Chapter Two: Changing the Fallout

Sergeant Ed Lane bit down on a soft growl; ordinarily, the flood of small incidents during patrol would've been welcome. An easy way to shed the boredom and build up Team One's rep with the city while they waited for a real call to come in. But he'd arranged the patrol so that he and Greg could talk, not so they could run around the club district, interrogating hapless citizens about bar bills.

It was giving him an up close view of his lieutenant's mental state, though. Bill walkouts were hardly worth a ticket, but Parker was treating each one like a serious, life-or-death negotiation. Effective – by the time he was done, the bar patrons were practically falling over themselves to pay the bills they'd tried to skive out on – but unnecessary. Why waste time and energy on negotiating when a stern talking-to would work just as well? Unless he was already in a negotiator mindset and it would cost him more if he dropped that mindset.

Maintaining his own mask, Ed swung out of the driver's side to approach the fender-bender that was their latest call. He flicked a glare in Greg's direction, noting the other man's reflexive eye drop – the way he tilted his head to the side, exposing his neck – and approached the haughty-looking blonde standing by a white car. "Hi there, I'm Sergeant Ed Lane. Could you tell me what happened here, ma'am?"

She tossed her head, throwing a glare of her own at the stocky driver of the other vehicle – a tan truck. "I was changing lanes, officer, and this…this person accelerated up behind me right before I started moving. I'd just gotten into the right lane and they hit me!"

The other driver sputtered. "I was in the right lane and you changed lanes without looking!"

"Where were you going?" Parker asked the blonde.

"Gas station," she replied, half-turning to point at the station on the next block.

A station she would've had to be in the right lane to get to, because the driveway into it was just past the light.

Glancing towards the second driver – a hefty woman with a brown buzz cut, the Sergeant inquired, "And where were you going?"

One shoulder lifted. "I'm going to pick someone up. Club's about four blocks away, on the right."

"And after that?" Ed pressed.

The woman made a face. "Whichever tow yard picked up my friend's car."

Ouch. But that – probably – meant the second driver wasn't in a big hurry. Whereas the blonde…if she'd gotten a little too close to the light and been out of position, she might've changed lanes without looking. Especially since the accident was about five, six meters from the intersection.

In the meantime, his boss was examining both cars with a thoughtful expression. Catching Ed's querying glance, Parker tilted his chin towards the white car's passenger-side flank, waited a moment, then reached out and rested a hand on the truck's driver-side front quarter-panel. The sniper measured the angles with his eyes and nodded once. White car, moving into the right lane – and right into the truck.

"I have a dash cam, officer," the stocky woman volunteered.

The blonde sputtered, but once the second driver had the footage queued up, it confirmed that she'd been traveling at a steady rate of speed right up until she'd gotten hit. After that, it was just a matter of writing up the accident report along with a ticket for the blonde and waiting for the tow trucks to arrive.


"Accident report," Ed groused once they were back in their truck. "I haven't written one of those in years."

"Then you were about due," Greg teased before he flinched and looked away.

The Sergeant huffed, checking his phone to see if Kira had found them any more incidents – discreetly texting her an order to knock it off – and reached down to turn his radio off. The other hand pulled his headset off, a move that pulled his lieutenant's eyes back to him. He glared until Greg removed his own headset and turned his radio off.

Drawing in a breath, he locked down the rage that surged in his gut, demanding to be unleashed on the very deserving target right in front of him. "So. When you comin' back to the locker room?"

A minute flinch and subtle twitch that might've been Parker exposing his throat again. "Maybe when Spike's back."

Two fingers drummed on the wheel. "Which isn't gonna happen for awhile."

A grimace escaped the other's control. "Wordy told me."

"Lou told me this morning he finally cracked. Guess the doc's a WoW fan, whatever that is."

Despite the tension vibrating in the air, awaiting just the wrong move to snap, the negotiator hiked a pointed brow. "World of Warcraft, Ed. I know that was part of Spike's last hot call."

Okay, fine, he'd known darn well what WoW was – even Sam knew what WoW was and he'd been a gaming illiterate before joining Team One. Ed glared harder and pointed at his boss. "Point is, Spike's not coming back for awhile, which means we need you back in the locker room."

The other man swallowed hard. "I don't think that's such a good idea, Ed."

Lane rolled his eyes. "Greg, either you come back to the locker room or I'm gonna come bustin' into your office one of these days after Kira and Wordy trick me into thinkin' there's a problem."

Both brows shot up as hazel went wide.

"Seriously?" Ed demanded. "You haven't noticed? Greg, they were practically crying this morning 'cause you beat me into the briefing room."

"Why?" The stocky man cocked his head to the side. "Forcing things isn't going to help the situation."

Blue narrowed. Forcing things – that was what Greg was focusing on? No automatic 'there's-no-problem' denial? Because while it was true that Greg was a master of putting his team first, always and forever, he was also a master of the redirect. Focus on the thing that most affected him – Ed – and the conversation would naturally migrate there without touching Word and Kira's 'prank'.

"Who says it would force things?"

Parker blinked. "Ed?"

The sniper sighed, rubbing his dome for a moment. "Word's been workin' on the whole team, Greg. Makin' it as clear as he can that this one's not on you."

The lieutenant paused, considering. "That doesn't change the fallout."

"No, maybe not, but it happened before the 'team sense' got fixed." Ed snorted. "Heck, that was right before the gryphon nearly killed you." Wait a second… "Greg?"

Hazel studied him, sensing a change in direction. An ever so slight tilt of the head, not to expose his throat, but in silent query. Ed's breath nearly caught at how much his friend resembled his gryphon form in that moment.

"That day. If we'd gone with Giles instead of you, what would've happened?"

The other man's eyes narrowed a touch. "Wordy and Spike would've had a blood bond with Giles, not me."

The Sergeant shook his head. "Not what I mean, Greg." He shifted in his seat, blue meeting hazel dead-on. "What would the gryphon have done?"

Greg reared back, flinching as he absorbed the question. For a long moment, the two men faced off before the lieutenant nodded. Hazel closed as he summoned up his memories of what had happened, jaw tightening in concentration.

Ed waited, calm, cool, and collected on the outside, but inside, emotion churned. Resentment curled and sparked. Even if Greg hadn't known what could happen, it didn't change what he'd done to them. They'd never asked to be bound so tightly that their team was essentially a closed circle. No one in, no one out. Family by blood, by spirit, by heart – never again could any of them choose the other. For a moment, he wondered if he'd known in that instant of choice how very true that statement was. But he couldn't remember and so he'd never know for sure.

Parker's jaw tightened further, twisting into a grimace. Without opening his eyes, he admitted, "Ed, if it had come down to Giles, you and the others would've had to tie me up. Maybe even cuff me; the gryphon was not happy at the idea of 'losing' his Flock."

The exhale was sharp, but he wasn't all that surprised. Not really; Greg's gryphon side tended to be possessive – Anakin Skywalker's obsessive nature paled in comparison. At least the thing was now completely under the lieutenant's control. Parker eyed him, tense, wary. Almost fearful. And yet, Ed knew the other man wouldn't fight or argue against any of his demands. He'd just accept them and hide all the pain underneath that negotiator mask of his.

"You're angry at me."

He opened his mouth to agree, only to pause. Because…somewhere in this twisty, windy conversation, he'd stopped being angry. The fury had smoldered down to a dull resignment that Greg was doing it again. He was blaming himself for everything again. It wasn't right, it wasn't healthy, and, darn it, Greg couldn't keep doing that!

And yet, before he could say any of that, he saw his friend stiffen. Hazel closed again as Greg's left arm curled around his midsection; within moments, he was panting as if running a marathon – but he was just sitting still. The stocky man doubled over in his seat, throat working to swallow down a cry of pain; then he slumped against the car door frame, chest heaving as if he was finally getting air again.

"What. The. Heck. Was. That?"

Parker kept his eyes closed, inhaling and exhaling in a steady rhythm they both knew by heart. "Me trying to use the links."

The snarl of fury was unstoppable, rage building up – and then he froze. "Automatically."

A cringe and a nod. Hazel worked its way open, finding his blue with an effort. "Burns are still pretty bad."

Ed breathed a low, voiceless curse. He'd never considered that – none of them had. He knew – they knew – that wizards used their magical cores constantly. That the only reason Word hadn't spent most of his life in agonizing pain was 'cause his subconscious had learned to stop trying, but he'd never considered what that might mean in the context of a 'team sense' burnt to a crisp by dragonfire.

Now he wondered just how 'fake' that 'Greg's-in-trouble' prank would've been. How many times had Greg suffered through his core trying to use what couldn't be used?

"Tell me you let Queenscove know."

A weary chin tilt. "He said they'll keep getting more intense until the links heal, then start becoming manageable once the magic can make it through consistently."

"No way to stop it?" The headshake was redundant; Ed knew the answer even as he asked. Greg never would've risked being on-duty with a handicap he could eliminate. And so long as Spike was on the injured list, Greg couldn't take himself off-duty.

Dammit, Greg.


Though Sam was tempted to keep up a running commentary with Lou, he knew that would just remind the other constable of their absent teammate. Besides, he'd never been very good at rambling about anything, everything…and nothing at all. That was ground best left to their resident bomb/computer tech. So instead he let silence settle over the truck's interior, keeping his eyes outside and scanning for trouble. If Lou wanted to share, he would.

Kilometers fell away without a word between the pair, the quiet comforting rather than menacing. By mutual unspoken agreement, they'd stop at Island Foods for lunch – Sam wondered if he could pick up an extra serving of chicken roti for Jules – but in the meantime, the two officers kept their eyes outside and one ear on their radios in case of a hot call.

Once they reached their assigned area, Kira was ready for them. A small fracas, something the unis usually took care of, but easy enough for SRU to handle. Almost a relief after all the tension that had been steadily ratcheting up within the team. Lou acknowledged and Sam altered course for the first of their patrol assignments.

It didn't take long for the constables to realize Kira was flooding Ed and Sarge with incidents. Oh, the dispatcher handed out quite a few to them as well as Wordy and Jules, but Sam had a feeling his Sergeant was getting ticked. Seriously? Bar bills and traffic accidents?

Turning down his radio volume with one hand, he muttered, "She's on the warpath today."

Lou hummed agreement. "Prolly tryin' to keep Boss too busy to yell at Sarge."

"Which isn't gonna help," Sam countered. "They need to clear the air."

His teammate sighed, shoulders slumping down. "Or we could try not blaming Sarge for everything that goes wrong with it."

The blond stilled. He knew, in his head, that Wordy was right. Once he and Spike had done that first blood ritual, they'd left their boss between a rock and a hard place. And darn it all to heck, there'd been no time; Word had been dying, right in front of them. No time to research, no time to investigate a third option – only enough time to act.

It didn't change the nauseous revulsion at the realization that he was technically dating his half-sister. Though he had to give his team leader credit for slogging through who-knew-how-many thick, dusty tomes about blood magic. Although Wordy had proven that magical blood bonds did not mean the couple was committing incest, Sam was still…uneasy. And so long as he was, forgiving Sarge simply wasn't going to happen.

So instead of responding outright, he grunted. "Thought you were still mad at Wordy for 'blaming' Spike."

Lou grimaced. "I was." Dark eyes flicked away. "Right up until Spike told me Sarge snuck into his hospital room while he was still out."

A blond brow rose. "Must've been when he went to call Toth."

The less-lethal specialist nodded even as his expression twisted into something that was misery and awe and hope and despair, all mashed together. "Sam, if Sarge hadn't done that…" He shook his head, unable to continue.

The sniper's breath caught. But… "What does that have to do with the blood ritual?"

For a long moment, Lou didn't reply. Then, without warning, he swiveled back to his teammate, a glimmer of bronze shining in the depths of dark brown eyes. "The links were down, Sam. Spike's was – is – still burned right through to the center. No way he could've heard Sarge. Sure didn't hear anyone else."

It was hard to swallow. "But he did."

Lou nodded once.

Sam was tempted to point out that Spike was Sarge's magical brother anyway – same as Wordy. Just because Sarge had been able to use the blood bond even with the 'team sense' down did not make the blood ritual okay. It especially didn't make it okay when it came to him and Jules.

But before he could say any of that, their radios crackled. "Hey, guys," Ed remarked, so nonchalant that the hair on the back of Sam's neck stood up. "Plan on Pearly's for lunch."

"What's that gonna cost us?" Jules asked before any of the rest of them could.

The nonchalance dropped away. "You'll see when you get here," their Sergeant growled, his tone making it clear that lunch at Pearly's was non-negotiable.

Startled, Sam glanced at Lou; if Ed had been planning on Pearly's, he would've mentioned it during the briefing. So why the sudden change of plans?

Lou, though – he eyed the truck radio as if it was one of their comms, jaw tight and a troubled expression on his face.

"Lou?"

The tan-skinned constable's frown deepened. "Sam, something must be up with Sarge."

Blue widened as the pieces fell together; Ed was being discreet – sort of – but forcing the team back together in the middle of their patrol shift wasn't typical. Unless they had a hot call or a member of the team was in trouble. They sure didn't have a hot call and Ed had sounded fine, if upset.

Which meant… It was Sarge. Again.


Jules ignored Wordy's frown as she settled back in her seat, briefly clasping her arms together across her chest. She'd known, sooner or later, that Ed would bring the hammer down and force the team to mend fences. He had to – a divided team was a liability in the field – but she wasn't ready to forgive, forget, and move on. Not when Sarge had jeopardized her relationship with Sam.

She was grateful when Wordy kept quiet rather than start a fresh round of 'why-it's-not-Sarge's-fault-this-time'. She'd heard it, she knew it, even accepted it, but her heart wasn't there yet. It wouldn't be there until she and Sam had worked their way through all the fallout of Sarge's decision. And maybe he hadn't had any other choice, maybe there hadn't been any other way, but her heart didn't – couldn't – care. Not yet.


Author note: For those of you who have seen Red October, do you remember the scene where the captain of the Russian Alpha sub declares, "Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!" That, my faithful readers, would be the attitude of the Client Manager when it comes to a Debacle In Progress that we Pega Developers are screaming - "Please don't take this to Production! It's not ready, it hasn't been adequately tested, and we can't even get all the initial, basic, end-to-end testing done!"

Sadly, on the other side, the Prod Support person for a 15-year-old application (who doesn't appear to have any in-depth understanding of his own application) is insisting that even though his application is not working properly in lower environments to test the Debacle In Progress, it will absolutely, 1000% positively, work in Production.

Naturally, therefore, the Client Manager is taking the Prod Support guy's word as Gospel. He has adopted the attitude of the ostrich, sticking his head in the sand and refusing to hear anything that doesn't include this Debacle In Progress going to Production in the August Release. He isn't even showing up for the troubleshooting calls that he himself demanded.

This leaves us Pega Developers praying that the situation will not end as it did in Red October, with the captain's first officer saying, "You arrogant jerk. You've killed us!" right before a torpedo the Alpha sub itself fired...impacts the Alpha sub. For, quite frankly, this Client Manager is absolutely the type of man who will charge ahead full steam and then turn around and blame his subordinates for the ensuring disaster.

Please pray that the August Release would be my last release on this team and that the Lord would move me to a different team in a smooth, orderly fashion. Honestly, if the Lord keeps me on this team, I will try my best to abide in His Will, but to call it stressful would be putting it quite mildly.