As ever, unbetaed. I probably should have been smart and spent time editing, but that wouldn't be me so... After almost a year of no posts, I think I just wanted to post something. Here's hoping it was at least semi-worth it. Definitely the most difficult chapter I've written.

Kai. The name should be significant. Should mean something. But it doesn't to him and the voice is silent. Figures, one of the few times it could be useful and it picks now to shut up.

Whatever. What mattered was the fact that she was wolf, and just as he recognized it within her he knew that she saw it within him. Part of him wanted to ask her all the questions that had inundated his mind over the last few months, but the other part, the wolf part, wasn't willing to do that. Wasn't willing to trust her and was only barely tolerating her presence in its territory.

Peter could still hear the wolf growling; the low dangerous timbre was rolling around his skull, its vibration causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. The woman's only saving grace was that she appeared curiously amused, a new sort of mystification softly ghosting over delicate features. It was like she'd figured out which puzzle it was but couldn't figure out how it all fit together.

She was looking at him like he was different.

You are different, Tiger.

But she's wolf too! He cringed internally at the whiny tone that had crept into his mental voice, but dammit he was tired and in more pain than he could recall having ever been in before, and that only touched on his immediate problems.

Sure she is, but you aren't like her. You're special, Peter.

Terrific. Even among freaks he was a freak. It figured.

You are not a freak. You're just…

- A freak.

- Unique.

Peter snorted in weary amusement, forgetting that the others – those existing outside his skull – couldn't hear the voices and therefore had no idea what prompted the humor. Instead they were regulated to his reactions, and that had them all gazing at him expectantly with varying other emotions flickering on their faces and within their minds. Bright, shiny emotions just licking over their thoughts and enhancing here, dimming there…

He shook his head to clear away the distraction, trying to regulate the niggling feeling of wrongness that came with that observation to the back of his thoughts. He had to focus. Too much was at stake to get sidetracked now.

"Pete?" The carefully modulated words hid any evidence of concern from seeking ears, but Peter knew it was there all the same. There was a soft pulsation in the air echoing like a living, beating heart and the young priest was finding the draw difficult to ignore as the reverberations ghosted across his skin and soaked down deep into the tissue.

What the…

Shaking his head again, this time managing to clear away the sensory oddity from surface acknowledgment, "Sorry, my brain's a little off at the moment." Spectacular understatement.

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure that's the result of lingering medications. We all know how that is."

The faintly lyrical nature of her voice reminded him of something. Of someone, and he knew he should remember. That it was important. But she was looking speculatively at him again and the wolf still had its hackles up and its growling was giving him a headache and couldn't the damn thing just shut up!?

To his utter amazement it did. The wariness it exuded didn't fade, however, and Peter could feel the wolf skulking just beneath his surface thoughts; caged but waiting.

"Yeah, probably." He tried to concentrate on the scent, on the familiarity of it. Inhaling through his mouth, he let the molecules trail over his tongue in an attempt to recall the flavor. Combining scent and taste as memory provided sight in the form of golden orbs shimmering out of the darkness.

Agent Sigrun wasn't just wolf. She had been there. Of course she had.

Body tensing, he forced himself to remain still while guarded green eyes appraised her anew. Peter understood a certain lacking in his knowledge, but the wolf didn't. It wanted to tear and claw and sink teeth in, but it was held at bay.

And she knew it. Knew the slender strands of restraint woven around the wolf's neck and just how little it would take to get the beast to slip the tenuous control collaring it. So she kept herself perfectly still, body relaxed and manner as unthreatening as was conceivably possible under the given circumstances.

-- -- -- -

Kermit knew there was trouble. Knew it with that hard won wisdom that whispered in his ear of impending disaster. It had told him to listen to Peter back in Myanmar; to watch Peter upon their return; told him of the foreign influence touching his friend. Now it told him that things had been forever altered in the course of a single moment. That meeting. Because he didn't understand who Agent Sigrun was, but he knew what she was with crystal certainty.

He'd lived by observation. By noting reactions and expressions and ciphering through them to their base meaning and intent. By understanding them, and oh yeah, did he. It didn't hurt that whatever mental link had hotwired him to the kid let him in on the primal recognition felt by his friend - she was wolf.

She was wolf in the way that whatever was hunting them was wolf. In the way that Peter was wolf. It showed in movements and mannerisms that Kermit had noted in her before and had never entirely cast away from his mind. Her eyes, now that he knew what she was, would never look simply brown to him again. Not since he saw them alight so gloriously golden in response to visual confrontation with Peter.

Of course Caine hadn't needed all those things to tell him, he'd simply known. Recognized instantaneously something within her that, for all his own insights into the mind of the young priest, Kermit still couldn't fathom.

Had to be a wolf thing.

So did the fact that Peter hadn't stopped staring at her until her chin tipped downward in silent acquiescence of… what? Submission? If that were it, then it was an odd sort of deference that caused a crooked smile to turn the corners of the woman's lips, as though humoring a child.

And wasn't that accurate? For all that Peter might be an adult, in this he was very much a child. A pup, Kermit thought with a snort, and he was grateful for her at least temporary submission, because the kid wasn't up to confrontation at the moment. Too many bricks had shifted loose in the foundation recently; Peter was beyond unstable.

-- -- -- -

Kermit sent out a silent thank you to whatever deity might exist that allowed the meeting to go smoothly. In all fairness to the Feds they'd been honest when they said it wasn't an interrogation; they hadn't asked anything that could directly be construed as accusation. They just seemed to know that Peter was being honest in his replies.

Or Sigrun seemed to know.

Watching and listening to her, Kermit became convinced of two things: he'd never mistake eyes like hers for human ever again and she knew more than she was saying. A lot more. From the familiarity with which she spoke he'd have been willing to bet real money that she knew who their killer was. Not just knew his profile, but knew him. That just didn't make sense because if she knew, why this whole thing? The questions and the entire F.B.I angle.

After information? To see what they knew? But they didn't know anything, at least nothing beyond what their murderer had to already be aware of. So why… unless it was another part of the game. If what she'd said about thinking Peter the final victim was accurate - while he didn't trust her or anything she said, he was willing to entertain the possibility because it was Peter's life and any chance was too great to ignore under those circumstances - then was this an attempt at messing with the kid's head further to make him more compliant prey?

The kid wasn't wholly himself, already walking along the edge. What would the killer do to make sure that he fell over?

Or was pushed…

-- -- -- -

Alone once again, Peter felt the headache returning. It was getting difficult to think past the pain that even hospital grade painkillers didn't seem to alleviate, but he tried and was rewarded with confusion. How did the Commissioner get taken and nobody noticed? He had wanted to ask Kermit, but the man had left with the federal agents: probably to make sure the pair actually left the hospital. So he was left wondering on his own, and he just couldn't make sense of it. Commissioner Kincaid was a high profile member of law enforcement. He couldn't just vanish without a lot of people being aware.

"He was on a retreat. Supposed to build character," Kermit snorted wryly. "Really more of a PR event though."

Peter jumped, not having heard his friend return and people really had to stop doing that to him. Kermit chuckled, and Peter realized that he had spoken the last out loud as well. Terrific.

"Welcome to the club, kid."

Ignoring that, Peter refocused on what his friend had said. "Retreat? Wouldn't that involve other people? Why didn't anyone call it in?"

"Because he was with two other law enforcement officers and three civilians and they're all still missing." He watched the helplessness flash over the younger man's face before continuing, "They're not believed to be dead. It doesn't fit with the killer's standard pattern."

"Neither does taking a group."

Kermit dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement of the point.

"What I don't understand is why is he getting more covert in his abductions now? Every other vic has been a listed missing person. It never seemed to bother him before."

"The only way he could get Kincaid without a lot of publicity?" the ex-merc suggested.

"But why the Commissioner at all? And this guy doesn't do anything without a greater reason."

"I don't know kid. It's not like the man was a friend of yours."

"No," Peter tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. "But T.J. is."

"So now our killer is going after the families of people you like?"

Peter blinked, brows creasing together as an increasingly well-known awareness flickered on the edges of his perception, flirting with becoming tangible but hovering just beyond what he could reach. The effort of trying to grab on to it caused his headache to double and he gasped softly from the sudden onslaught.

"Peter."

Kermit didn't move but a slight line on his forehead gave away a visual tell of the concern that rolled off him in waves. It was comforting in some odd way.

Focusing on his breathing, forcing himself to take deep, even breaths in order to calm himself, the younger Caine responded in a near-silent voice, "If we don't figure out why he changed his operating procedure, Kermit, it's going to hurt."

Kermit raised a brow to demand further clarification, recognizing that tone, but he could tell he wasn't going to get it now.

"It's going to really hurt," the voice broke slightly at the end, but it was difficult to tell because the sound was little more than breath on the air, and Peter wasn't really conscious anymore.

Griffin looked down on the still form of his friend, a sudden dread creeping over him as he recalled the last time he'd heard that particular warning tone in his friend's voice: If we don't find him… he's going to die, Kermit. Peter was having a hunch again, which meant…

It was going to hurt.

-- -

Sweat broke out all over his body even as his pulse quickened, spreading around the unnatural warmth of his body. Fear conjured heat that the cool air was unable to alleviate. There was a sort of slip, shift, slide playing out under his flesh that brought not-quite-pain exploding star bright into his mind before it faded into a distant thrum overshadowed by the feeling of strength and confidence that came with a euphoric rush of energy.

Searing in his veins, the adrenaline fueled fire prompted movement and he ran. Fast. Faster than he should have been able to, even amped up on adrenaline as he was. Each foot struck the ground with a silence that resonated in his bones and pushed him onward without reason. For no reason any more than the simple joy found in running. In moving. In knowing his place in the world.

Contentment in his harmony with this world washed over him and he couldn't help it.

He howled, the pitch and tone expressing his joy.

-- -

Peter jerked away from the hand shaking him, the tremors of his body following him into wakefulness as the adrenaline spike met reality. Gazing uncomprehendingly at the dark figure in front of him, his vision remained as it had been for the latter part of his dream. Colors, even in the dimness, weren't right and he recognized this as an important detail even as he felt something snick back into correct alignment and restore proper sight.

At the sudden shift a flood of new colors and perceptions flooded his brain and the dream was pushed into the background, buried under thoughts and feelings and sights that felt strangely alien for all their normalcy.

His body shuddered, like it was shedding a second skin, and his mind once again acknowledged his physical form and sifted through the ordinary internal emotions that any human experiences.

Human, even if he no longer completely felt like it.

"Peter?"

Blinking as though the action would help keep his attention fixed, Peter once again looked at the figure in front of him. This time he clearly recognized it as Kermit while his nose informed him that lurking in the darkness were his mom and Paul. This was confirmed as a light was flipped on and he caught the brief sight of his parents before an arm flew up to cover distressed eyes, eliciting a silent growl from deep in his throat. With their too constant… changing… his eyes were currently extremely sensitive to alterations in his environment.

At least when they'd done something like this before there usually seemed to be some type of control over it. Maybe not always his control, but control nevertheless.

He didn't know what this was.

"Peter?"

His mom's voice broke through the internal convoluted thought. "I'm all right." Seeking to reassure her, even though he wasn't entirely certain of the situation. Kermit had been trying to awaken him, so maybe he'd said something in his sleep?

"Where you having a nightmare?" Her soft voice was soothing, even as one of her hands reached up and met his arm, drawing it away from his face before allowing fingers to trace delicately over his cheek.

He felt foolish under the scrutiny of both Paul and Kermit. "Uh, I'm not sure." Memory pushed at the border of his consciousness but refused to materialize into anything of substance. It was an event becoming all too familiar lately.

The hand didn't leave his face, and he couldn't help but lean into the touch a little bit even if it made him feel like a child again. Or perhaps because it did, harkening back to a, well not easier time as his life had never been that, but certainly a time where his mom's presence alone could banish the demons.

"The doctor said you could go home tomorrow if all the tests still look good."

Paul's voice caused him to reopen his eyes, instantly finding his foster father's gaze and locking on it.

"Tomorrow?" Glancing over at the window, he noticed hints of morning light beginning to peek through the blinds. "How long have I been out?"

"You've been asleep a little over a day. Since it was sleep and not unconsciousness, the doctor didn't seem overly worried. He said you were responsive to their tests, and after everything your body was just worn out," Blaisdell's voice was concerned but cautious. Peter wasn't wholly certain of why. He hadn't really spoken to the man since… Since they'd had that argument at the precinct what felt like years ago.

"Oh."

"They don't want you alone-"

"I'll be fine by mys-"

Paul continued right over top of Peter's expected protest, "so your mother and I decided that you can come back to the house and stay with us."

"Kelly's still home for a few weeks until college starts back up and she's excited to have her big brother around for awhile. You haven't spent much time at the house lately," Annie added, moving her hand back down Peter's displaced arm to grasp his own.

Kermit and Paul shared a glance, refraining from openly smirking. Yeah, they'd both been on the receiving end of Annie playing dirty.

Peter rolled his eyes in a put upon fashion, "Fine, you win."

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, Peter, and don't roll your eyes at me, young man."

This time Griffin let himself smile.

-- -- -- -

After his parents and Kermit had departed to acquire breakfast, reassuring him that they'd be back soon, it didn't take long for sleep to once more claim him. For the trees around his dream self to become safe, home, familiar. Everything that that self needed to be content. Well, almost everything because even as he thought it he realized there was something missing.

Pack.

Where were they? He could feel them, scattered. Isolated. Alone.

Like him.

But that wasn't right. It wasn't the way it should be, so he brushed aside his confusion and apprehension and set to finding them. The closest presence was also the dimmest, and that made no sense at all. It should flare brightly in his mind, instead it was growing fainter with each passing second. For the first time in this form he felt fear lace through his system and the wolf pushed already taxed muscles into greater speed.

It didn't matter, though. He was already too late.

Cresting a hill, he saw a broken form below. Long hair flowing out over the grass, wind causing shimmering tendrils to ride the currents.

Defeated and alone, so far had the pack degenerated that none of the others were even aware of the situation, the wolf expressed himself in the most dramatic way he knew.

The mournful cry eclipsed the beauty of the night.

A/N: I have no idea how old the character of Kelly was in the series. So after some off the wall math based on the actress and another role she was in around that time, I decided that her current age would be 23-24. Further, in my god-like way, I decided she's still in college after having taken some time off from school. She struck me as a kinda free spirit type, so what the heck.