Disclaimer: I do not own Gargoyles. I think Disney does.

Betaed by: Zim'smostloyalservant and Trackula

Maggie of Manhattan

Chapter 1

Divergence

The night was cold, and the wind promised it was going to get colder. She really wished she had invested in a heavier coat. Hmm, if she was going to wish, she might as well aim higher, she supposed. But all the same, a heavier coat would be nice, she insisted internally as the sounds of the city filled the air around her.

The sounds of the city never stopped; New York City was not home, after all. They only changed, and even then, from one street to the next the variety showed itself too. But that's what she had wanted, wasn't it? She had wanted to leave it all behind, go far and be a star.

It sounded silly now, even in her head. She watched as a woman with short blonde hair and glasses pulled her bundled up little boy close as Maggie passed them. Too close, that woman's expression said when her eyes briefly met Maggie's.

"Living the dream," Maggie said to no one, and frowned. Was she sounding hoarse? God, she couldn't get sick on top of everything else.

Everyone looked at her funny, or worse didn't look at her at all. Eyes sliding over her like she was invisible. Except one. An old man, thickly bundled in a fraying coat and faded red wool cap. He sat by a crosswalk with a sign and a pickle jar full of change. His eyes met hers and narrowed over a scraggly gray beard, a fingerless gloved hand sliding closer to the jar with its change and a single green dollar poking up through the pile.

Maggie kept waking until she felt his hostile gaze slide off her.

"Twenty-two hundred dollars," she muttered. She'd come to New York City with that and what was in her wallet and three parcels of personal possessions, including her parents' rings. And it was all gone now. The only things left were the clothes on her back.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. She had not thought her dream was a guarantee or something, but she was willing to jump through the hoops. She had worked as a waitress after high school, while taking acting lessons whenever she could. Everyone told her she had talent, both in acting and song. Only her father had doubted her; to her face at least. Even after her mom had died, he had talked down dreams of Broadway. Insisted she stay where she was, take community theater or something but she needed a real job, proper savings, and hopefully a husband.

"Dreams are pretty things, Maggie, but if you try to build on those foundations you will just be casting rocks into the river." How many times had he said that?

It wasn't like he saved any money. When he died, seeing him properly buried had eaten up what little was left in the bank and he had rented his trailer, of course. He had only left her the rings and a photo album.

Hmm, she supposed the album was still hers but she had left it with her aunt back in Ohio. She had wanted to travel light and had seen the big book as something too cumbersome. Aunt Clarice had agreed, stating it was too precious to get left to rot somewhere or pawned off.

Her father, to his dying day, had advised against her Broadway dreams. She had honored his wishes, as long as he lived. It wasn't fair to expect the living to abandon their dreams for the sake of the dead. Auntie felt otherwise, and saw her leaving as soon as the dirt was patted down as some kind of betrayal.

It hadn't meant much. She had never gotten along with the old cook. Her father had thought her naïve; Clarice thought she was vain and stupid, reaching for little girl's dreams. But then Auntie seemed to see everyone but her father badly, so her opinion had hardly seemed to matter back then.

Maggie ducked into the alley, wanting to be away from people.

New York City — no one ever said how one turn could take you somewhere so far from where you had been. The alley was dark, shuttered windows high on either wall and the light clogged, starless sky seeming distant and closed. And garbage. The sight and smell no longer bothered her. It reminded her of when she would decide not to eat at a restaurant cause it looked too cheap.

"You're new, aren't ya?" a man called. Stopping, she turned and saw he was half-buried next to the dumpster under a pile of cloth and newspapers. There was even a shopping cart there, whose contents were covered with some kind of tarp.

"I don't have any money," she said reflexively.

The man, young not old she realized, howled in laughter. She winced and pulled her coat tighter.

"Yeah, you hit rock bottom so recently you're still half-thinking like you mean something to this city. Never been there myself, small favors I suppose. Like a man born blind can't miss colors. Am I right?" he snickered.

"Do you have something to say to me?" Maggie asked wearily.

"Why, you got appointments? But yeah, lady, I do. A bit of good news. There's a man poking around, rich guy. The kind who's got the money where he can walk around New York's crap walks and not even junkies think about so much as kicking scuff on his shoes. Anyway, he's looking for people for work. The healthy types, young and not been out here in circulation so long as to get spoiled. So, tainted goods am I. Also I hear he has enough fellas; looking to be progressive and lift some ladies out of the gutter now he is."

"I'm not a whore," she said.

"Ha! No you're not, with a face like that. And I doubt he's interested. Guys like that don't stick their stuff in dubious goods any more than people from up the chain eat from a hot dog stand. They can get better easier than you or me take a dump. Just tell him the Big Mouse pointed you his way," he said. He called the directions and description after her. She tried to ignore him.

She had blundered once, it wasn't like she would again.

X X X

Her face had seen better days. She looked gaunt, and she had gone long enough without eating her stomach was no longer protesting. Being invisible wasn't such a problem when you didn't want to be seen. She left the trash can she had been checking — she wasn't a beggar yet. It was different when you found things, it was just being smart.

Being smart. Yes, she was not a beggar.

The cold she was finding harder to get used to than the hunger. Her usual spot for the night was near a trashcan fire, but those people… They weren't like her. She saw they way they moved, they way they looked at others and her at times.

It was good to be close, some degree of safety, but not too close. She wasn't one of them.

She could hear them though. She heard a lot now. You hear a lot when you weren't talking and had nowhere to be, she had realized.

They talked about the monsters. She had heard of the stories before coming to New York; she had followed everything New York. Her coworkers had accused her of being a Yankees fan in the making with how much she brought up the great city.

So she knew about the New York Gargoyles. The stories were different here in the alleys. Everyone seemed to have seen or known someone who had seen one. And everyone had a story of someone who disappeared one night, with only the sound of flapping wings, distant roaring, or claw marks scuffed on stone or pavement. And they weren't timid animals, either. All the stories agreed even armed thugs could be prey for them. Numbers meant little — a gargoyle, they claimed, could shrug off bullets and rip a grown man's arm off and beat him to death with it. They could track like dogs, hear heartbeats, and their glowing eyes saw you however deep the darkness you tried to hide in.

Thrilling and ridiculous, nothing more than the peers of Bigfoot or the Jersey Devil, or even the ghost stories across Ohio. Silly things really, showing just how eccentric and exciting her dream town was.

Trying to sleep under a newspaper in the dark of the alley, gargoyles weren't so silly anymore. She was believing the stories, and she had seriously considered yet again today. Grabbing a coffee cup from the trash and just begging, hoping for enough cents for a hot dog fresh from the cart. And a bottle of water?

"I'm not like these others," Maggie whispered to herself. Then she saw him.

He was lit up in the alley mouth, first behind the fire, a silhouette of a man in a hat and coat. The light was gone and the shadow was merely against the backdrop of street lights. But he was different. His walk was off, a slight limp, but even then, he held himself, not like 'them'.

He actually paused to tip his hat to the homeless around the fire. They gave glares and maybe a grunt before returning their attention to the fire in the can.

If she weren't tired, she would bristle at that. What if they scared him off?!

Her eyes were adjusted to the dark enough that she could make him out as he approached her. Clean-shaven, hair clearly barbered under the hat, and he smelled like soap with a slight hint of raspberries. And the cane punctuating each step.

"Doctor?" she asked, not getting to her feet. She could not scare him off.

"Yes?" he answered kindly. Though he probably could not see her well, he looked at her.

He. Looked. At her.

"I heard you were offering people work?" she asked. He smiled and gestured to the opposite alley mouth.

"Let's talk in a bit more privacy shall we?" he asked. Of course, a very reasonable request.

On the intersection, he could see her clearly, but his eyes had not lost that sparkle even in the shadow of the building. She would almost call them jolly eyes. He looked like a gentleman, like a costumed character from a play. But this was New York; here, the true elite could be found, not just people like the others in the alley.

Red, maybe reddish-brown hair, gone white at the temples, and a lined face that along with his posture made her think he was in his sixties, though with whatever injury hindered him she though he might just be in his fifties.

That bum had been right, this man radiated an assurance. It was like being near a fire, if the fire did not make you warm.

"I'm not like these others," she declared, using her free hand to indicate the trash fire. Her other hand clutched her jacket, wishing there was something more she could say to prove her words.

"Of course you're not. I can see that," he had a German accent. It was charming, even as the wind kicked up.

"I haven't been in New York long. This is just a temporary setback."

"As it happens, I need a temporary assistant. Easy work, and it pays well. Plus much nicer surroundings than these," he lifted his cane to take in the miserable back alleys.

"Well, what would I have to do?" she asked. He smiled and offered his hand.

X X X

Maggie Reed, she was from Ohio. She remembered that. Huddled in the corner, it felt like she was stumbling through her own thoughts. But her stumbling was guided by holding onto that string and following it, slowly but surely.

Maggie Reed, yes, that was her, the simple affirmation let her get back on her feet in some way and keep going. Even though she was also sitting down.

No time to think, she needed to remember instead.

She remembered he, the doctor, had used a payphone to call a ride. It had arrived quickly. Not a cab, not a limo or a sedan or something. It had been a van. She thought it might have been white.

Her only thought on the ride had been how glorious the heating was. She had kept nodding off. There had been a loading dock when they had stopped and she had followed the doctor in.

That, she remembered, had been another world. Gone was the dark listlessness of the alleys and streets. Here everything was clean, people moved with purpose, uniformed men and woman, all well kept.

It made her unwashed scruffiness seem as gross a violation as walking in nude. Then the doctor's hand had patted her shoulder.

"No need to be like that. You are on the upswing, Miss Reed. For now, how about something to eat and a bed?" he suggested.

She didn't remember what kind of sandwich they gave her. It had taken all her control not to snarf it down. The water was also welcome. She had kept filling the glass until the pitcher they had left on the nightstand was empty. There was a compact bathroom attached to the small bedroom. It seemed like a half-bath they had forced a shower into.

Well, that was siren allure enough. Though her hair tangles refused to give out afterward, having eaten and showered she would accept that small defeat. She had not asked for a change of clothes, and she deliberately stepped around her ragged clothing on her way to the bed.

She had never slept naked that she recalled, but now she wondered if that was a mistake, drinking in the sensation of snuggling down into the blankets and mattress, her head against the pillow.

A knock on the door had woken her. No windows, no clock, no proof she had not just a minute ago dozed off. But the voice of a woman, slightly accented, African-American maybe, called for her to get up.

Her nudity she had silently worried over, only to be told there were hospital clothes in the nightstand. They needed to do a medical exam first thing.

She remembered the woman, a bit stout, older than her but not too much. Smiling. The doctor had smiled too. Dr. Sevarius, she learned as she sat down on the table.

He had told her so little, she realized now.

It was a different room. She had been examined in what had been like a doctor's office, complete with that bed thing with the rolled out paper on it and the posters on health pasted among the cabinets.

This room was sterile. Everything hard, ceramic, metal or behind glass.

The doctor had examined the syringe, letting a dribble of liquid come out and smiled.

She had asked, and he had answered. She had offered her arm to the needle.

He took it.

He took it.

HE TOOK IT!

Maggie screamed and was flying as her blood burned. She hit the wall shoulder first, pain lanced through her, but she only stumbled. Her weight was in her feet, hard to fall with it all down there.

She could feel her heart beating in her chest, her blood was acid, burning her veins as it seared through her. Her bones were grinding against themselves. And her mouth, there was something stuck in it. She clawed at the gag and the strap but her fingers were numb.

Her eyes crossed as she looked at her fingers. Tufts of blonde hair sticking out from them.

Her weight leapt to her head. She fell and hit another wall, sliding and twisting.

Face pressed against glass, she thought she saw a golden eye staring back at her. She definitely saw the doctor smiling as he spoke into a tape-recorder.

Yes, they were jolly eyes, she realized. But not Santa eyes. It was like from the comics she had borrowed from other kids and the cartoons she watched before being told those were not things for girls. It was Joker's jolliness dancing in those eyes. The joke was on her.

She faded into the pain, sliding down onto the floor.

X X X

The gag was removed at some point. They put food in front of her. Sometimes she even drank some of the water, but she thought the food always went away untouched.

Everything hurt. Each beat of her heart made her want to scream. But it was too much to scream, to move, to even think now.

Nothing mattered save for stillness, because anything else only made it worse.

Her face felt like it was trying to escape her head. To abandon the ship and run away to join the circus.

People came and went. Even the doctor. They spoke, they poked. They even poked at her teeth and brushed them or something. The things stuck to her back they messed with; they seemed pleased at her yowling at the pain in those things.

Once, or maybe a dozen times, they had taken her back to the cold sterile place. She thought she saw monsters there, cat men leering at her and laughing in aquariums, ignoring the eels to mock her.

The men and the doctor did things and gagged her save when they shoved something else in her mouth. They stuck things in her arm too.

It was a relief to get thrown back in the room with the invisible wall.

X X X

There was a pattern to her existence, Maggie realized. The same woman always came in before they took her to the painful place. And she always got worse, more numb, after drinking the water the woman left.

Arthritic as it was, the wheels in her head turned. And she glanced to see that same woman putting a tray down. And that the door behind her was not fully closed.

Maggie didn't want to go back to the painful place.

She flew. She battered people and the door all aside, she fell to her hands but kept flying.

The world fell away to darkness, cold seeped in like a shroud. She was in an alley? Outside? Yes, she realized. She was outside, back where she was before the doctor.

She looked at her hands and bit her lip, yipped at the sharp pain of it, tasting blood in her mouth.

What had happened?

Shadows came down from above and her eyes widened in horror.

First a Joker, now Batmen, she thought, coming to a halt. The figures landed and she swore she felt a small wind tug at her face.

One, large and bald, the other hunched and with a mane of white hair and horns.

Not Batmen, she realized. Gargoyles.

"That's not Demona," one of them said. She noticed then his face was messed up, like a beak or something.

"Stay away from me!" she shouted, throat pulsing with pain at the words.

"Wait, we're not-" the beaked one said, moving toward her. She almost turned to bolt, then the lights came on. Headlights and flashing ambulance lights. Turning, she saw them advancing down the alley. The white coats.

The men said something she didn't make out, her hearing giving way to a rumbling roar. But raised guns toward her was a clear message.

The gargoyles took cover and she dived behind a dumpster.

Pressing her face against the dumpster, ears ringing, she wished frantically for everything to just stop. It felt like she was going to vomit any second. Was this even actually happening, she wondered frantically. Then the dumpster burned her.

"Gah!" she gasped, falling backwards, blinking as electricity visibly coursed over her hiding place.

A strong hand grabbed hers. The beaked gargoyle was pulling her to her feet.

"Come on," she barely heard him. But she did hear him. The white coats she saw were scattered but rallying. Another look showed he was trying to drag her to where his big companion was behind another dumpster.

They were trying to take her, she realized in a panic. Every story of gargoyles boiled to the front of her mind and she nearly jerked her hand free. Then she looked back to the white coats and the ambulance. White like the doctor. Like the van that had taken her to the horror.

They wanted to take her back to the pain.

Fear of the unknown and fear of going back struggled and she was jerked into cover behind the dumpster as the white coats opened fire again.

Beakface slumped and pulled a dart out from somewhere. She watched the big guy growl and put his shoulder against the dumpster. Beakface did the same, shaking his head and Maggie, realizing what they were doing, pressed her own hands against the metal.

To her shock, it actually moved, and then they were practically jogging down the alley, pushing the massive weight of steel and garbage. She tripped on something and face planted. People cried out, and a car alarm started going off. Leathery hands grabbed her shoulders and hauled her to her feet. Darkness ate away at the edge of her vision, and she watched the night sky draw closer.

Someone was telling her to stay awake. But they were wrong, her name wasn't Brooklyn.

X X X

Broadway paced the rooftop, running a hand over his crest. Brooklyn and the stranger were nearby, just feet away. Brooklyn was down, he had lost the fight to stay awake. Tranq dart, high power, Xanatos-level stuff. The white coats didn't exactly look like Xanatos' people, but men in off-looking ambulances with white coats, sunglasses, and dart guns set off a lot of ideas from the Sci-Fi Channel. None of them good.

Still, he was certain the sun would heal Brooklyn.

The problem was the woman. Not Demona, not even like any gargoyle he had seen before. Raking his mind, he was certain Hudson and other elders had told him about gargoyles of the south, way down in England, had looked like cats and birds and stuff. But they were extinct even back in the old days.

"Or are they?" Broadway wondered, looking to the girl. A scrawny thing, didn't look like her wings would hardly even slow a fall, much less glide. Naked too, lots of alarm bells there. He'd been blushing having to haul her to this roof.

Seemed to be drugged too. Went from zoning out to frantically trying to get them to drop her to her death at the turn of a dime.

Both of them were laid out on the rooftop. He could carry one back, he could still make it to the tower he was certain, or at least gain some good distance if those men were still looking. But not enough time for both. And what would he find tomorrow leaving one alone?

He stopped pacing and knelt beside Brooklyn. At least his breathing seemed steady, then with a twitch his eyes opened and he tried to sit up. Broadway moved to support him, but it was clear his friend was going nowhere right now.

"She safe?" Brooklyn asked.

"Worry about yourself a little, why don't you buddy? She's not in a good way though. Must be drugged, or sick. She's in or out and her freaking out nearly got me killed hauling her up here."

"Dawn?" Brooklyn asked.

"Just enough time to get you back to the tower."

"No. Her," Brooklyn said, not able to keep his eyes opened.

"No way! Those creeps are probably still looking. I can't leave you here like this," Broadway was relieved to be able to say it out loud.

"Not looking for me, and dawn will have them find a statue. Get her, away from them."

"What if it was a set up?" it occurred to Broadway, "She might be in league with Demona, or Xanatos, and wants us to show our new home?"

He waited for a response, but realized Brooklyn had gone back under.

"Oh brother. Well, Broadway, you dream about being the leader, this is that kind of call here."

"*Hork*!" the girl made a noise. Rolling over onto her stomach, her wings stretched painfully-looking wide as her body arced. He winced as she vomited up some brown-colored foam stuff. And again when she collapsed, slamming her face into the vomit.

"Well, if that's faking, it's better acting than the Pack ever did," Broadway conceded. He needed more time, but there really wasn't any, was there?

X X X

He compromised in the end. He helped Brooklyn as best he could and had carried the girl away, making as good a time as he could. Not a direct line for the tower, but getting closer. Hopefully he would only have a short flight there, and Brooklyn would have no trouble and head straight home at sunset.

As for him, he was getting her away but not home. He would risk himself today, no one else. At least she seemed to have calmed down. Only twitching and grumbling when she wasn't dead weight. Checking the sky, he decided this was the best he could do.

The girl was unconscious again as he gently put her down. Hopefully stone sleep would see her better, and maybe a few questions answered.

"What a night, hey lady?" Broadway remarked. Receiving no answer, he sighed and turned to face the rising sun.

X X X

She was outside, Maggie realized that before she opened her eyes. The wind and the sounds of the city riding around her. And gravel in her back. The gravel took her back for a moment to games of tag on weed-pocked gravel.

Opening her eyes, she looked up into a gray sky. Sensations of falling up came over her, and closing her eyes didn't help. Instead she looked to the side and saw she was on a roof, able to see the raised lip of it.

Rolling off her back with a groan, she braced herself on hands and knees, hoping the dizziness would fade. Fur, claws, and a hand to her face confirmed her face was ruined too.

They made her a monster.

It occurred to her there should be a stronger reaction. But for now, she was thirsty. Her throat felt like it would start bleeding if she so much as coughed.

There, a few clumps on snow in the shadow of the roof lip. Remnant from the last snowfall.

Getting to her feet, wobbling, she gingerly walked over toward the edge. She nearly lost her balance twice, and the things on her back kept twitching and something kept bumping into the back of her thighs.

Bracing herself on the concrete lip of the roof edge, she knelt down. Taking care not to look over, she lowered her head and began scooping up the snow.

It tasted terrible, and her mouth felt awkward. But chewing on the snow, water began to pass down her throat.

Having grabbed all the snow in reach, she turned around to put her back to the concrete , but the things in her back protested.

Then she noticed the statue. A gargoyle stood on the roof, stout and fierce-looking with claws raised and wings spread.

It triggered fevered memories.

Had she been abducted by gargoyles? Saved by them? Just a hallucination? Trying to put the scattered pieces together, she slipped into unconsciousness.

Dreams followed, some brief and formless, others more concrete. She dreamed of the trailer, of her parents eating breakfast together. She was angry they had set her cereal bowl on the floor rather than the table. And forgot the cereal. Still, with only a meow of protest, she lowered her head and began to lap up the milk as her father scratched that perfect spot behind her ears.

Lancing pain in her hands brought her back. It carried over to her back.

The day passed in exhaustion staring listlessly or writhing in pain with restless unconsciousness breaking it up.

X X X

Broadway roared and stretched as he always did when awakening. It only took a moment to recall why he wasn't at the tower.

"AAAAA!" the girl screamed, scooting backward, eyes wide.

"What?" he said.

"You! Stone! Gargoyle!?" she stammered.

"Uh, are you saying you aren't…" Broadway trailed off as the woman's eyes rolled up in her head and she passed out.

"Well, I guess that works for right now," Broadway sighed.

He was going to tell her to stay put but who knew how long she would be out? And first thing was first, he needed to get Goliath and the rest.

"If you can hear me, please stay here. I'm going to get help. Okay?" he said, kneeling down next to the feline-looking person.

"Okay then," he answered himself when he got to his feet.

Taking to the air, he made a beeline for the tower.

X X X

"This could be a trap, we know nothing about her," Lexington pointed out. Brooklyn had arrived on Broadways heels and now the clan was gathered inside the tower.

"You weren't there, Lex! She was terrified, being hunted like an animal," Brooklyn countered.

"All of which could be staged by someone like Xanatos. Why are you so eager to endanger the clan for a stranger?" Lexington pressed.

"Hey! We're gargoyles, we protect, remember?" Brooklyn snapped.

"Well, we can't do that if we get killed or captured because we brought a plant into the tower," Lexington spat back. Brooklyn had closed some distance between them, and Lexington for his part had half turned away, giving a glare at his rookery brother.

"Enough," Goliath spoke up. Turning away from the gear works, he gave his attention to the two warriors, which was enough to make them at least adopt less hostile postures.

Brooklyn may be too eager, Goliath thought. But Lexington still carried scars from his foolishness with the Pack. A well-needed lesson that it was, Goliath would not allow it send the warrior down the path of distrust that had created Demona.

"Broadway. You have said little for having been there," Goliath stated. Broadway crossed his arms and took a breath, seemingly having prepared for his piece.

"…She was afraid Goliath. And sick. No, terrified is probably a better word. I think she was scared of us too, just less than those men. It could've been acting, drugs taken to make her messed up on purpose. But honestly, if it's acting I'll eat my hat, Goliath,;and nominate her for an Oscar. Though if she didn't turn into stone, she's not a gargoyle."

"Hmm, some child of the Third Race, maybe?" Hudson offered.

"That matters little. If we agree she is an innocent, she deserves protection. We will all go now, and see for ourselves," Goliath commanded. Brooklyn was first out, only for Broadway to follow, demanding to know where Brooklyn thought he was going, as he didn't know where the girl was.

Lexington only gave an eye roll before following. Good, Goliath thought. Hudson spoke up as they made their way to the stairs.

"You know the white coats put me in mind of the Sci-Fi Channel movies. Maybe the lass is some product of human science?"

"Hopefully we will have answers soon," Goliath said, as they took to the air. Bronx growled at being left behind.

X X X

"She was right there," Broadway claimed, pointing to a spot near where his stone skin was scattered about.

Lex knelt near the spot and narrowed his eyes, sniffing, then recoiled slightly.

"Looks like you really gave her a scare," Lex said, holding his nose.

"If she's in as poor a state as Broadway says, she won't have gotten far," Hudson remarked, looking the roof over. Checking behind the stairwell hut, he nodded to Brooklyn, who was peering from the other side, "Good instincts, lad."

"If it is a trap, this could be the time," Goliath said, scanning the cityscape.

"Over here!" Broadway called. He and Lex stood by the top of the fire escape, Broadway gripping the top ladder rungs. Under the first flight of thin metal stairs a form was huddled, and as the clan gathered was racked by a coughing fit, wings spasming plainly.

"Remain here," Goliath ordered, cutting off Brooklyn. Broadway made way, letting Goliath access the ladder. Taking a moment to consider his bulk and the figure below, the leader of the clan began his descent.

'It would be faster to go down directly, but if she is delirious, better she hear me coming than shock her by suddenly appearing.'

His descent was not too loud, but it was audible, and judging by the gasp below she knew someone was coming.

The furry figure was huddled against the brick wall, arms covering her head and stunted wings vainly stretched trying to shield her. They had neglected to mention she was naked; Goliath repressed the growl that nearly came at the implications.

"We are here to help you, not harm you," he said.

She uncovered her face, revealing golden cat eyes just like he had been told. But he also noticed something else. Something off-color on her wrist. But his attention went back to her face.

Fear; she was trembling, and with no stone sleep, poison or illness would linger like for a human.

Goliath sat down, hoping the gesture would calm her.

Breathing hard, she pulled herself up, bracing a hand on the wall. Yes, some kind of bracelet or wristband. That could be important.

"Were you human once too?" she spoke. A gravelly voice, pained and abused.

"No," he answered simply. She made a sound that might have been a laugh or wet cough.

"Well, I'm human! Maggie, my name is Maggie Reed! I'm from Ohio! Near a city called… Fairfield. I'm not like THIS" she shouted. The last word she punctuated by smacking her fist onto the bricks; to Goliath's surprise, sparks sprouted from the blow. The bracelet.

"I believe you. What happened to you?" Goliath demanded. She answered with muttering, knees buckling and rubbing her cheeks with her free hand. Eyes unfocused, she sank back to her knees, muttering.

X X X

"She said she was human," Goliath said as he stepped back onto the rooftop. He carried the girl, who had drifted off again, his wings folded to grant some modesty for the moment.

"We heard," Hudson said.

"Maggie, nice name," Brooklyn remarked.

"Lexington, there's some kind of bracelet on her left wrist, I think it's electronic," Goliath said, adjusting the girl so the arm slipped free. Maggie groaned slightly, but did not awaken.

Lexington gingerly inspected the wrist and pulled a metallic band from the tangle of fur. With a slight bit of exertion, it broke.

"Hey! Be careful!" Brooklyn chided.

"Hey, it was practically broken off already, relax. Whatever it was, it's been fried — just look at the wires here. And there's a name. Gen-U-Tech," Lexington said examining the bracelet.

Broadway smacked a fist into his palm, "That name. It was on the ambulance! That's who was after her."

"Likely still after her, lad," Hudson put in. That had them all looking to the city around them, all clear for the moment it seemed.

"We must get back to the tower, Elisa can do more with this than we can," Goliath said.

X X X

The girl did not wake in flight; that was probably a blessing, Goliath noted. Once back, he placed her on the couch. Brooklyn fetched a blanket without prompting. Gargoyles were not so squeamish about the body as humans, but it was still uncouth to display what little was designated as private. And stripping a woman down… well, the implications were much the same as with Humans.

"Hey, sorry for the late arrival," Elisa called, coming up the stairs.

"I actually you're just in time. And I don't suppose the police station has a 'coat grab pile' or something?" Broadway asked.

"Coats?" Elisa said, coming onto the main floor.

"We have a guest tonight," Goliath said. They cleared the way for her to see Maggie curled up on the couch, face clearly showing and one twitching wing starting to peek through the blanket. Elisa put hand to her mouth.

"A gargoyle?" she asked them.

"Apparently not. She claims to be human. With a name and everything," Goliath said.

"Some white coats with rifles were chasing her down last night. That's why me and Broadway didn't make it back. They were packing tranqa that could down me and weren't as sirprised at the sight of us and they should have been," Brooklyn said.

"Beginning. Start at the beginning please," Elisa said, taking a breath.

X X X

Elisa sat in Hudson's chair, looking over the tracking bracelet. That was what it was. Higher end tech than the department budget could afford for house arrests and the like. Not the sort of thing that broke or short circuited from a bit of rain or bad bump.

Maggie herself was not forthcoming on answers. When Broadway went for a snack from the fridge, the girl had perked up. She'd actually knocked over Brooklyn, charging on all fours to the stuffed fridge. Scarfing down nearly half of it, she had been in a daze since, slumped against the side of it. And growling if anyone tried to move her away.

"Naked, drugged, starving, and this story of being human. I'll be looking into this Gen-U-Tech business," Elisa said firmly.

"Yeah, but Maggie is the star witness," Broadway pointed out, "I mean, she seems better tonight and with food and water she should get better quicker. She can tell us more of what's going on once her heads all cleared out I bet."

"Read my mind. You guys keep an eye on our witness here, and me and Matt will see what Gen-U-Tech is involved in."

"Ye lads best get on patrol, seems we won't be moving until we know a good bit more. Bronx and I will keep an eye on the lass," Hudson said.

"I think I should stay," Brooklyn interjected.

"Of course you do," Broadway remarked.

"We will all go on patrol. It may be better when she comes to her senses in a strange place not to be surrounded by a crowd," Goliath said. Brooklyn looked like he wanted to object but Goliath had already turned to go only giving Elisa a farewell. With Lexington and Broadway followig after the white haired Gargoyle jut grumbled and fell into line after them.

Elisa was the last to leave, giving the snoring Maggie an appraising look.

"I think I can give a good guess on her size. She'll need something to wear," she admitted.

"Err, to the loose, humans don't account for fur," Hudson reminded her. And then she was gone too, the sound of the clockworks and the tv coming back to the forefront in the tower.

Alone with Bronx and the girl, Hudson went on one knee to look at her and sighed.

"I had hoped you were a survivor of England, lass. If Gargoyles could survive that dark time, then I could hope we aren't the last. But it doesn't matter. We are gargoyles, and we protect."

There was no sense hovering; returning to his chair, he watched Bronx nudge open the slightly ajar fridge, retrieve a long sausage, and sit himself firmly beside the sleeping girl and begin eating.

"Well, that's one vote of approval you can trust," Hudson chuckled. Turning on the TV, he lowered the volume a bit and began to channel surf.

Author's Note: Please no reviews asking me to update other stories.

Now then, I have wanted to write A Maggie centric Gargoyle's story for years. The basic premise is pretty simple as you can see. But for some reason the story finally clicked. Bad timing as I wanted to work o "D & H" and "Queen of All Oni", but I find its better to follow the inspiration than try to direct it elsewhere and loose it. So I have the first three chapters of this story written, and will release them over time as I work on the next Dragon and Horse chapter.

After chapter three I can't promise anything on releases for this story any more than my other fics.

Hope you enjoyed this tale so far. Long days and pleasant nights to you all.