Kwai Chang Caine moved quickly and steadily through the crowd gathered at the fringes of the liquor store parking lot. Nothing slowed his pace -- not the sounds of rapidly approaching sirens as emergency vehicles continued to arrive on the scene or even the acrid odor that clung to the air. Nothing until he cleared the crowds and got his first view of the building.

He froze for half a second as he took in the aftermath. Wreckage of glass, metal and wood extended out from the building like a great sweeping arm of destruction, leaving only the smoldering, charred remains of a structure. Caine knew instinctively that the destruction had taken lives and he worried for the slightly diminished light of the one he sought -- his son, Peter.

Moving forward, he recognized the shattering crunch underfoot as evidence of the violence of what had taken place. The fire truck, patrol cars and three ambulances parked on a grassy area to one side of the building testified as well. Pain, confusion and panic were pushed to the back of his mind as he finally located his son amid the chaos.

"You'll have to stay back, Sir." A uniformed officer barred his way.

"But my son is there." He pointed to the still form lying on a stretcher near one of the ambulances. A blue uniformed emergency medical technician was busily working over him. "He is a police officer. I must go to him."

"I'm sorry. No one beyond this point." The officer was firm.

"Let him in. He's with me." Caine turned as a familiar voice spoke from behind him.

"Kermit." He nodded his greeting and his appreciation to the bearded man with the green glasses. The officer behind the barricade examined Kermit's identification closely, but allowed them to pass.

"What has happened here, Kermit?" Caine asked, attempting to make sense of the heavy aura of pain and unexpected death that hung amid the lingering smoke. The sensations had the power to suffocate and overwhelm, yet he needed to understand what had happened so that he could understand the anguish that his son carried, even unconscious.

"Bomb." Kermit replied dispassionately as they picked their way through the debris toward Peter's stretcher. "Some wacko-nutcase trying to make a statement, no doubt. And, as expected, the kid manages to end up right in the middle of it. This isn't even the One-Oh-One's jurisdiction. Officers on the scene called the precinct. I was closest."

"You do not know why Peter was here, then," Caine said, disappointed that Kermit would not be able to provide an explanation for the unexpected emotional spike that he had sensed from Peter before their contact was severed.

Kermit offered a humorless chuckle as he gestured his head in the direction of a uniformed officer who was sitting half in one of the police cruisers, holding a pack to the side of his head. "According to that officer over there, getting a traffic citation."

"A traffic citation?" Caine hadn't expected that response.

"You know. A ticket?" Kermit looked at him questioningly, and Caine nodded for him to continue.

"In Peter's case, it was speeding and an expired tag. The officer says he just freaked and started running for the store. And then, boom! Bomb went off. Damn near took out the front of the building. Kid was lucky he didn't make it any closer or he would be dead."

"But he is not dead," Caine said as they reached Peter. Despite the daunting array of cuts and bruises marring Peter's face and arms, he sensed nothing immediately life threatening. He was vaguely aware that Kermit murmured something to the EMT as he closed his eyes and rested a hand on Peter's brow. But Peter was deeply unconscious, and resistant to the contact. Continuing to ignore the argument that the EMT behind him was rapidly losing with the bearded detective, he rubbed his hands together, gathering his strength for a deeper probe.

Feeling the heightened sensitivity in the tips, he extended them above Peter's chest, searching for disturbances that might suggest fractured bones or other internal injuries. He was surprised to find that whatever had so upset Peter was preventing the free flow of his body's own healing energies.

Frowning slightly, he lessened the intensity of his scan, continuing the movement along his son's body. This time he mentally catalogued cuts, scrapes, bruises and other surface trauma. All of the injuries would heal, given time and proper care.

"He will survive," he said, finally looking up at the intently observing ex-mercenary. He meant the words to be a balm for Kermit's unspoken fears, but he found that he needed the reassurance as well.

"Yeah," Kermit replied dryly. "He'll survive. To scare us to death another day." A faint, sardonic smile played across his lips.

"It is what he does best." Caine shrugged and smiled in return. His son had always had a knack for finding trouble.

Kermit nodded toward the EMT who was moving to help other paramedics bring out a second gurney. "They're taking them to County. Ambulance is going to be full. I happen to be headed in that direction. Wanna lift?"

"I would be honored. Thank you, Kermit."

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The leather of the Lazy Boy creaked as he settled into its well-worn confines. It was his favorite chair. It relaxed him, helped him to think. Just a simple pleasure in a complicated world, a world in dire need of justice. He would do his part in ensuring its arrival. This day had gone a long way in meeting that goal.

Now, he needed to think, to remember. The memories made him strong. Made him ready. They would help him to unravel the curious wrinkle that had appeared suddenly against the fabric of his plan.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Peter opened his eyes to darkness and for several moments had absolutely no idea where he was. But then his other senses kicked in, and he noticed that the cool air that brushed against exposed skin had a distinctly antiseptic undertone. Hospital. He immediately pinpointed the smell. I'm in a hospital?

Another familiar scent registered on his senses. It was faint, like incense and sandalwood. That was when he sensed the other presence.

"Pop?" He was amazed at how weak his voice sounded, how weak he felt.

"Peter. I am here." Caine responded immediately, as if he had been waiting for the summons. But Peter thought that he detected an almost imperceptible grogginess to the tone -- maybe even exhaustion. Had his father been sleeping?

"Pop, are you okay? What happened? What are you doing here?"

"I am fine, my son. Merely tired. I am here for you."

Peter saw the shadowy outline of his father leaning closer to the bedside as he spoke. Even in the darkness, he noted the slump of his shoulders, and when he concentrated, he could even feel the exhaustion emanating off of him.

A wave of protective anger rose as he realized the reason for his father's condition. "Pop, you've been giving me your strength. You didn't have to do that!"

"Your Chi was colored by dark emotions, my son. It was impeding your body's healing processes. I merely lent a hand where it was needed. The task was more difficult than I expected. I will recover."

Peter's anger decreased to mild irritation at his father's explanation. "You still didn't have to do that. I feel fine. . . maybe a little tired. Speaking of which, what am I doing here, anyway?"

There was a long pause before he spoke. "Do you not remember?"

"Uh, no, Pop. I do not remember," Peter replied, his irritation flaring. "I wouldn't ask if I did." First, his father had worn himself out giving him his strength. And now, he couldn't remember how he'd ended up in the hospital in the first place.

"What is the last thing that you recall?"

Peter sighed heavily, and thought back. He knew this game. The medical staff had often played it after he'd awakened from a head injury.

"I remember leaving the municipal courts building and getting into my car. Did I have an accident?"

"No, you did not have an accident."

Peter waited half a second for his father to continue. "What Pop? What happened? What is it that you aren't telling me? I've got a right to know."

"You were pulled over by a police officer for an expired. . . tag?" Caine paused uncertainly, and Peter visualized the questioning look and his slightly tilted head.

"Okay. . . " Peter nodded, hopefully. "Expired tag on my license plate. That's never landed anyone in the hospital. Well, unless they're very creative, and even I'm not that creative. Go on."

"While the officer was talking to you, you ran toward a nearby building and a bomb went off. You were caught in the blast."

Peter lay for several moments trying to absorb his father's words and reconcile them to the non-memory in his brain. "I ran toward a building that was about to blow up. Why would I do that? Did I know the building was about to blow up?"

"I do not know," his father said. "But whatever your reason, you were greatly disturbed by it."

Peter heard the concern in his father's voice, and perversely, he chuckled. "And so there was a great disturbance in the force. Well Obiwan Kenobi, you may be my only hope, but you're tired hope. Why don't you stretch out in the empty bed over there and get some sleep?"

"A worthwhile idea," Caine replied. "We will talk more in the morning."

"Fine." Moments later Peter heard the soft creaking of the other bed.

"Good night, Peter. Sleep well."

"Night, Pop."