd taken down Castor Troy. Precious few, however, remembered the patrol cop who'd arrested the crime lord – he was one of those few.

"After he retired, he moved to the States," Cragen explained, closing the folder over that horrific image. "I made a call to local PD."

"And?" Nothing good, the commander already knew.

"His wife," came the tight reply; Holleran choked back bile. "His daughters, one son-in-law." A pause. "And four grandchildren. The youngest was three months old."

Nausea, terror, and horror spiraled through the veteran officer and only years of training and professionalism kept his voice level and his stomach in place. "You're sure it was Troy?"

Captain Cragen nodded once, mouth twisting. "Troy always did have a thing for families." He paused again, weighing his words. "I contacted the prison and they got very nervous when they found out why I was calling."

Holleran's eyes narrowed dangerously. "How long?"

"Possibly as long as a month," Cragen replied. "Archer and his family died a week ago, so he's almost certainly back in Toronto by now." Serious, the homicide captain regarded his SRU counterpart. "I may not be Parker's biggest fan, but I'm not about to stand by and let Troy massacre him and his family."

"It was Greg, wasn't it," Ed hissed. "Greg was the rookie cop who arrested Castor Troy, testified against him, and had his patrol car blow up on him."

"How'd he survive?" Lou asked, drawing horrified looks. "Come on, guys; most people don't survive car bombs."

"Or land mines," Sam muttered pointedly.

"Doesn't count," Lou countered instantly. "Boss hadn't even met his cousin back then."

"I don't know the whole story," Holleran rasped; attention returned to the injured commander at once. "Before I became the SRU commander, I'd heard all the stories around the water cooler. Ed, I told you the most common one I heard."

"That the patrol car blew up," Wordy murmured, earning a nod.

"It's quite clever," Dr. Toth put in. "Any one hearing that story would assume that the officer in question perished, thus cementing the 'truth' that Troy's revenge succeeded. Any still answering to Troy, even after his prison sentence, would convey that to him, thus allowing Parker to maintain a certain…anonymity."

"You knew Troy was coming for him." Terror rang, terror and absolute, utter fury. Ed's eyes blazed as he regarded his boss. "Greg arrested that scum, you went to warn him and that's when you caught him with that bottle! You knew he was in danger and you just sent him off to rehab. No protection, no safeguards, you just kicked him to the curb and hid the truth from us!"

"There was no rehab."

Team One froze, all of them staring in horror at the psychologist.

"Excuse me?" Ed hissed, hackles rising.

Toth's words were precise. Direct. "Troy's strategy was very simple, Sergeant. He wanted Parker to know he was coming. He wanted Parker to know he couldn't protect his family, that the axe was about to fall."

"The Boss is tougher than that," Spike ground out.

"He didn't know that, Spike," Lou put in. "He met the Boss once."

"When he was a rookie," Wordy tacked on, tone sober.

"True," Toth granted. "However, while Troy clearly intended to taunt and torment Parker, once his…" the psychologist grimaced, "…once his message was received, there was a limited window of opportunity to pull Sergeant Parker off the front lines and safeguard his family."

The pieces were falling into place. "So you and Greg cooked up that scene in the locker room, but why?" Hurt shone on Ed's face, mirrored by his stricken teammates.

"We could've kept the secret," Sam agreed, words soft with pain.

"I know," Holleran rasped, pressing one hand to his side. Determination powered through agony. "I was going to tell you, all of you. Greg." He stopped, gasping for air, then forged ahead. "Greg was slated for a safe house. By the time all of you came in that Monday, he'd've been gone." Another necessary pause. "Ed, your promotion was a done deal. Cragen and I…" Once again, the commander stopped, panting for breath, frustration clear.

"Commander," Toth intervened, glancing to the injured officer in clear concern. A tight nod granted permission and the psychologist turned to Team One. "A fake personnel file was produced for Sergeant Parker, one which would replace his real file and reduce his immediate family to his ex-wife and long-estranged son."

"What about Sarge's kids?" Wordy demanded.

A glance flicked in the team leader's direction, along with a tight smile. "You yourself already know the answer to that, Constable Wordsworth. Once the children were in your custody, it was simplicity itself to eliminate their original guardianship arrangements." Returning his gaze to Ed, the doctor concluded, "Additionally, Parker's ex-wife and son were moved, on paper, from Dallas to Houston."

"So Troy wouldn't know where to find them," Jules concluded, earning a nod.

"Quite so," Dr. Toth granted. "In addition to eliminating Parker's immediate family, the fake file painted him as a talented rookie who burned out very early in his career, coasting, in essence, on the reputation he gained for arresting the infamous Castor Troy. An arrest that catapulted him to the rank of detective, where, of course, he sank into drinking and all the accompanying self-destructive behavior."

Ed's fists clenched in outrage at this portrait of his friend, but Jules stayed practical. "If that's how he was portrayed, how would you explain his promotion to Sergeant?"

A tight smile. "Very good, Constable Callaghan. As part of the deception, Parker's transfer to this unit was made to appear as though he'd been quietly shuffled out of Homicide and put on a team where he maintained his new rank and position by dint of luck, a blind eye from his superiors, and occasional spurts of professionalism." The smile turned grim. "And, of course, his sterling, soon-to-be-promoted team leader who kept his drinking in check."

Wordy snorted derision and Ed had to agree. Sure, he'd been Greg's sobriety buddy back in the day, but it hadn't gone anywhere until Greg had been willing to dump the bottle, go to rehab, and put in the work, the effort required to stay sober. "So the story was gonna be that Greg finally went too far and got bounced to rehab?"

"Exactly," Toth concurred. "All of you would have known the truth, with only your fellow officers told the lie."

"But that's not what happened," Lou whispered, Spike just as stricken in the background.

"So what went wrong?" Sam asked, gaze shrewd.

Commander Holleran regarded the file on the screen with genuine regret. Once he clicked save, his Sergeant's reputation would be tainted forever. He'd never get another promotion, never be considered a good cop. Always, the stain of his past would lurk, along with the implication that he'd only succeeded because of Castor Troy. Troy's shadow would haunt Parker for the rest of his career. The real file rested in Holleran's desk drawer, but even once it was restored, few would believe it. Parker's career would be all but destroyed, merely because he'd done the right thing all those years ago. Done what none of his fellow officers would.

Alone in his office, Holleran cursed Troy to the deepest, darkest depths of hell and Hades. Then he cursed himself just as badly and hit save. He'd never hated that simple confirmation screen so much before. It was done, Parker's family was safe, but he was finished. At best.

Even as the enormity of the commander's action sank in, someone knocked at the door. Holleran looked up with a frown. On a late Sunday evening, he wasn't even supposed to be in his office. Not even Ben, the on-duty dispatcher, knew he was in. After a moment, the commander pushed the drawer with Parker's real file closed, locking it, and rose, striding to the door. One hand rested on the butt of his sidearm and he nudged the door open, gaze wary.

His visitor already had her badge out; he stiffened at the emblem on it, scowling, but stepped aside to allow the woman in. Intelligence Services. Ordinarily, he had no particular beef with the undercover department, but for the past several months, they'd been busily getting on his last nerve. Apparently, some genius had decided that a veteran SRU negotiator with no undercover experience whatsoever would make an excellent Italian mob boss.

They'd set the cover up, then contacted him with the presumption that he would instantly approve. Which he most certainly had not. And seeing as the brilliant plan required his approval, since it necessitated Parker's transfer from the SRU to Intelligence Services, his flat refusal had stopped the undercover op cold. Naturally, they'd asked again. And again, and again, until Holleran was thoroughly sick of being bothered about it, but no less determined to protect his Sergeant from an utterly horrible proposal.

"The answer's no, Detective Kastor," he growled, having read the woman's name off her badge. Send his best negotiator undercover with no assurances he'd even get his Sergeant back at all, much less in one piece? Not a chance, even without the Castor Troy factor.

Kastor smiled. "I thought you'd say that, Commander Holleran." She pulled out a small bundle of papers. "Particularly with that menace Castor Troy on the loose."

Holleran stilled, instincts screaming. She was up to something and it meant nothing good for his people. Not with that smug, superior smile on her face.

Holding out the bundle, she said, "So I went over your head."

In utter disbelief, Commander Holleran took the papers, flipping them open to find an authorization for Parker's transfer, effective immediately, to Intelligence Services. The next page was Parker's undercover assignment, again, effective immediately. The third, a gag order for both himself and Parker, regarding the transfer and the undercover assignment. The final page was a note from a man in the mayor's office, a Geb Romulus, confirming that the mayor himself had approved Parker's transfer, assignment, and the gag order in light of the Castor Troy matter.

Holleran felt cold, his hands numb. "You can't just transfer a veteran officer without his permission!" he blurted.

Kastor's smile grew wider. "We can with the Mayor and the Police Commissioner signing off on it."

Fury boiled, but Holleran locked it down, only permitting it to shine in his eyes. "I'll fight you," he hissed.

"I'm sure you will, commander, but you can't stop this. And once he's undercover, you'll be risking his life. Are you sure you want to do that?"

Greg stared down at the papers on the desk. Read through them again, though he'd already read them twice. Holleran sat in his usual chair, not bothering to hide how angry he was, though not with Greg. Never with Greg.

"This is…this is already done, sir?" Anguish rang, the negotiator's mask cleaving in twain.

"I'm afraid so, Sergeant Parker. And the gag order is specifically for your team and any immediate family members." Holleran allowed his own anguish to shine. "I'm sorry, Greg."

Parker shook his head, hurriedly wiping away a solitary tear. "It's not your fault, sir."

"Greg." Firm, unrelenting. Holleran waited for his Sergeant to look up. "I'm going to fight this. I won't stop until we have you back." A pause. "And I don't care what your handler tells you; you are still my officer. You call me with anything you find. For anything you need. Understand?"

Hazel sharpened, peeking past newborn grief. "Copy that," Greg whispered.

"All right, we both hate this, but we'll need to do it right if we're to have any chance at all of changing the mayor's mind." Holleran leaned forward. "Ideas?"

"So you two cooked up that spectacle in the locker room and Sarge hid another bunch of bottles in his apartment for us to find," Wordy concluded dully.

"And by the time we picked up the kids, he was under," Ed growled, fists clenching. Behind the two men, the rest of the team fairly vibrated with helpless fury and dismay.

"Not quite that quickly," Holleran rasped. "But otherwise…yes…" He closed his eyes an instant.

"Where'd you get the alcohol?" Spike asked suddenly.

"That morning, at a twenty-four hour grocery store," Holleran admitted. "Along with a bottle of carbonated water. That's what was in the bottle I 'caught' Greg with. The rest is what Greg used as 'evidence' he'd been drinking for awhile." The lean man's jaw tightened as he fought through frustration and pain. "Once he was under, he checked in with me once a week. We set the dead-drop up about three weeks in; his handler never knew about it. Ticked her off that I was the one giving IA all the evidence they were using to catch Troy's dirty cops, but there wasn't anything she could do about it without blowing Greg's cover."

"Assuming, of course, that she cared about that," Dr. Toth muttered resentfully.

Team One froze. "She blew his cover?" Jules demanded sharply.

"Wait a second, back up, Jules," Wordy intervened, rubbing his chin in thought. "Sir, don't take this the wrong way, but if there's a gag order, how'd Dr. Toth get involved?"

Despite his injuries and the situation, Commander Holleran smiled. "By obeying the letter of the law." The smile broadened into a near devious smirk. "Greg and I were legally enjoined from telling any of you or his immediate family."

The Team One pranksters lit up with impish glee. "But nothing was stopping you from telling someone outside the SRU!" Lou declared.

"And who would suspect you'd call in the guy who almost broke up our team," Spike hissed in triumph.

Dr. Toth's expression twitched in a smile of his own. "As I said before, I like your team. I like your Sergeant." He nodded to Ed, knowing that all of Team One understood his meaning. "Once I knew the whole of the matter, I was only too pleased to offer my assistance."

Sagging back against his pillows, Holleran added, "I also read Commander Locksley in."

Sam turned away, hurt flashing. "And she didn't say anything," he muttered, bitterness ringing.

"Samuel." The blond jerked, head rising and turning back. Toth met his gaze squarely. "By the time we were read in, Parker had been under a month. To reveal the truth would have endangered him and likely all of you as well. That is why your aunt said nothing."

"You know," the sniper whispered.

The psychologist nodded once. "I am…impressed. Appalled. Perhaps even somewhat envious of the…adventures you have had." The doctor paused, then looked at Holleran with a significance none of Team One understood. "Commander, if none of the past five years has caused a relapse, I fail to see what would."

"That may be moot at this point," Commander Holleran murmured, the pain on his face far more than physical.

"It may be," Toth agreed, just as sorrowful. "But I shall say it nonetheless."

Team One traded looks, an unspoken dread rising. If there was a gag order on Commander Holleran, then why was he breaking it? What had been that bit about their Sergeant's cover? And…and why weren't Toth and Holleran concerned about whoever had shot the commander?

Ed cleared his throat, pinning both men with a glare. He didn't say anything, his expression and clenched fists serving as his unspoken demand. Behind him, his team glared just as hard, expectation heavy.

Holleran opened his mouth, only to groan and clutch his side. Toth moved before Team One could, his gaze gentle as he rested a hand on the commander's shoulder. "I will tell them the rest."

"You know…" A gasp and a rasping sound. "…the rest?"

"I know enough." With that, the psychologist turned to Team One. "Although your Sergeant did not trust his handler, when he requested that Commander Locksley and myself be read in, it was nothing more than instinct. No proof, merely a sense of unease." Toth paused. "Then she signed a warrant for his arrest."

Dr. Larry Toth assembled the same breakfast he'd had every day for more years than he cared to count. Oatmeal, yogurt, and cinnamon-raisin toast. He smiled at his wife's silent offer of fresh bacon, still sizzling in the pan, and nodded. She slid her spatula under two strips, lifting them and landing them on his plate.

The doctor took his plate to the kitchen table, setting it down and arranging his silverware next to it. Starting with the bacon, Larry plowed through his meal every bit as single-mindedly as if breakfast was an essential, critical part of his job. Which it was, as far as the psychologist was concerned.

He had just reached the toast when his cell phone rang. Lifting the device, he frowned at the blocked number, but answered nonetheless. "Hello?"

"Larry. I'm hope I'm not disturbing you." Smooth, calm, and unruffled with an air of expectancy. A familiar voice, though the intonation and word choice were far different than the psychologist was used to.

"Of course not, Elias," he reassured the other man, abandoning his toast to head for his office. "What can I do for you?"

The undercover officer hesitated, weighing the best words to use. "I need you to rely a message to our…mutual friend." The tone hardened. "Pass on some…friendly advice. Keep those wannabe SWAT cops on a leash and out of wars they have no business with." A pause, then harshly, "You got that?"

Larry heard the emotion under the anger. Fear and not for himself. For the team Parker still considered his own despite the forced transfer. Despite the lies, the deception, and two months spent deep undercover. A part of the psychologist wondered what it would take to truly break that bond.

"You can be sure I will pass your exact words onto our mutual friend," Toth promised.

"Thank you, Larry." Parker's voice returned to the unruffled elegance he used as part of his Elias persona, but Toth heard the genuine gratitude lurking under the surface. The line clicked in his ear and the doctor frowned. What were the odds that an undercover officer's own team was sent in on some kind of operation where they were almost certain to encounter their former boss? Possible, but he'd stopped believing in coincidences right about the time he'd found out magic was real.

"Dear, are you going to eat your toast?"

Larry turned away from his desk and smiled warmly at his wife. "Perhaps you could heat it up and add another two strips of bacon?" he asked hopefully.

"To go?"

She knew him so well. "Please."

After delivering Parker's message to Commander Holleran, Dr. Toth ghosted to a position where he could watch Team One's arrival. He had other duties of course, but his curiosity had been piqued by Parker's enduring loyalty to his former team. Had that bond survived on their side? he wondered.

Watching them from a distance could not, of course, directly answer his question, but the observation alone would be instructive. Valuable in terms of how they were coping in their Sergeant's absence. Ideally, they had moved on – Parker's forcible transfer carried no end date and despite all of Holleran's strident efforts, the Mayor and the Police Commissioner were singularly uninterested in ending Parker's surprisingly successful foray into uncovering dirty cops in the Toronto Police Department.

Ed Lane was the first to arrive and the emotional torment on his face… It spoke more eloquently than words ever could. This was a man dying slowly and by inches. Parker's absence had ripped a hole in Lane's life that nothing could fill. Fictive Kin. Family by choice in every way that mattered. Part of the doctor objected; this was a SWAT team, not a family. And yet…those very bonds were how Team One had survived in the magical world. Back to back, with no one else they could depend on. Was it really such a surprise that they'd become so co-dependent under the circumstances?

The rest of the team was no better than their Sergeant. They needed Parker just as much as he needed them. A raw, primal need that Toth doubted they were even consciously aware of. Just a sense of…something missing. Something precious and irreplaceable. Ironically, Parker was handling the situation better than his teammates, though that was a state of affairs that could not last. Sooner or later, that need would reassert itself and Parker would be in just as dire straits as his team.

With a frown, Dr. Toth departed. Perhaps it was time to see what strings he could pull…

Ed reeled. There was no other way to put it. "That was Greg." The barest whisper, in a voice he didn't even recognize.

"What was?" Sam asked the question, but his teammates were just as curious. Just as anxious.

The Sergeant barely heard the blond sniper. His eyes were fixed on Holleran and Toth. "I'm right, aren't I? That's who he is."

For a moment, all was silence, then Toth tipped his chin and Ed felt his world…shatter. What had he done…what had they done? "I broke his cover, didn't I?"

"Ed?" Wordy's voice rang with concern.

"I saw him and I… I just called him by his name." Anguish flowed over the former team leader. "He saved my life and…"

"Ed." Commander Holleran's firmness dragged his chin up, forced his words to a halt. "Greg never used his distress code. As far as I know, his cover was never broken."

Again, the bald sniper froze. " 'Was'?" he croaked. "Does that mean it's…over? Greg's coming home?" Hope echoed and dread. Because why would Holleran look so somber if Greg was coming home?

"Sergeant Lane." All attention shifted to Dr. Toth. "Before, I implied that Sergeant Parker's handler did not care about breaking his cover."

Yes, he had – and Jules had pressed him on it, but then Wordy had sidetracked them and Ed had almost forgotten about it. "And?" Ed questioned.

Bitterness flashed in the doctor's gray eyes. "Sergeant Parker's handler is Brenda Kastor."

Just like that, the final piece clicked into place. The puzzle was complete, its image more vivid and horrific than Ed had ever dreamed of. "She sent us in," Ed concluded, voice hollow. "His own team."

"But why?" Wordy demanded, bewilderment shining. "She had to know we'd recognize him."

"Wordy," Lou intervened, shaking his head. "She's Castor Troy's sister."

The brunet went ashen at the reminder, the rest of their team just as stricken.

"It was a trap." Was that dead, dull voice his voice? "The whole thing was a trap."

"I'm afraid so," Toth confirmed softly. "It seems Castor Troy did not care to test his mettle against Sergeant Parker and his team. So he sought to cut Parker off, isolate him from his support."

"But Sarge still had Holleran," Jules pointed out.

"Until today," Sam whispered.

Holleran shook his head. "Today was my fault," he rasped. "Greg contacted me about Kastor as soon as he confirmed she and Troy were siblings." Determined, he pulled in a fresh lungful of air. "I…I wanted to catch her, arrest her before she could get him killed." A grimace twisted the black man's jaw. "Instead she showed up with her brother; she pinned me down and Troy flanked me while I was trying to get a shot at her."

"The admitting doctor has already identified Anthony Marconi as the man who brought your commander in," Toth put in.

Ed nodded, utterly numb. Behind him, Spike remarked, "The Boss had him keeping an eye out, didn't he?"

A faint smile peeked through the grimace. "Yes," Holleran whispered. "Greg judged the Troy siblings better than I did."

"Or maybe he just knew you'd be mad enough after two months to do something stupid," Wordy opined, blithely overlooking the fact that he'd just insulted his boss's boss.

The commander managed a chuckle, then groaned and clutched his side. "True," he gritted out. "But I'm afraid I wasn't the only one to act…rashly."

For the umpteenth time, Ed froze, fresh horror cascading down his back and chills running up his spine. "Sir?"

"Greg…arranged a meet between himself and Kastor," Holleran gasped out. "He knew she'd send her brother instead." A hand waved in Toth's direction. "After he sent the message to Kastor, he sent a second message to Dr. Toth, telling him what he'd done and…" Frustration shone as the commander was forced to halt for lack of oxygen.

"And sending me the address for the meet," Dr. Toth finished smoothly.

"Where?" Sam barked, already shifting backwards. The rest of Team One snapped on full alert. They'd let their boss down for the past two months. They weren't going to let him down for another second.

"There." Raw grief and despair rang in Commander Holleran's voice as he pointed to the television mounted on the wall behind Team One. They whirled to see a live news report from the scene of a fire – the reporter on the screen stood at a safe distance from a burning factory, gaze solemn as he spoke into his microphone. The screen cut to a camera from a chopper above the fire, giving Team One a perfect view of the blazing factory roof.

"…at this time, we do not know if anyone was inside the factory when it caught fire," the reporter informed his stricken audience. "However, some witnesses we've interviewed claim they heard gunshots coming from inside the building before and after the fire started. The firefighters on scene have informed me that they'll have to wait for the fire to burn itself out and for the building to cool before it's safe to enter and determine if there are any casualties. Tim? Back to you."

The station cut to the studio, though the helicopter's camera view remained on screen. "Thank you, John. That was John Statton, reporting live from the Scarborough factory blaze…"

Holleran muted the TV, the sudden silence utterly…deafening. Ed stared at the images, a sense of absolute loss welling up.

"His badge," Spike piped up. "Come on, guys, even if he didn't have his phone, the badges have Portkeys in 'em, too."

"At Commander Holleran's request, I contacted Commander Locksley and asked her to check the safe house," Dr. Toth informed them, voice quiet. "There was no one there and none of the wards had been disturbed."

Slowly, Sergeant Ed Lane turned towards his boss, taking in the grief on the commander's face. "No…no…he's not gone. It's just…he's just… He'll call soon, right?"

"Ed. I want to keep hoping, but he should've checked in by now." A deep, shuddering breath. "I've confirmed that first responders heard gunfire when they arrived, but it stopped shortly before the roof caved in."

Greg… The last words he'd ever spoken to his friend had been in anger. Frustration and anger, that Greg kept crawling back to that bottle instead of getting better. But…but he'd never touched that bottle and Ed hadn't realized that. None of them had…they'd believed the lies Greg had been forced to tell them, failed to see beyond the façade to the truth. How could he have believed that of his friend, his brother? Greg knew what that bottle had cost him, why would he ever want to go back to that?

And now…now he would never get the chance to apologize for what he'd said. To shake Greg and yell at him and scream his outrage for being lied to. He would never get the chance to hear Greg laugh again, never watch in private awe as his negotiator boss broke through a subject's single-minded haze and resolved yet another hot call. No more teases in the morning as he ghosted in, a gleam in Greg's eyes greeting him. No more heart-to-hearts in the locker room, both men sorting out the chaos of life and hot calls. No more sensing Greg's emotions and wryly reminding him to stop 'broadcasting'. None of that. Because Greg was gone…Greg was dead.

"Sarge…"

Broken loss, newborn grief far worse than any of them had ever felt before. To nearly lose Lou, to nearly lose 'Lanna, that had been bad. To lose Lance, that had been worse. But this? Greg was their heart, their center, every bit as much their anchor as they were his. To lose Greg was to lose themselves. And while they could – and would – survive the loss, they were no longer complete. No longer whole – sentenced to empty half-lives by the removal of their guiding light, their cornerstone.

Ed felt it in that moment, a piece of his soul ripping away, forever. He turned away from his boss, away from Toth, and looked up, meeting Wordy's blank, half-dead eyes. His gaze traveled to Spike and Lou; the pranksters huddled together as if freezing cold; then to Sam and Jules – the couple shifted further apart, as though they suddenly couldn't stand to be together without the Boss.

"He…he can't be gone," Spike whimpered.

"Spike…" Wordy's voice ached with that same pain.

"No, guys, we gotta find him," Spike insisted. "He…he wouldn't let us down like this; he wouldn't die on us – he…he doesn't have permission!" But even as he spoke, tears flowed freely down his face; he didn't fight when Lou grabbed him in a rough hug, the less-lethal specialist's face just as wet with grief. Toth and Holleran were forgotten as Team One instinctively turned to each other, struggling with a loss that was only just sinking in.

Ed reached for the 'team sense', mentally screaming Greg's name. 'Don't be dead, don't be dead, you are not allowed to die on us, Greg!'

But all his cries slammed into thin air; not blocked, just…not there.

Raw denial fueled his second scream. 'Gregory Allen Parker, don't you dare ignore me! Don't you dare die on me! You're not allowed, do you hear me? You're not allowed to die on us! Answer me, dammit!'

"Ed," Wordy rasped, clinging to him, pulling him into the team huddle. "Stop, just stop. He's gone."

No…he couldn't be…he couldn't let his friend die, his brother in all but blood. 'Greg? Please…please don't be dead… Please, just come back to us…we'll figure it all out, I promise, Boss. Boss? Boss? Greg…?'

And still…there was nothing. No best friend, no patiently amused superior, no gleam that just had to be Greg's wild side, still there, if tamed. Ed felt his knees buckle, felt his teammates catch him. The sobs finally wrenched free.

Greg Parker was dead.

~ Fin

Author note: *Fade to Black* Feel free to rant and rave, but be warned: my draenei Death Knight Tinuvial from World of Warcraft has a fleet of drakes (and other mounts) at her back and all of them eat flames for breakfast! Tinuvial herself has been known to wield Quel'Delar, the Prismatic Dragon Blade, and her frost powers often extinguish a fair few flames herself. However, be assured; we will not have the dread Lich King Arthas Menethil show up and 'resurrect' Greg as a Death Knight. I'm not that cruel; I may love the DK role, but their storyline is quite tragic.

In the meantime, despite recent events, this series is not over and we shall be continuing onwards. Accordingly, "When In Rome" starts on Tuesday, November 10th 2020 in the main Flashpoint archive.

See You on the Battlefield!