A/N Set after the fourth season of KFTLC, I've made certain assumptions that will hold true for the story. I have also moved it into present day rather than when the series actually took place. This is done for more than convenience, although that is a factor. Also, for this story, I've pegged Peter's age at 31.
Further, the injury mentioned here is something that occurs after the end of the series and happens in an event that, at least thus far, is not discussed much in the fic.
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Time stood still.
He was running; that much he was sure of. The darkness swirled around him, cloaking his surroundings in obscurity; making each sound the night conjured seem louder, closer – more threatening. Briefly he wondered at his ability to hear anything over the pounding of blood in his ears, but in his adrenaline created rush not a sound escaped his attention.
He was frightened, but it wasn't as though he had never tasted the bitter flavor of fear before. In truth, none of this was new. It was part of the trade, as was learning to master it. It was being able to act in spite of it. But in all of his years, he'd never before felt that mind-numbing terror. The kind that now held him rooted to this spot, straining to hear a misplaced footstep.
He heard nothing.
That was why he feared… because he knew that someone – or something – was tracking him. He knew that whatever was lurking within the gloom was near. Its presence brought with it such malice that it overwhelmed his senses. He saw the glimmer of teeth in the dark, and with the last ounce of strength he had, he pushed off the tree he'd been leaning against and forced his feet to keep moving. He felt the presence slip away, allowing him to put distance between them.
He was being hunted, and the predator following enjoyed playing with its prey.
Then a blood chilling howl filled his ears; a challenge issued forth. The man wasn't sure if he was its target; didn't stop to find out. Nonetheless, moments later, a pain filled yelp answered his unspoken question. Something had gotten in his stalker's way, and, he noted with a hint of sadness as another cry split the air, it was paying for it.
He had to stop and rest, there wasn't an option anymore. As he sat panting against another tree, he listened to the sounds of battle that assaulted the stillness of the night. He heard a human scream of pain echoed closely by another. Even in his weary haze he could tell that they had come from separate sources. The man didn't know much of what was occurring, and none of it made sense, but he knew that whatever hunted him wasn't the only one inflicting damage. He wasn't sure how long the fight lasted, but one of his last memories of the night was a sound – as from not far off, a lone wolf yowled: a mournful melody that challenged the night itself with its defiance and rage.
He slipped down the trunk of the tree, and from the darkness the flash of teeth once more caught his attention.
And time stood still.
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Peter Caine jerked awake, breathing heavily while his body shook in reaction to the fear of what he had just endured. There was a moment of confusion, as the after images of the dream played with his mind. He waited for them to completely clear away, and found himself tense as minutes passed and the ghost of the nightmare remained, though dimmed.
It hadn't been a simple dream; he'd felt the fear gripping his soul and the exhaustion of the chase. He'd been the one being tracked.. and yet, the thoughts that had been in his mind weren't his. The thought pattern didn't match. The 'him' in the dream had experienced many similar situations, though generally more in the role of the hunter than the prey. Unless something went wrong. Unless someone turned.
Wait, turned from what?
The tension grew, and he knew with an ominous certainty that a vision was about to occur. Knowing didn't aid him much when, moments later, the expected assault on his senses came. He struggled against the onslaught, trying to keep his balance in the real world while the premonition tore his mind from his body.
It played out as it had for the last few nights in his dreams, though new details glared harshly, to his mind's eye, against the gloomy backdrop. It was raining, or, rather it had rained. The remnants of his clothing were drenched, and the chill brought with it the inevitable internal cold. The kind that went through the skin, soaked into the bone and left behind the fatal lethargy that precluded action.
He was mildly surprised that he was still moving, but he was – there really wasn't an alternative, short of accepting his own demise. He was too stubborn, and the desire to see his family again was so strong that it felt like that single wish was all that was keeping his heart beating...even if they never forgave him.
But as the chase wore on, and fatigue deeply entrenched itself into every muscle in his body, and even breathing was growing labored, he understood the end was coming. Calm reigned, an old soldier's grace, but acceptance of death wouldn't come. It couldn't end like this. Torn apart by whatever thing hunted him.
Whatever it was, it wasn't human.
The first howl made him flinch and he cursed his weary nerves that, normally ice in these situations, were done for.
Then it happened. Though he didn't comprehend the ordeal, he understood the significance of the fight being engaged. Something had just saved him, or, at the very least postponed the grim reaper's arrival – however briefly.
Unable to persuade his battered body into motion anymore, he barely acknowledged the conclusion of the battle. He was numb, the cold was finishing the job it had started; disorientation settling in for the final act.
In spite of the fuzzy state of mind, he couldn't miss the returning presence; although it felt different now. He couldn't ponder the discrepancy, however, the flash of teeth cut short any thoughts. The glistening, saliva covered fangs confirmed what he knew.
Drained of both energy and hope, his head dropped and eyes closed. When he opened them again he found himself gazing into a puddle of water, illuminated by a stray beam of moonlight that had broken free of the clouds that sought to contain it.
In the piercing blue eyes that stared back at him, Paul Blaisdell saw fear.
Once more the vision ended; the pieces finished clicking into place, and the why of Peter's dread obtained reason. Whatever else he felt, he was keenly aware of the fact that while the vision showed truth, it was showing a possible future truth. It hadn't happened yet.
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Peter halted briefly outside the familiar stone building, allowing himself time to draw a deep, albeit shaky, breath and endeavored to steel himself from the unavoidable onslaught that would occur the moment he opened the doors. Exhaling slowly, he tried to imagine the tension and trepidation leaving his body along with the air. He could tell it didn't work completely – but it worked well enough to erase the visible traces of unease from his face. Really, that was all that counted here.
Without giving himself time to dwell on outside matters, finding himself suddenly grateful his father wasn't around, he entered the precinct; assuming what he hoped was a casual air. Moving with an innate grace and energy, characteristics that marked Peter as Peter, he bounded up the steps – only to halt once more as his senses assimilated and adjusted to the flood of emotions. Here it wasn't like walking amongst the members of Chinatown's community. It wasn't quite like anywhere, really. In most large groups, emotions generally came across as vague; individualized. One voice among many.
The precinct was different, to say the least. The agitation and rushed atmosphere were present in nearly all of those working, feeding off one another until the traits were amplified intensely. Peter actually had to take another deep breath in order to focus again. Normally it wasn't quite as difficult, but he had his own anxiety and worry to add to the lot, not to mention the sinking feeling in his stomach that insisted time was running out.
"Hey partner," Jody greeted cheerfully, unsurprised by his appearance at the station so early in the morning, in spite of the recent events that had given him the forced vacation. "That eager to start back at work, or did you just miss us?" She teased good-naturedly.
"Actually, I figured you'd all be going into withdrawal without the pleasure of my constant company. I couldn't, in good conscience, submit you to the torment any longer," his mouth curled into a fleeting smile as he directed his attention briefly at the blonde-haired woman.
"By all means, ignore your conscience," Mary-Margaret remarked from her desk.
"Funny…." Peter muttered dryly. He didn't bother to mention that he'd had trouble sleeping and now, as the result of dreams, was plagued by nightmarish visions of his foster father's death. He couldn't shake them, and the feeling of dread was persistently getting worse. The young Shaolin wasn't completely ready to deal with the visions, himself; he certainly wasn't about to drag Jody or Skalany into it. They couldn't help. At the moment he could only think of one person who might be able to.
"Actually, I'm looking for Kermit. Is he in his office?"
Jody arched a brow at the uncharacteristic seriousness of her partner. "Last I heard…"
"In that case, I think I'm going to go interrupt his conversation with his computer." He flashed a smile, but it didn't quite reach his hazel eyes. Moving toward Kermit's closed office door, he purposefully ignored the set of identical frowns that followed after him.
Frank chose that moment to exit his office with every intention of bellowing out his normal attention getter.
Peter patted the chief's shoulder on the way past, voice carrying clearly. "No, crime hasn't taken a holiday and, yes, they have work to do. My fault, I distracted them. Won't happen again." Despite the innocence embedded into Caine's tone, the chief wasn't fooled.
Yeah, right. Until the next time, Strenlich thought. He just stood there, however, and watched the younger man approach Kermit's door, knock once, and enter without an invitation. Shaking his head, he finally glanced toward those in the room and took in their quiet laughter. With a customary yell, he ordered them back to work and walked over to the Captain, who had exited her office in time to hear her young detective's absent comment.
"Caine's here," Frank said unnecessarily.
"So I noticed." Karen Simms' tone was curious. She knew well that Kermit and Peter were friends, and wasn't surprised to find him here a week before he was due back. Peter Caine simply could not sit around and do nothing. He had to be up, in motion; even his Shaolin training hadn't managed to change that. Regardless, she knew that his visit had reasons beyond friendship. That much she was sure of.
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Knocking once, Peter turned the doorknob and entered. The trace of a genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips at the familiar sight of the hacker typing away at something, expression intense. Kermit's words brought him out of his reverie and caused the grin to morph into a wry smirk.
"Don't let the closed door stop you, by all means." Though the sarcasm was present, there lingered another element. Something more subtle but infinitely more dangerous. Peter paid no real attention to it.
"Never have, why start now?"
Griffin's head snapped up and a rare smile formed. "So, to what do I owe the visit. Aren't you supposed to be taking a vacation?" Right, he knew just as well as Simms had that Peter would be by before the end of his forced rest - all threats the Captain had made notwithstanding.
"I need your help." The succinct response was not wholly unexpected, but somehow still surprising. Well, as surprised as Kermit could be about anything.
"And I thought you Shaolin could do everything."
"Nah, it's just false advertising. They reel you in with the neat tricks and then you find out there's real work involved. Kind of dampens the whole deal." He took a seat across from the dark-haired ex-mercenary, ignoring the flare of pain that rose from his left arm when he leaned against the armrest.
"I bet." Kermit waited for Peter to continue, but the younger man seemed to have lost his train of thought; absently picking up a paperweight off Kermit's desk before replacing it and moving on to the blue pen laying there. To many, it would have appeared that the young Shaolin had become completely distracted, but Kermit understood that there was a lot more to the situation than met the eye.
"Whatcha need?" Griffin decided to prod him a bit, curious, but he didn't expect the next words out of his friend's mouth.
"I need you to locate Paul for me."
"That's quite a task, you realize." At the slight nod, he continued. "Can I ask why?"
The young Caine shifted restlessly, the action itself made Kermit grin faintly. Some things never changed.
"I think he's in trouble," the reply finally came as Peter began to tap the pen against the right side of the chair, as though seeking comfort in the almost rhythmic sound.
"Possible."
"Probable."
"You know something I don't?" Which really was a stupid question, Griffin figured, since likely Peter wouldn't have asked in the first place if he didn't. That the kid missed his foster father couldn't be doubted, but that wouldn't have brought him here asking for Kermit's aid. Oh, true, Caine had asked the older man, on occasion, if he'd heard anything, but he'd never actually tried to find Blaisdell. Although, Kermit was sure it wasn't because of a lack of desire to. The ex-mercenary got the distinct impression that Peter was trying hard to keep the desire of seeing his foster father again out of the equation. Something was up.
He watched the expressive face of his friend, and for some reason he heard warning bells going off in his head. Oh, yeah, something was definitely up. "Okay kid, spill."
"Mostly it's just a feeling. A hunch."
"A hunch?" Griffin replied dubiously.
"I started thinking about him a couple of weeks ago… don't know why. No, I know why I was thinking about him – what I didn't know was why I felt apprehensive about it." He took a deep breath, still trying to sort a few details out himself. "Then, a couple of nights ago, I started having dreams."
"What kind of dreams?"
"Let's just say they weren't pleasant. Then, last night, it escalated into visions. Haven't been able to think of much else since."
"So why'd you wait to ask me?"
"Figured I was being paranoid. I mean, he's been gone awhile – sometimes I tend to have an over active imagination." An expression touched Peter's face, too humorless to bear relation to a smile.
"You? Never." Kermit feigned shock, but the forced smirk Peter offered got him back on track. "So, what changed?"
"I don't normally have visions," he shrugged helplessly.
"And?"
"And the ones I have had have never been wrong." The statement wasn't boastful; the kid actually seemed despairing about the fact.
Peter was really worried.
"In these visions…" Griffin left the question open-ended.
"If we don't find him… he's going to die, Kermit." The forlorn tone left no trace of another plausible outcome.
"I'll see what I can do."
"Thanks, Kermit." Peter rose from the chair, fixing the pen in his hand with a bemused expression before setting it lightly on the edge of the desk.
Deciding he could use more coffee before starting to put out feelers, Griffin rose too and walked his friend out. When Peter had managed to walk away a few paces, Kermit's question brought him up short.
"How long?"
Turning, hazel gaze infinitely sad. "I don't know."
In spite of the vague response, the ex-merc nodded. "Alright, I'll let you know."
"Thanks Kermit." He repeated the phrase, the now detached tone gave the impression as if he were operating on autopilot. Then, taking the other's answering nod as a parting, he turned away. Peter offered a few, distant, farewells: his mind already venturing well beyond the walls of the 101st.
Kermit retrieved his coffee and turned, heading back into his inner sanctum within the precinct without acknowledging the inquisitive stares that tracked him.
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"Think we should keep an eye on those two?" Frank asked quietly.
Simms was silent as she considered the situation. "If they are up to something, do you really think we're going to be able to stop them from doing anything?"
Strenlich sighed, the shake of his head the only answer needed.
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Peter walked the familiar busy streets of Chinatown; none of the well-known sights registering in his mind beyond an unconscious evaluation that placed everything going on around him into two categories based on whether it was a potential threat or not. Deliberately the young Shaolin priest was avoiding the section of town where he knew the Ancient resided.
His brain was chaotic enough; he lacked the ability to deal with more mind games.
Sometimes he got the distinct impression that his father and Lo Si garnered amusement from his confusion. Hell, even he found some of the situations funny. But right now, there was nothing humorous about the impending fate he could feel moving toward one of the people he loved. Waiting to befall the sole person in the world who bothered to look past all the attitude and aloofness and see into the core being of the lost kid Peter had once been. Paul Blaisdell had given him a new future, one that consisted of a mother and two sisters he couldn't imagine not having as a part of his life.
No, he wasn't in the mood to deal with riddles and they'd be ice skating in hell before he allowed chance to win this round; claiming his foster father as its prize.
