Chapter Fourteen: The Pirate's Code
Sam couldn't deny that he was grateful when he drew the 'short straw' and ended up assigned to help Susan, Jesse, and Sarge while Spike kept little Jane occupied elsewhere. Sure, the inaction chafed, but, deep inside, his inner wolf was soothed by the presence of his Alpha. Silver burned just a little brighter because Sarge was there. Real and solid despite the fever still burning beneath his skin.
He wasn't always lucid – the fever utterly unconcerned by Susan Travis's don't-you-dare glares. But even in the depth of fever dreams, he always knew when one of them was near. The one time Susan had evicted Sam, not wanting him in the way as she mixed a particularly delicate potion, Sarge had panicked so badly that Susan screamed for Sam to get back in here! Now!
Scarface was getting more jealous by the hour, but Bennet and his wife Fanny were more resigned than anything else. They wanted Sarge to stay, for their sake and their little girl's sake, but as parents themselves, they seemed to know just how futile it was to keep Sarge away from his own kids.
So Sam stayed by his lieutenant, helping the Travises batter back the fever with cold compresses on Sarge's forehead and bags of ice under his arms as well as between his legs. Fanny kept them well-supplied with soup and the old-wives remedies she'd learned from her mother and grandmother. Every tiny decrease in Sarge's temperature was a hard-fought victory, won by seconds, minutes, and hours. Any time his eyes opened with awareness nearly brought them all to tears, for it was pure relief and yet so fleeting.
One day slipped into the next and Sam was relieved when Spike stayed away. The blind man was much better at navigating then he'd been in the beginning, but this battle – it was a sighted man's battle. Besides, Spike was playing an important role, too; he was keeping little Jane busy and out of their way.
"Sam."
Blearily, he looked up at his girlfriend, hardly even seeing her as his mind stayed on Sarge and everything he might need next in their battle against that awful fever.
Jules took his hand, tugging him to his feet. "Come on, Sam, you need to rest."
He resisted. "Gotta stay with Sarge."
She shushed him. "Wordy's going to take over while you eat and get some sleep. Ed's orders," she added at the budding protest in his eyes.
Looking around, he finally realized Jules hadn't come alone. Their team leader was there and he was already in position next to Sarge, leaning towards Jesse while Fanny gently ushered Susan away for a break of her own.
With a sigh, he gave in, though his eyes remained on Sarge until Jules got him out of the room and closed the door behind them.
As he returned to the sick room several hours later, Sam's jaw quirked up to see Spike there waiting for him. Jane was nowhere in sight, but her mother had probably already sent the little girl to bed. With any luck, she'd stay there.
Spike's head turned at the footsteps and his face lit up. "Samtastic."
A chuckle broke free. "We double-teaming it?"
The raven nodded fiercely. "Can't let you have all the fun, Samtastic."
He sighed, but returned the nod. "Won't be easy," he warned. "Fever's still high enough that Susan's counting the seconds."
Sightless light-brown managed to darken. "I can take it."
Sam held his stance for a few more moments, then nodded in return. "Copy. You stay by his head, make sure he knows you're there. I'll do the hauling."
Scarlatti blinked, tilting his head. "Hauling?"
"Ice bags," Sam explained, moving to where Susan had set up a small rune circle – all they had to do was bring in a bucket of water and the enspelled area turned that water to ice, keeping it frozen until they needed it. Fanny had found several old pillowcases that they could use for bags and she'd taken on the task of drying each pillowcase out after it was used.
"It's an old method for treating heat stroke, Constable Scarlatti," Susan elaborated, sweeping in. Her wand snapped out and she waved it over Sarge – Sam grimaced at the temperature, nibbling his lip at the way it had gone up since Jules had hauled him out for food and rest. Wordlessly, he snagged a soaked washcloth out of the small bucket they'd placed right at the edge of the rune circle – close enough to get icy cold, but not far enough inside for the water to turn to ice.
The Healer accepted the washcloth, curled it up, and hurried over to Spike, reaching past him to place the compress on Sarge's forehead.
"How close are we?" Sam asked even as he collected a clean, dry pillowcase to start packing ice again.
"If we can get him through till nine o'clock, that will put us past the 48-hour mark by about three hours," Susan replied. "I'd like to get him through the whole night, but it looks like the fever's climbing again."
"Infection's setting in," the blond sniper concluded, scowling at her unhappy nod.
On the bed, Sarge thrashed, muttering to himself.
Spike stayed where he was – sometimes standing, sometimes sitting, but always in Sarge's line of sight if he turned his head towards them. Before, Sam had said, Sarge only needed one of them in the room to calm down, but their lieutenant had reached the point that even the subconscious whispers of his magic were beyond him. The one time he'd gone to help Sam with an ice bag had prompted a wailing, despairing keen from the delirious man on the bed; Spike cursed himself as he scrambled back, grabbing onto Sarge's hand in an effort to reassure him. He wasn't alone – his team was there and they'd never, ever leave him. Never again.
Before his eyes, Sarge's scarlet flexed, darkening in an unnatural way. At first, Spike had been terrified that there was Dark Magic in play, but as the hours passed, he realized it was the infection. Or the fever. Or both. Trapped in delirium, Sarge's mind was trawling through emotional torment he rarely let surface and the anguish of the involuntary trek was transmitting into his magical aura.
"Spike…?"
Soft, hoarse, with an edge of disbelief. Spike squeezed his boss's hand and leaned in. "Here, Boss."
"Thirsty," Sarge rasped; there was a rustle, as if he was trying to lean towards Spike, but couldn't muster the strength.
Reaching up with his free hand, Spike pressed the compress into Sarge's forehead, frowning at how dry it felt. Turning his head, he called, "Sam, you got another washcloth?"
"Yeah," Sam called back. "Anything else?"
"Water?" Spike queried, feeling a shuddering under the compress.
"Room temperature, not icy cold, Constable Braddock," Jesse instructed – he'd taken over for Susan in anticipation of a magic-intensive evening for her. "We don't need Lieutenant Parker shivering."
The bomb tech heard a soft moan from his boss and frowned, but didn't argue. If it were him, he'd want something cold, but if Jesse thought shivering was bad, then that was that. He was the doctor, after all.
Silver came over, holding something out. Spike pulled the old compress away and took the new one, rolling it up before putting it in place on a scarlet-outlined forehead. He heard a relieved sigh as the cold filtered through Sarge's skin and watched as Sam carefully coaxed several swallows of water down Sarge's throat.
"He's gonna be okay, right?" Spike pleaded, unable to help himself.
"We're almost there," Jesse reassured him. "Just a few more hours, Constable Scarlatti, and Susan can heal him again."
He nodded, but there was still a deep snarl in his gut. Fear that Sarge would suddenly take a turn for the worst and then that would be it – they'd come so close, only to lose him anyway.
Spike didn't voice that fear, though – that would make it real. Besides, even if Sarge was slipping in and out of awareness, he could still hear. What if, by voicing his terror, he made it come true?
Jules forced her attention away from the sick room only one floor above – the one where her lieutenant was fighting for his life against the infection raging through his body… Internally, she groaned – she was doing a great job of staying on task. If only she'd drawn the short straw instead of Sam… Of course, she knew – all of them were thinking that; their not-so-rookie sniper was currently the object of the team's focused jealousy, because he got to be with Sarge and they had to keep working the case.
Sighing, the brunette read through the pages in front of her again, narrowing her eyes as she scanned the report Lou had managed to find on Niebaum's own IA investigation. The one that should've seen him in prison and well away from Sarge – what had gone wrong? There had been plenty of evidence against the now-deceased IA detective.
"Got it!" Lou crowed, drawing instant attention. Jules shot out of her chair and was behind Lou's before Wordy or Ed could catch up.
"What do we got?" Ed demanded, halting to the right of the pair as he peered at the laptop screen.
"Niebaum was arrested when a detective from the 8th precinct provided evidence to the guys at the top of Internal Affairs. Guys who didn't know Niebaum personally."
Wordy frowned, a distant look appearing in his eyes. "Yeah, I remember scuttlebutt about that back when…"
"When Greg was under," Ed finished for him. "Figure that detective was one of Greg's – why'd IA lose the evidence?"
Lou grimaced. "They put him on suspension, pending investigation, but then the investigation stalled. Didn't look good for Internal Affairs that one of their guys was dirty. They spent most of their time on all the other dirty cops Sarge was turfing out of their hidey holes."
"How long was the investigation stalled?" Jules asked.
Their less-lethal specialist scanned through the information on his screen, fingers flying on the keyboard and mouse. "Looks like it stalled out for a couple months. Long enough that they put Niebaum back on-duty, but he was chained to his desk. Paperwork only."
"And then?" their Sergeant prompted.
The tan-skinned constable's chin dipped a hair before he turned in his chair to face his teammates. "Then that detective from the 8th precinct came back, said he'd believed his source way back when he brought IA the evidence on their guy, but since then, he'd found out his source had a grudge against Niebaum, so he might've manufactured evidence."
Hawk blue widened, then Ed hissed, his shoulders bristling just like his Animagus form would.
"Sarge would never," Wordy argued loudly. "Who was it?"
Without glancing back at his screen, Lou replied, "Detective Lionel Fusco, 8th precinct."
The team stilled, all of them trading sober glances, thought Jules noted that her Sergeant and team leader's glances at each other were unusually long. Lionel Fusco – their lieutenant's onetime friend, from a time in his life when he'd only had two friends. Then John Reese had been murdered by Castor Troy and Fusco had turned his back, blaming Parker for the bombing.
"He must've found out who Carl Elias is," Jules concluded. "But how?"
Lou shook his head. "No idea. Up till that news report, I don't think anyone outside of SRU and Elias's two top guys knew he was a cop."
"Raf knew," Ed broke in.
"Who?" Wordy asked, frowning.
"The Guns 'n' Gangs rookie who took your spot for a week," the Sergeant filled in. "Think he got Obliviated after Merlin put everything right, but then Guns 'n' Gangs tried to send him undercover in Elias's organization."
"And Sarge caught him," Lou breathed, earning a nod.
"Roy and Giles debriefed him after, but he clammed up soon as he heard the last name Lane."
"He recognized him," Wordy mused, thoughtful. "Didn't want to blow his cover back then."
Jules shook her head. "It's been over six months; Raf wouldn't blow Sarge's cover now and he has no reason to reach out to Homicide when Sarge works in the SRU." She gestured at the laptop screen. "Lou, can you tell when Fusco went back to IA?"
"Not the exact date," Lou admitted. "Soon as he gave 'em a good excuse, they dropped the investigation. Fully reinstated Niebaum – even gave him back pay from when he got suspended. As far as Internal Affairs was concerned, he was completely clear."
"Whoever told Fusco… You think they told Niebaum, too?" Jules ventured.
"Fusco probably told Niebaum," Wordy jumped in. "He already has a grudge against Sarge. Niebaum was the only one left, the only guy who hadn't been indicted yet."
"Plus, he's Internal Affairs," Ed added. "Perfect ally if you're going after one of the best guys on the force."
"Not an ally," Lou disagreed. "Fusco brought in the evidence that got Niebaum arrested. What if they worked a deal – Niebaum gets to bring Sarge down and leaves Fusco alone."
"Fusco gets to watch Sarge go through the wringer, even if he doesn't get to do it himself," Jules finished.
The four officers stopped, each of them evaluating their theory. It held together – there were still gaps, where they didn't have the details to fill in, but the framework fit. The only problem was…
"We'll never be able to prove Fusco told Niebaum," Wordy observed, morose. "Not without Niebaum."
"We can't even prove Fusco knew about Sarge," Lou agreed sadly.
"So we keep an eye on Fusco, make sure he leaves Greg alone from now on," Ed broke in, practical as ever. "We got the evidence that Greg uncovered – we can prove Niebaum was dirty and on Castor Troy's payroll. Not a stretch to figure that he went after Greg 'cause he lost his extra income and nearly got thrown in jail."
The three constables perked up. "So we can get Sarge to St. Mungo's?" Jules asked hopefully.
Their Sergeant shook his head. "Not yet. Not till we can account for all our T-South escapees." His expression hardened. "Soon as we come in, they're gonna be looking to put Greg back inside – we need leverage to keep him out."
There was a long moment of silence. Finally, Wordy nodded. "Copy that, Boss."
Sam leaned against the wall, right behind Spike's chair, and let his head thud back. It wasn't his first all-nighter, not by a long shot, nor even his first all-nighter watching over a sick or injured friend, but it never got easier. The pull of exhaustion, the way his emotions felt utterly wrung out, just like the fresh compress on Sarge's forehead, the weariness that felt soul-deep…
At least he was alive… Less than a minute after the clock struck nine, Susan's wand had been in hand as she summoned up her healing magic, focusing on the infection raging through Sarge's blood, bones, and internal organs. Even as she worked, the fever continued to climb, requiring constant effort from Jesse and Sam to keep fresh ice bags in place and Spike supplied with icy cold washcloths, but as the minutes ticked by, turning into hours, the tide began to turn, more and more, in their favor.
As the first false light of dawn peeked through the night sky, Sarge's fever finally broke. His sleep remained fitful, but he was breathing deeply and sweat no longer bathed him or the fresh pillow beneath his head. Scarlet magic still swirled with his native hazel irises, but the pupils were back to normal. Reacting properly to light – though Susan had warned that Sarge would be hyper-sensitive to bright lights for some time to come. A consequence of how long his concussion had gone untreated and the fact that the bulk of her healing magic had been necessary for graver injuries.
Sam flicked a glance down, a worn smile appearing. Spike was slumped over in his chair, upper body resting on the bed and his left hand still gripping Sarge's right. Somehow, his head had found a free spot on Sarge's pillow and he'd tucked in, right in the crook of Sarge's shoulder.
Then Sam blinked. Sarge's eyes were open, scarlet tinted hazel regarding him blearily, but with awareness. Moving quietly, the sniper moved closer, reaching out to rest a hand on his lieutenant's shoulder. "Morning, Sarge."
"Sam," Sarge rasped. His gaze flicked down a moment. "Spike?"
"Ed figured it was about time we got the whole team back together," Sam explained, keeping his voice low. "He's been keepin' an eye on Jane."
Sarge frowned, with an expression that demanded further details, but he abruptly sagged down, eyes fluttering shut as his body's exhaustion pulled him back under.
Sam shook his head, weariness giving way to fond exasperation with his boss. A soft laugh broke free. Then he went back to the wall and leaned into it, letting himself fall into a soldier's watchful doze.
The Sergeant shunted aside Lou's revelation that Fusco had been the one to finger Niebaum in the first place. Shunted aside the rage that Greg had handed Fusco a mile-high stack of arrests on a silver platter and Fusco had still stabbed his old friend in the back. Tried to forget that anger was easier to deal with than the guilt that squirmed in his gut – for if he and Wordy had left well enough alone, Fusco never would've discovered that mob boss Carl Elias and Lieutenant Gregory Parker were the same person.
"Ed," Wordy hissed, coming up right behind him.
A sharp hand signal cut him off, Ed's glare boring into the other man as shoulders tightened. Did Wordy want Elias's guys to hear? Their teammates?
His team leader stilled, though gray remained shadowed with the guilt Lane was refusing to acknowledge in himself. After a moment, Wordy straightened. "What's our play, Boss?"
The sniper tactician frowned, running through what they had and what they didn't have. Greg was stable, but definitely not up for anything more than recovery. The evidence he'd collected on Niebaum was secured and they could probably cross-reference with Greg's official police record to prove that he'd never even met Niebaum prior to his undercover assignment.
A nod. "Word, you and I'll go have a talk with Scarface. Find out where we are on tracking down our escapees."
"They've only been looking two days," Jules pointed out.
"Five," the Sergeant countered. "Escapees beat Greg half to death – no way Scarface or Elias's other guys let something like that go." His gaze switched to Lou. "Need you to start putting our evidence together in a report for Internal Affairs. We hand everything over exactly like we found it."
"Plus Sarge's medical report?" Lou suggested.
"We'll need Jesse's text messages," Jules added. "Proves we didn't find Sarge before he contacted me."
"Yeah and his testimony," Ed agreed. "We're on thin ice with this one, team – dot every 'I' and cross every 'T'."
"Copy, Boss," Wordy murmured.
Tilting his head, the Sergeant led the way out of the room they'd been using for the investigation, towards the planning room right next door to their lieutenant's sick room. Much as Ed didn't like Scarface or his gang, he had to admit the mobsters had done their best for Greg. Even knowing what he was – in what universe did criminals protect cops?
Beside him, he could practically feel the guilt oozing off of Word and halted. Turning his head, he met miserable gray. "You walk in there like that and they'll know something's up."
The big constable swallowed hard. "Ed, we gotta tell them."
"No, we don't," the sniper hissed, knowing his friend wasn't referring to the mobsters, but to their teammates. "Long as we play this right, all we got to do is keep an eye on Fusco. Make sure he never pulls somethin' like this again." Intense blue snared his team leader's gaze and hardened. "No one needs to know what happened that night. No one."
He saw emotions play across Wordy's face, stallion instincts warring with the brunet's conscience. Then his friend subtly relaxed and nodded, shifting to be just a hair more behind his Sergeant. His herd leader.
A fresh dart of guilt struck – he'd deliberately used Wordy's Animagus instincts against him and they both knew it – but he pushed that guilt away just like he'd already pushed away the guilt for telling Fusco who Elias was.
Bumping Word's shoulder in silent apology, Ed continued towards the planning room, moving inside with a snap to his stride and head high. As always, Scarface was accompanied by Bennet, but none of Elias's other chiefs were in the room. He might've wondered if Scarface and Bennet were hiding Greg from their own people, but over the past two days, there had been a steady stream of mobsters in and out of the hideout.
"How is he?" Scarface demanded, interrupting Lane's train of thought.
"He is going to be fine." All four men turned towards the blonde who'd just slipped into the room. There were dark circles under her eyes and her usual tart tone held an edge of exhaustion, but the tiny smile on her face spoke louder than her words.
"The fever broke?" Bennet asked hopefully from the other side of the wooden table in the room.
The Healer nodded, hunching into a slouch. "It took most of the night, but yes. The infection is dealt with and his fever broke around dawn."
Ed sagged in pure relief, something like a gasp escaping.
Susan tossed him a glare for interrupting her report, but was too tired to snap. "Jesse's in with them now, but Parker's still extremely weak. The sooner we can get him to St. Mungo's, the better."
"We're working on it," Wordy promised, surveying her a moment. "Get some sleep, Susan. You earned it."
Though Lane half-expected a tart, snapping reply, Susan Travis simply nodded and left, slouching just a tad more as she went out the door.
"I wasn't done!" Scarface complained.
"Susan never slouches," Wordy countered. "Sarge is gonna be okay, that's the important thing. Leave her alone for a couple hours."
The mobster scowled at them, but didn't argue further.
"Any luck with finding Castor Troy's men?" Ed asked, hoping to divert away from Greg before Word's guilt got the better of him again.
Scarface's scowl deepened and he shook his head. "We dropped intel to the Ra Kacharz on Hassler 'cause he was Troy's top guy," he explained. "Was easier to just have you cops scoop 'im up."
Wordy bristled, but Ed tilted his head, thoughtful. "Greg knew SRU would take that warrant call," he mused. "He could trust us to take out Hassler while he was workin' on stuff we couldn't get to."
The team leader's gray widened, then sobered. "But we can't do that now, Boss."
Ed shook his head. "No," he admitted. "Hassler knows Elias's people are keepin' an eye out." He paused. "Might even be waiting to spring the news about Greg."
Bennet snorted. "Everyone knows now, cop. Some of the chiefs ain't happy, but they'll do as they're told."
"And the guys on the street?" Wordy pressed.
"Same," Scarface growled.
"Okay, you got your people under control," Ed conceded, signaling Wordy to stand down. "Now how do we get Hassler?"
"You ain't gonna just take the Boss and run?" Scarface jeered.
"No," Ed replied, firm. "If Hassler is one of Castor Troy's best men, then he knows darn well what his boss would've done."
"Come after Sarge's kids," Wordy breathed, horror flashing across his face.
The Sergeant nodded to his team leader, ignoring the matching horror on Bennet's face. "That is not going to happen on our watch, even if we do have to work together, Scarface." Stepping forward, Ed braced his palms on the table between the two cops and the mobsters and leaned towards his rival.
"You can't keep him," he announced bluntly, eyeing the flinches neither mobster could hide. "But you help us save him and his family, then it goes back to how it was before he got arrested. Wasn't perfect, I know, but now that his cover's blown to heck and gone, City Hall can't ever send him undercover again. Not in this city."
Bennet blinked. "He was staying away 'cause of some talking head?"
Wordy shook his head. "His transfer out of the SRU was forced," the big man explained. "Holleran didn't want it, he didn't want it, but then they went to the mayor and Commissioner Loeb. Once both of 'em signed off on the transfer, the undercover op, and the gag order, he didn't have a choice. If he hadn't followed orders, he'd've been fired."
"Then Castor Troy would've had a free shot at him and the kids," Ed agreed. Picking up his team leader's thread, he elaborated, "After Greg came home, the mayor agreed to let him transfer back to the SRU, but he wasn't happy about it. Greg's always been worried that if City Hall finds out Elias's people are still answering to him, they'd reverse his transfer and put him under again."
"Even more 'cause he's our lieutenant now," Wordy put in. "He and Commander Holleran are trying to get our budget expanded – would be a real easy way to put the kibosh on that if he gets transferred and shoved undercover again."
"Politics," Scarface sneered.
"Yep," Ed deadpanned back in the same tone, ignoring Wordy's poorly stifled cough and Bennet's wide-eyed stare. He shifted back to a standing position. "Look, we got what we need from Elias's files. But we come in without catching Hassler, they're gonna wanna put Greg back inside." He gestured for the mobsters to let him finish. "That's not happening, but we got to get Greg to St. Mungo's. Susan and Jesse are good, but if something's up with his magical core, they can't treat that."
"You talkin' about his eyes?" Scarface asked, uneasy when both officers nodded. He made a face, turning away as if that would allow him to escape the problem at hand. Staring at the wall, he asked, "What do you want?"
"We want to help your guys catch Hassler," Sergeant Lane replied, holding his poise even as Scarface snapped back towards him, jaw slightly open and expression incredulous.
There was a long silence between the antagonists – Wordy and Bennet even traded glances as they eased away from their respective leaders. Avoiding the pending explosion. But, after a long and fuming silence, Scarface tilted his chin down, accepting the offer. His mouth was tart, expression as bitter as if he'd eaten an entire lemon. He knew – and they knew – that once Hassler was caught, Team One would leave, taking their lieutenant with them.
Taking Elias with them.
Author Note: As ever, I hope all of you enjoyed. We are barreling into the backstretch of this story, so I hope all of you enjoy the ride!
May the Lord Bless each and every one of you - and your families - on the other side of the screen.
P. S. To any/all AI Art Commission 'artists' (read, scammers), please save yourselves the time and energy. The answer is NO!