Chapter Four: Mutiny!

There were times when Greg Parker wondered why he even bothered to get out of bed each morning. Times when he wondered just how long he could keep going to work, doing his job despite being beaten down, exhausted, and hurting. Sometimes physically, most often emotionally. He loved his job in the SRU, but some days – it was hard to remember why it was worth it.

But for all that sometimes he hated the job he loved, Greg would've happily traded his best day 'inside' for his worst day 'outside' – and that included the shameful day he'd run away on his team during a hot call with two people trapped inside a propane-powered burn house.

Sadly, going back in time wasn't a viable escape plan – and against magical law, besides. So Parker pushed himself up and off the top bunk in his cell, tossing a warning glare at his cellmate as he landed on his feet. The other man – big, burly, with a forest of tattoos all over his arms and chest – scowled back, but the two had reached an agreement of sorts as to who was in control. Of course, said agreement had been negotiated by virtue of a very thorough – if discreet – beat down, but such was life 'inside'.

Neither man said a word to each other, not even when the guards arrived to escort them for the prison's version of breakfast. During the trek, Parker focused on his predator aura, letting it coil within; he never let the guards feel that aura, but it was invaluable whenever he was forced out of his cell and into the prison's general population.

When they reached the commissary, Greg shifted to the side, letting his cellmate go first. Letting him attract attention from the prisoners already inside the large eating area; the scant seconds were just enough for Parker to get away from the guards before changing his stance and letting the predator out. A savage grin curved his jaw as those nearest to him edged away, intimidated without understanding why.

Collecting a tray, the stocky man made his way through the line, collecting the slop that passed for food inside the prison. It was terrible, tasteless junk, but Greg knew he had to maintain his caloric intake as much as possible – although his human metabolism wasn't as fast as his gryphon form's, it was faster than most humans'. He was already losing weight, despite eating as much as he was allowed each meal, and it was likely to be several weeks, maybe even months until his case came to trial.

Assuming he survived that long… Parker yanked his tray away from a large, totally bald man with muscles that rippled across his frame. The shorter man glared up at his would-be opponent, dialing up his predator aura and letting out a faint growl.

Canines flashed and the bigger man took a step back. Then he realized what he was doing and stiffened. A sneer curled his jaw and he stepped forward, reaching for the tray full of food. "Seems like you got mor'n your fair share there, cop. Spare a cup?"

Greg didn't bother responding; he whisked his tray out of reach again and angled a kick at the big man's knee, backing it with a tiny flare of scarlet magic. The other roared as he went down, clutching at his leg while Parker disappeared into the nearby mass of inmates. By the time the guards arrived, batons at the ready, he was long gone.

It was a welcome reprieve whenever his team of three lawyers visited; Greg wasn't sure how Silnok had managed to get temporary Canadian law licenses for the two New Yorkers – and he wasn't asking – but Murdock had turned the whole defense effort around. Ironic how a blind lawyer could see far better than his two sighted colleagues; his belief in Greg's innocence had – eventually – convinced them as well.

Murdock's partner, Nelson – short and stocky to Murdock's tall, lean build – came around first; not just because he trusted his best friend, but because he'd seen firsthand how uncannily accurate Murdock could be. While Kincaid was still arguing vehemently against Greg's defense of justifiable homicide – right in front of him – Nelson casually challenged his partner to an old game between the two. Two truths and a lie, with first Kincaid and then Greg as the contestants against Murdock the human lie detector.

Kincaid, taken aback by the idea of playing a children's game, threw out two truths and a lie so fast and so glibly that Nelson laughed at her and Murdock didn't even bother to point out the lie – Parker kept quiet, but rolled his eyes that her lie was what color her car was.

The professional negotiator schooled his expression, but otherwise didn't employ any SRU tricks as he told his two truths and a lie – he had three kids, one biological, the other two semi-adopted, he'd wanted to grow up to be a pilot until his acrophobia kicked in, and he'd had a pet Labrador as a rookie constable until he'd moved to an apartment complex that didn't allow dogs.

Murdock leaned back in his chair thoughtfully, then glanced towards his partner. "Which one?"

"The pilot line," Nelson replied, curly black hair bouncing with his vehemence. "He's a Canadian SWAT cop – no way he's afraid of heights."

The brunette nodded thoughtfully, dark-red glasses turning to Kincaid. "Which one?"

Kincaid considered, then replied, "The first line. He does have three kids, but he hasn't adopted any of them; one is his son and the other two were awarded to him by CPS (2)."

Parker snorted. "Where'd you get that from, Counselor?"

She swung towards him, eyes widening a hair. "You have guardianship papers for them."

"Yes," he agreed. "But not from Child Services." He let that hang, then lifted a brow. "Their parents put me in the will for guardianship."

"And you consider them your own, hence the semi-adopted line," Murdock announced. "You're both wrong, by the way; Parker may have had a dog, but it wasn't a Labrador and he didn't get rid of it because of any apartment rules."

Parker leaned forward, focusing on the lawyer. "Not bad, Counselor. Care to go again?"

Murdock tilted his head, then grinned, slow with a hint of gleeful challenge. "You think you know how I do it."

Greg lifted one shoulder. "Might have an idea."

"Well then," Murdock invited, spreading his hands. "Stump me."

Shifting in his chair, the SRU negotiator steadied his expression and regulated his breathing, concentrating on maintaining a steady heartbeat. "Point one, she was a beagle, not a Labrador. And point two, I actually couldn't take her with me when I moved away from home."

Murdock's dark-red glasses bored into him and Parker held perfectly still, staring right back at that blind gaze. After several long moments, Murdock tapped the table. "You're really very good, Lieutenant Parker. Almost fooled me that time." Slowly, he tilted his head the opposite way. "But you shouldn't have brought up your childhood home – thinking about it makes you angry, even when you're trying to stay calm."

Parker bobbed his head in acceptance of the jab, right to an old emotional wound he'd exposed himself. "Copy that, Counselor." He let both shoulders slump and gazed up at Kincaid. "After I arrested Castor Troy, I was put in protective custody. By the time I talked Archer into going back for Rosalie, they'd already killed her." The shoulders slumped a little lower as Nelson and Kincaid gawped. "Poison."

Murdock's expression turned sorrowful. "And you never got another dog."

"No," Greg confirmed. "Archer never showed me any pictures, but I sure didn't want that to happen again." He allowed a brief shrug. "By the time I felt safe enough to try again, I'd already met Catherine and she didn't like dogs or cats much."

Silence fell between the four, but despite the pain of talking about Rosalie again, Parker suspected it was his beagle's death that finally convinced Kincaid that he'd had no other options. Someone who could kill an innocent, defenseless animal in so ruthless a fashion… They simply couldn't be allowed to run free, even if that meant putting them down.

Despite the natural difficulties of being a cop 'inside', Greg was holding his own. Part of that was his training and experience – he knew how to avoid being cornered by the other inmates. Knew how to keep escape options open, even if they were unconventional. Then there was the gryphon factor – short and stocky Parker might've been compared to the majority of his opponents, but he was stronger and tougher than any of them gave him credit for. In an all-out, beatdown brawl, his predator side gave him an undeniable advantage.

But another advantage was his anonymity – sure, his cell mate and everyone on the same cell block knew he was a cop. And yes, rumors about his status had spread around the prison, but it turned out that even criminals had a certain amount of respect for Toronto's cavalry. The SRU was the best Toronto had to offer and – much to Greg's bemusement – that reputation sheltered him to a certain extent.

Then, one evening, a local news channel decided to remedy their 'slow news day' by running a special about Toronto's very own undercover mob boss. Carl Elias, aka Lieutenant Gregory Parker of the SRU. A guard who'd caught the preview hauled Parker out of his cell before the show actually aired and he spent the night in Solitary, but come the morning, the grim expressions on the guards' faces told the whole story. Every single inmate in the entire prison knew he stood accused of being the mysterious Carl Elias – and in their minds, the accusation was as good as a conviction.

"Any chance I can stay in Solitary?" Parker asked, hoping against hope – and hating that he had to beg. He was a cop; he should've been assigned to Solitary from the very beginning, darn it! Putting any cop in General Population was a virtual death sentence; he'd only survived thus far because of his gryphon form and the SRU's surprisingly criminal-friendly reputation.

The two guards traded looks, both honestly regretful. Then the older one swung back. "Sorry, Parker. Dunno who made the call, but one night was all we could do for you."

The lieutenant slumped down, not bothering to hide how disheartened he was. "Can I at least have a cell to myself?" he pleaded.

The older guard started to shake his head, but the younger spoke up. "We can do that, Mac. That guy Evans practically lives in the med ward anyway. Won't be any trouble if we reassign him a couple days. Just enough to get through the worst, right?"

Mac considered, frown turning thoughtful. Dark blue flicked to Greg. "In for grand larceny; got a side hobby of bad checks. Used to be a nurse 'fore one of his patients turned him onto meth. Got clean, but not fast 'nough."

Parker nodded, understanding that the drug charges had likely been pled down to in-prison rehab and possibly community service after release. "Sounds like a better rap sheet than my current cell mate."

The dirty-blond guard allowed a grunt. "True 'nough, Parker. Can't keep you outta the exercise yard or the commissary, though."

"Copy that," Greg whispered. If he could have a safe 'home turf', he might just survive this.

It was worse than he'd feared. By the time he'd finished breakfast, he'd deflected four attempts to shiv him, broken six fingers, and dislocated one attacker's shoulder. And that was playing nice – with each attack, Greg felt himself sinking farther and farther into a feral 'kill-or-be-killed' mindset. His human will to survive mixing with his gryphon predatory instincts.

When the guards hauled him out of the mob, he nearly lashed out at them, only just managing to restrain himself when he recognized the familiar uniforms. Even then, it took an act of will to cage the predator and submit to their authority. Not a good sign; he could practically feel his sanity slipping away, right between desperate mental fingers. As the guards escorted him back to his cell, one on either side in a protective stance, he fought to calm himself. Regain control. But he was too on edge, too jittery from the adrenaline pouring through his system and the hostility radiating from every occupied cell they passed.

Once locked inside his own cell, Greg retreated to the lower bunk and sat down heavily, panting for some minutes before he regained complete control. Leaning over, he rested his elbows on his knees and debated his options. If the exercise yard was as bad as breakfast had been, then it was no longer a matter of if he would go berserk, but when.

So long as the fights had been minimal, with only a few cuts and bruises to worry about, they'd actually helped; within a day of being arrested, he'd discovered that his gryphon side simply couldn't tolerate being locked up. Deprived of freedom; his wild side might wish he lived out in the country rather than in a crowded, close-quarters city, but at least he'd had his liberty. And he hadn't been alone… Parker hated himself for the moments when he'd longed for even one of his Pride to be there with him.

But now… With the whole of the prison population enraged over the revelation that Carl Elias, Italian mob boss, and Greg Parker, SRU lieutenant, were the same person, there was not a prayer of slipping under the radar. No chance that his predator aura could sufficiently intimidate any would-be opponents.

Whoever didn't hate him for being a cop would hate him for being Elias – defeating him would garner prestige he could only guess at. They'd come at him as hard as they could, as often as it took. They'd never realize that their all-out attacks would inevitably provoke him past his hard-won, iron-clad self-control.

How long he sat there, he didn't know, but eventually he heard sound from outside his cell and looked up to see a guard eyeing him warily through the bars. "Yes?"

"It's," the man faltered, then forged ahead, "it's this cell block's turn for the exercise yard. You're the last."

Parker blinked, glancing around at the nearby cells. Hazel shifted back to the guard, turning hopeful. "Any chance I can skip it today?"

The dark-haired guard blinked, but recovered his poise a moment later. "No exceptions unless you're on punishment."

He grimaced and stood, careful to avoid the top bunk, but the hair on the back of his neck prickled. A cold wind blew through him, congealing the dread sinking into his gut. The sensation of being watched – eerie, bone-chilling laughter right on the edge of hearing. A sixth sense, confirming intuition he hadn't even been paying attention to.

If he would not yield, would not break – then his death would be sufficient consolation.

By the time he was escorted to the exercise yard, the 'team sense' was locked down tighter than America's Fort Knox, barricaded just as much by the gryphon's protective spirit as his human willpower. No matter what happened, he would not risk his friends' sanity. If the darkness won this round, the grief would be more than enough for them to deal with; he wouldn't add magically induced psychic trauma on top of that.

Not that he was going to make this easy for his opponents. Oh, no – if they wanted the 'prestige' of taking down notorious mob boss Carl Elias, they were darn well gonna have to work for it. Unfortunately, he was fairly sure they knew that just as well as he did. Breakfast – that had been testing the waters. The opening moves, probing his defenses and trying to wear him down. The prison equivalent of swatter calls.

Worse, an open, outright assault in the exercise yard would get shut down by the guards in no time. His attackers would get in a few blows, but nothing life-threatening – again, a fact they knew as well as he did. If they were that stupid, Greg fully intended to laugh in their faces right before he backed off and let the guards handle them.

However… If his foes were as organized and determined as he suspected, then their best strategy would be a prison riot. Wouldn't be the first time a prison riot had been triggered specifically so one group inside a prison could have a free shot at their top rivals. The only question was if they'd had enough time to move all their pieces into place – the news report had only been broadcast last night. Prior to that, most of his trouble had been general hostility towards the cop in General Population.

Intellectually, Parker knew he was overreacting – there was no logical reason supporting an attack the day after that damning news report. But… If there wasn't going to be an attack, why the unseen observers? Why the sinister laughter, just higher than hearing, and that bone-white chill sweeping through his blood?

He stepped inside the exercise yard, hazel sweeping around and every sense on high alert. He could feel eyes on him, all unfriendly and several sinister. Deliberately, he strode forward, angling for the part of the yard that was well within the range of multiple cameras.

A small group moved to meet him, led by a tall man with a shaven head, a strong nose, and small silver earrings in both ears. Not as tall or lean as Eddie, but not as solid as Parker either. A snarl contorted his face, hatred shining in brown eyes – Greg had never met him before, but he knew who the man was. Dietrich Hassler, Castor Troy's foremost lieutenant until he'd been arrested in an SRU raid by Team Two. A raid that had only been possible because Greg had passed on crucial information regarding Hassler's location, internal setup, and gang numbers.

On Hassler's right was Greg's burly, tattooed former cell mate, but on his left… Parker faltered, fresh horror settling into his gut. "Will?"

The young dark-blond – a lower-level member of Carl Elias's gang – sneered back. No one knew his real name; though Parker had asked Commander Holleran to do a background check, concerned he might have an undercover Fed on his hands, not even Holleran had been able to trace the streetwise, self-named 'Will Scarlet' back to his original identity.

Parker swallowed hard, understanding. Anthony might've been willing to accept his true identity as a Toronto officer, but as far as the rest of Elias's organization was concerned, he was the worst of traitors. Someone who'd gained their faith and trust, rallied them against a common enemy – only to hand them over to his fellow law enforcement officers.

Hassler gave him a shark's grin, but didn't speak. Instead, he glanced towards Scarlet in invitation. The younger man stepped up, bristling as his former boss met his gaze. "Once a cop," he spat, "always a cop."

"I assume you speak for everyone else?" Parker inquired, level and outwardly unconcerned.

Will shoved him and he allowed it. He didn't even dodge the sharp backhand that followed, though it cut his lip. Behind the rage, the younger man's expression held nothing but hurt. Loyalty broken by the realization that he'd been helping the enemy.

Hazel locked on the young man, as if no one else in the exercise yard existed. Soft, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

If anything, the apology only fanned the flames of Scarlet's anger. "Sorry doesn't cut it, cop!"

He nodded once, accepting the jab, and stood straight. Tall, with a gryphon's pride as he swept his gaze to include all three of his opponents. "Understood. But here's your one and only warning, all of you." He adjusted his stance, letting the predator out. "You'll pay in blood to take me out. The entire time I was undercover, I held back. Never let any of you see exactly what I can do. But if you come at me now, you will see what I can do. May even be the last thing you see." Scarlet magic glittered in the depths of hazel irises. "Better make sure you count the cost."

Will and Parker's ex-cellmate paled, stepping back as the full force of Parker's threat slammed into them. But Hassler didn't so much as twitch. Instead, he examined his foe with a dismissive air. As though he'd already won. "See, that's what your problem is, cop. You play it straight. Fair." He grinned savagely. "We never do."

Behind Greg, he heard a man scream. Heard him fall, smelled the blood gushing. Razor – in, out, fast with an arterial bleed. The guards yelled and closed in, weapons up. Hazel widened in realization and he drew breath to yell warning.

Only for his yell to mix with the roar of a dozen enraged inmates as they turned on their captors and attacked, plunging the whole prison into chaos.

His sole salvation was that they underestimated him. They saw him as a cop and a wannabe mob boss, not a born predator. The clubs and fists they brought to the fight meant little against a gryphon's agility, strength, and sheer inventive viciousness. Not just for his own sake, but for the guards – as soon as the first guard went down under the mob's fists, he flew into a berserker rage, red tinting his vision and every blow meant to maim or kill as he battered his way through the melee to the fallen guard.

The other guards had closed ranks, fighting shoulder to shoulder in an effort to survive – the gryphon hissed approvingly and hoisted the injured guard before making his way to that knot of safety. Once there, he pushed the guard at his comrades and whirled to face the mob. A challenging snarl rose, but something prodded at him. Instinct, whispering that these guards could take care of themselves. Other guards, the ones who'd been patrolling inside, they were all alone. Cut off from their Pride and surrounded by foes.

He lashed out at the closest human; satisfaction hummed at the crunch of breaking bones. Then he stole a look around, evaluating his path, and plunged straight through the mob, leaving a trail of disabled victims behind him as he headed for the far exit.

He unintentionally terrified the first four guards – perhaps it was his scarlet eyes and animalistic growls? Distantly, he felt bad for them, but so long as they were safe, he didn't particularly care if they screeched louder than prey as he shoved them in empty cells and slammed the doors behind them.

The fifth guard was more difficult – he'd been cornered by two prisoners armed with shivs – but the gryphon pounced on the enemy from behind. The first human went down with an agonized scream, clutching at its dislocated shoulder and broken collarbone. The other human swiped at him, he grabbed its wrist and twisted, liberating the creature's weapon as he shoved it into the wall – hard. Snarling, he brought the human's makeshift weapon up…see how it liked a taste of its own medicine.

"Parker, stop!"

His name – he stilled, glancing towards the guard. Didn't the guard want him to stop the rampaging human? He heard a sharp inhale and cocked his head, letting out a soft whine.

"Look, Parker, just get me outta here. They're not gonna hurt anyone else."

He considered, then gave a sharp nod, accepting the guard's Judgment, and dropped the human. Moving to the uniformed guard, he let the shiv fall to the ground and kicked it away. Then he hefted the guard up and headed for a nearby room that smelt of the weapons that the guards carried. His guard would be safe there.

"Guess some of those rumors aren't so wild, huh, Parker?"

He rumbled, noncommittal. There were more guards to save; he could only spare so much time and attention for this one.

"Didn't know the SRU took crazies, though."

He shot the guard a sharp glare, an offended sound building up in his chest…

Mac had been a prison guard for almost his entire career and he'd seen plenty of nuts in that time. Knew the difference between a psychopath and a sociopath – the psychopath got off on slowly carving your guts out while the sociopath just shot you in the head. He could spot a prison shiv from a cell block away and knew when he had time to go for the gun – and when he had to swing 'cause the gun just wasn't gonna come out in time.

But nothing had ever scared him the way Parker had when he'd jumped those two inmates. The completely wild glow of a predator on the hunt – solid scarlet where there should've been hazel. Even a complete lack of human communication, as if the SRU cop had gone utterly 'round the bend as soon as the riot kicked off.

Then Parker shuddered, like he'd had a bucket of ice water dumped down his back, and staggered. Instead of the cop carrying him, he was suddenly supporting the other man. Confused, Mac went down with Parker and held him up as the stocky officer shook, trembled, heaved, and finally threw up.

It took another minute of trembling and shaking before the half-bald form spread his hands, bracing himself on either side of where he'd been sick. Inhaled and exhaled in a steady fashion. After a few moments, he turned his head towards Mac, revealing scarlet dappled hazel. "I've gotten four out already. How many other guards on patrol?"

"Mebbe four more, but once the riot started, we went on lockdown. Some of 'em mighta got out."

"Copy," Parker whispered, still breathing in that slow, forcibly calm manner. "Can you get to safety on your own?"

"Yeah, but…"

Parker smiled, though the flash of lengthened canines was anything but reassuring. "You're right, Mac; I'm not exactly sane right now." Determination set the scarlet to glowing brighter. "But that won't stop me from getting your friends out, my word on it."

"An' after that?"

The SRU officer shifted, pushing himself upright again. "If I survive, you might have to tranq me."

Then he strode away, oblivious to Mac sputtering behind him. If I survive…?

Guard number six had good news for him – he was one of two still trapped inside the prison. Apparently, Mac had been right; some of the guards had managed to get out before the full lockdown took effect. Parker hustled the man to safety, painfully aware that his gryphon instincts were starting to take over again.

It wasn't like before, when he'd been imprisoned inside his own mind or when he'd been split into two by Morgause. No, it was more like the times when he'd hunted or eaten in his gryphon form and let his human side slip away until it was all over. His human soul, memory, and morals were still there, but they just…weren't in the driver's seat.

He had a feeling it was a symptom of the 'team sense' being locked down – if he opened it back up – had his friends to anchor him – he wouldn't lose his self-awareness, giving him that much more of an edge in surviving this fiasco. But he couldn't – wouldn't – risk it. A riot meant SRU; if Holleran sent Team One in, they couldn't afford any distractions.

So he kept moving towards the last trapped guard, aware that he was probably walking into a trap. Hassler wasn't stupid – he had to have figured out that Greg was rescuing the guards. Leaving some of them open and easy to rescue was a small sacrifice when it meant Hassler could consolidate his forces at the last guard's location. Overwhelm his foe with numbers large enough that not even the gryphon could survive.

Adjusting his stance, Parker focused on remaining noiseless and fought to maintain his human awareness. The gryphon wasn't fighting him, an even greater irony. It was more like his mind was so used to shifting between two states of awareness that he simply couldn't stop himself. Just as he came to the realization, he smelled blood. Fresh blood…

He prowled forward, a soft growl rising when he caught sight of a guard. Down, bloodied, and trapped behind two humans armed with clubs. He surveyed the area, but there were no shadows he could use to sneak closer and the humans were facing outwards. Waiting for him.

He lifted his chin and advanced, stepping into the circular pool of light that defined the meeting of two human pathways. The bigger of the two humans smirked at him and he sensed movement at his back.

Whirling, he met the attack with a snarl and a closed fist, but staggered as a club struck his side. Roaring, he sprang upwards, twisting in midair to land on the humans. Kicking, clawing, biting; his human's battle tactics flowed through him and he rolled away from a fresh attack, kicks shifting from mere brute force to pinpoint lethal accuracy.

He ducked away from a shiv, jabbing his elbow downwards to part the human from its weapon. Pushed himself up just enough that he was rolling across another human's back, leaving his feet free to lash out. He touched the ground, crouching a breath before he leapt, curling backwards over yet another foe. Landing behind the human, taller than he was by a hand-span, he reached out, grabbing the human by its neck. A sharp movement yielded a crack and the human collapsed, breath gone in an instant.

The loss enraged them; he lost count of how many blows he deflected. How many kicks he landed, how many bones he broke. He simply fought, aware that defeat meant death, not only for him, but for the helpless guard.

Then a club crashed down, catching him a glancing blow, but it was wrong. He looked, seeing a sneering face above the uniform. Why? The guards were his, he protected. Then he spied a facedown figure, lying just out of sight in the shadows. Smelt the blood – the death.

He snarled rage, only to stumble as another club crashed into his ribs. He turned the club back on its owner and whirled towards the imposter. He would avenge the fallen guard – the one he should've protected. The human yelled, lashing out in panic, and caught his jaw. He stumbled again, right into a fist.

He went down on a knee, hurting, but still fighting. Still enraged. He fought to push himself up again, to battle his way free, but they were relentless. Attacking from every side – an involuntary howl ripped free when one kicked his left calf. He fell heavily, tried to roll, to scramble back up, but now the blows rained down, all on target.

Instinct curled him inwards, ducking his head and protecting his core, and despair licked. If only he could've fought alongside his human, maybe they could've won. But his human protected Pride – that was right, he didn't regret it – yet without Pride, he wasn't whole.

He heard bones crack, felt jabbing pain inside, and cried out. Then a blow struck his head and he knew no more.

[2] Child Protective Services; the American equivalent of Toronto's Child Services

Author Note: *adopts angel halo after evil cliffhanger* Good morning and Happy Friday to one and all!

I do hope everyone enjoyed today's installment of the 'whumping my favorite characters and calling it a story' show! : P

At any rate, my parents are back home safe in Chicago and I am back to work. Thankfully, since it is Friday, no work tomorrow!

For anyone who might've missed it, I did post another lovely Art Commission from Gaia on Archive of Our Own. So wander on over and check out Gaia's wonderful work!

Have a wonderful weekend and may the Lord bless each and every one of you (and your families) on the other side of the screen.