"Yo! Ray! We're back!" Peter's cheerful hail rang through the building
even before Ecto had slid into its nook inside the firehouse-headquarters.
The outer door shut with a 'clank,' and three dirty, ectoplasm covered men
jumped out of the car. "RAY!"
"For goodness sake, Peter." Egon stuck one finger into his left ear, screwing his face up against the noise. "Must you bellow? Unless Ray is stone deaf, he obviously heard you the first time."
"Awwww," Peter whispered, "did I hurt your shell-like little ears?" He leaned over the taller man's shoulder, a saccharine smile on his lips. "SORRY!"
Spengler winced and stepped backward, nearly precipitating Peter onto the floor. "You're growing more juvenile the older you get," he sniffed, retreating to the tailgate.
"Yeah, man, knock it off. You been a pain all day." Winston swiped some of the slime off his face, grimaced then wiped his hand on his jumpsuit. "You already know Ray is gonna be okay; you can stop trying so hard now."
Peter stopped, his expression betraying the truth behind this perceptive statement. Ray had nearly bled to death before they'd reached the hospital, shock setting in even before they'd exited the building. It had taken the hospital two hours to stabilize his condition, then a surgeon another hour to repair the damage to his leg. Fortunately, there had been no permanent damage and now, three days later, he was able to hobble short distances on a cane before collapsing dizzily into whatever chair was handiest.
Ray would survive but the experience had frightened them all badly, Peter most of all. For the two days Ray had spent in the hospital, Peter had been virtually a second occupant, telling jokes, playing Poker for gumdrops, sneaking in food and maintaining a perpetually benign countenance to one and all -- except, perhaps himself. And that, Peter had told a concerned Egon after the big blond had had to coax him to the table for the third time, was nobody's business but his own.
All of this flashed behind sea green eyes for the merest instant, then his smile reappeared, brighter and more merry than ever before. "Just tryin' to cheer you up, my sour friend! Geez, what a grouch!" Clapping the black man on the back, Peter bounded up the stairs two at a time, leaving Spengler and Zeddemore the task of unloading the car. The sound of his voice raised in summons could be clearly heard as the man searched first the living quarters then the bunkroom on the third floor. It was no more than a minute later that Venkman reappeared at the top of the staircase, a worried expression replacing his cheerful one.
"That's funny," he stated, descending the stairs far less quickly than he'd risen. "Slimer's upstairs taking a nap but I can't find Ray at all. And where's Janine?"
Winston dropped two filled traps onto the reception desk, and glanced around puzzledly. "I don't see her coat. Ya think they went out somewhere together?"
"I asked Janine to stop by Mattson's on her way in. I needed someone to pick up an order of the special spores I'm working with this week." Spengler ran a hand through his blond hair, tossing the drooping forecurl back out of his face. "Could Ray be exercising his leg?"
"Yeah. Doctor said he was supposed to use it as much as possible," Zeddemore put in hopefully.
Peter shook his head. "Kid could 'exercise' as far as the corner only if he crawled the last half. Something's wrong."
As if on cue, the phone rang. Winston, the nearest, answered it with an annoyed oath. "Ghostbusters. Who? Oh, yeah. Just a minute." He proffered it to Venkman. "For you, Pete; some guy named Alexander."
Peter frowned. "Alex-- Wait a minute, you mean Lynn's father?" Winston shrugged and Peter snatched the instrument away, holding it tightly against his ear. "This is Doctor Peter Venkman speaking. May I help you." He listened closely, mischief giving way first to puzzlement, then to consternation. "Yes, sir. ... No, sir. ... That won't be necessary. I'll handle it. Thank you for calling." He hung up, staring at the phone thoughtfully for several seconds before raising his head. "That was Lynn Stacey's father. Ray is over there right now camped on their front steps and refusing to leave. Alex said that if someone doesn't get him out of there soon, he's going to call a cop."
Egon leaned heavily against Janine's desk, his angular features rueful. "I suppose one of us should have anticipated this. It would be his first natural inclination once he was again mobile."
"I should have anticipated this," Peter corrected grimly. "I should have never blamed...." He trailed off, remembering too late that he had an audience.
"Guess he's trying to make up for things, eh, homeboy?" Zeddemore interjected, dropping into the reception chair.
Peter groaned and Egon put a solicitous arm around his shoulder. "You can't go on blaming yourself like this. Ray is much better than he was as a child and that, I might add, is primarily thanks to you. But he's still oversensitive about certain matters -- predominantly culpability; perhaps he can't help it, but neither can we. It's impossible for us to watch everything we say constantly -- not even humanly possible."
Peter placed both fists on his hips, addressing his comment to the ceiling. "Maybe not, Spengs, but I should have known better than to mouth off at him over Lynn. The kid takes everything to heart whether I mean it or not." He bowed his head briefly, not objecting when Egon tightened his hold. "You can still see it in the back of his eyes, as if for a split second he's not sure whether he's going to be welcomed or trashed when I walk into the room. Frankly, boobies, I don't like it. It's too much like college."
"We all lose it sometimes, homeboy," Winston told him, slapping him on the leg. "Ain't no one blaming you if you slip up once in awhile."
"No one but yourself," Egon added pointedly. "Ray will get over this in a few days -- provided you do." He waited until Peter had raised his head, meeting those hopeful green eyes with a confident wink. "In the meantime, one of us had better pick him up before he gets arrested. If you'd like me to go get him...?"
Peter acknowledged the kindness with a smile. "Guess I'd better handle it. If I can't talk some sense into that thick skull of his, he'll end up getting us both popped for trespassing. Or worse." He glanced down at his filthy brown uniform and sighed. "I hope Lynn isn't home. If she sees me looking like this, I'm done for sure."
"Guess you'll have to rely on that natural charm, eh, Heartbreaker?"
Peter preened, while shooting the black man a returning sneer. "She doesn't stand a chance." He made his way to Ecto to the tune of good- natured catcalls and hoots, the first genuine smile in three days on his lips.
***
Peter confronted the recessed brownstone of the Stacey family circumspectly, circling the block once before pulling Ecto to a stop in front of the closest fire hydrant he happened upon. No flashing red lights adorned the fashionable edifice, no blue-uniformed men scampered hither and yon with the Ghostbusters' worst interests at heart. Taking courage from this fact, Peter left the sanctuary of the big hearse and approached the manicured access between the hedges segregating the home from the rest of Manhattan life.
"You have no right to arrest a Ghostbuster," he practiced under his breath. "Honest, officer, he just missed his medication." Pausing, he struck a pose, aristocratic nose in the air, one hand across his heart. "You do know to whom you are speaking?" he demanded in a slightly louder voice, then sighed and closed his eyes. "They'll throw away the key. Ray.... Aww, man, I got to have a loooooong talk with dat boy."
Shoulders back and a forced smile painted on his lips, he strode forth again, breasting the hedges and stopping cold, his smile fading into a imbecilic gawk. Prepared for a throng of police, reporters and angry residents, he was totally at a loss when confronted with the pleasant little vista awaiting him.
Lynn Stacey, clad in stylishly-battered jeans and fur jacket, sat crosslegged on the uppermost step of her home. Her beautiful face was unadorned by cosmetics, her long red ponytail draping over one shoulder and reaching nearly to her waist. She bowed slightly forward, head bent toward the second figure comprising the tableau, a fresh-faced young man with short auburn hair and soft brown eyes. Ray Stantz was positioned awkwardly, right leg stretched straight before him and sitting one step lower than the woman, allowing them to converse eye-to-eye. Their amiable tete-a-tete ceased at Peter's appearance, and two heads, one red, one auburn, rose to offer him sheepish smiles.
"Uh ... hi, Peter," Ray began, clearing his throat. "We ... uh ... that is, Lynn and I...."
"About the party...." Lynn climbed gracefully to her feet. "Ray's been explaining what happened -- you know, with Slimer and all? And...." She descended the steps, approaching the position in which Venkman stood rooted. "I'm very sorry, Petey. I should have let you explain."
"Ugh," Peter agreed scintillatingly. He shook himself, recovering his wits with a visible wrench. "Forget about the party. I intend to pay Slimer back in spades for that one." He turned his cheek, accepting Lynn's forgiving kiss, then shrugged and offered her a handkerchief from his pocket. She was busily scrubbing slime off her mouth as Peter turned to the apprehensive-looking young man still staring from the stairs. "I figured I was going to have to bail you out of the local pen. What possessed you to try a dumb-ass stunt like this, anyway? And why aren't you wearing a heavier coat?"
This last was by far the more aggressive question. Ray blinked at the non sequitur, glancing down at the light tan jacket and brown slacks he wore, then back up to Peter. "I...."
"What do you think? We like paying hospital bills?" Peter donned a suitably ferocious expression and Ray relaxed, sensing familiar indulgence through the facade.
"I'm okay, Peter. I could kind'a use a hand up, though."
"I ought to just leave you here until Spring rolls around again." Peter left Lynn's side to move to Ray's, fitting one hand around the young man's back, allowing the other to be taken in a powerful return grasp. He hauled Ray up, letting his arm slip around the other's waist in a supportive hold. "Come on, dopey, let's get you home to bed. You're not even supposed to be out of the house yet."
Ray swayed dizzily at the motion, his grip on Peter's arm tightening. "I'm okay," he repeated, finding his balance. "I just need to lie down for awhile." With Peter's patient support, he made his way down the steps, the both of them stopping in front of the waiting Lynn Stacey. "Thanks for talking to me, Lynn," Ray said, giving the woman a shy smile.
Stacey patted his arm. "The pleasure was mine, Ray." She turned to Peter, who was watching her with less-than-fraternal interest. "I'm not doing anything next Saturday," she hinted coyly.
Peter waggled his eyebrows, making a great show of consulting some mental calendar. "Wellllll.... I dunno...." He grinned suddenly and dropped a kiss onto the woman's forehead. "I'll pick you up at eight. On the condition," he added, sending a severe look at Stantz, "that your father hasn't had us arrested before then."
Lynn giggled. "I can handle Daddy. He was more afraid of bad press than anything." She spread both hands dramatically. "'Cold-hearted head of the Stacey clan arrests injured Ghostbuster! Pictures at eleven!' Daddy dreads things like that happening!"
She waved sedately as the two made their hobbling way through the concealing hedges to where Ecto waited. Once there, Peter held the door while Ray slid into the passenger seat. With Peter's help he positioned his stitched leg, only a tightness around his lips betraying the pain this must have cost him. Peter slammed the door, entered his own side, and started the engine.
"Ray," he began casually. "I...."
"Peter, before you say anything, I know I was interfering," Ray interrupted, gripping the dash tightly, "but I just wanted to try and patch things between you and Lynn. And I'm really sorry I messed everything up in the first place." That out, he stopped, large eyes fastened on Peter's profile, tensed for the rebuke he obviously expected.
"All I was going to say," Venkman protested mildly, "was that I was glad you were able to patch things between Lynn and me." He cast the younger man a warm look, releasing the steering wheel to ruffle the auburn hair affectionately. "Thanks, buddy."
Ray positively beamed. "Everything's fixed now, right?"
Peter nodded firmly, renewed inner peace gentling the emerald of his eyes. "If it's cool with you, kid, then it sure as blazes is cool for me." And if the contented smiles on two dissimilar faces was anything to go by, he was right.
***
"For goodness sake, Peter." Egon stuck one finger into his left ear, screwing his face up against the noise. "Must you bellow? Unless Ray is stone deaf, he obviously heard you the first time."
"Awwww," Peter whispered, "did I hurt your shell-like little ears?" He leaned over the taller man's shoulder, a saccharine smile on his lips. "SORRY!"
Spengler winced and stepped backward, nearly precipitating Peter onto the floor. "You're growing more juvenile the older you get," he sniffed, retreating to the tailgate.
"Yeah, man, knock it off. You been a pain all day." Winston swiped some of the slime off his face, grimaced then wiped his hand on his jumpsuit. "You already know Ray is gonna be okay; you can stop trying so hard now."
Peter stopped, his expression betraying the truth behind this perceptive statement. Ray had nearly bled to death before they'd reached the hospital, shock setting in even before they'd exited the building. It had taken the hospital two hours to stabilize his condition, then a surgeon another hour to repair the damage to his leg. Fortunately, there had been no permanent damage and now, three days later, he was able to hobble short distances on a cane before collapsing dizzily into whatever chair was handiest.
Ray would survive but the experience had frightened them all badly, Peter most of all. For the two days Ray had spent in the hospital, Peter had been virtually a second occupant, telling jokes, playing Poker for gumdrops, sneaking in food and maintaining a perpetually benign countenance to one and all -- except, perhaps himself. And that, Peter had told a concerned Egon after the big blond had had to coax him to the table for the third time, was nobody's business but his own.
All of this flashed behind sea green eyes for the merest instant, then his smile reappeared, brighter and more merry than ever before. "Just tryin' to cheer you up, my sour friend! Geez, what a grouch!" Clapping the black man on the back, Peter bounded up the stairs two at a time, leaving Spengler and Zeddemore the task of unloading the car. The sound of his voice raised in summons could be clearly heard as the man searched first the living quarters then the bunkroom on the third floor. It was no more than a minute later that Venkman reappeared at the top of the staircase, a worried expression replacing his cheerful one.
"That's funny," he stated, descending the stairs far less quickly than he'd risen. "Slimer's upstairs taking a nap but I can't find Ray at all. And where's Janine?"
Winston dropped two filled traps onto the reception desk, and glanced around puzzledly. "I don't see her coat. Ya think they went out somewhere together?"
"I asked Janine to stop by Mattson's on her way in. I needed someone to pick up an order of the special spores I'm working with this week." Spengler ran a hand through his blond hair, tossing the drooping forecurl back out of his face. "Could Ray be exercising his leg?"
"Yeah. Doctor said he was supposed to use it as much as possible," Zeddemore put in hopefully.
Peter shook his head. "Kid could 'exercise' as far as the corner only if he crawled the last half. Something's wrong."
As if on cue, the phone rang. Winston, the nearest, answered it with an annoyed oath. "Ghostbusters. Who? Oh, yeah. Just a minute." He proffered it to Venkman. "For you, Pete; some guy named Alexander."
Peter frowned. "Alex-- Wait a minute, you mean Lynn's father?" Winston shrugged and Peter snatched the instrument away, holding it tightly against his ear. "This is Doctor Peter Venkman speaking. May I help you." He listened closely, mischief giving way first to puzzlement, then to consternation. "Yes, sir. ... No, sir. ... That won't be necessary. I'll handle it. Thank you for calling." He hung up, staring at the phone thoughtfully for several seconds before raising his head. "That was Lynn Stacey's father. Ray is over there right now camped on their front steps and refusing to leave. Alex said that if someone doesn't get him out of there soon, he's going to call a cop."
Egon leaned heavily against Janine's desk, his angular features rueful. "I suppose one of us should have anticipated this. It would be his first natural inclination once he was again mobile."
"I should have anticipated this," Peter corrected grimly. "I should have never blamed...." He trailed off, remembering too late that he had an audience.
"Guess he's trying to make up for things, eh, homeboy?" Zeddemore interjected, dropping into the reception chair.
Peter groaned and Egon put a solicitous arm around his shoulder. "You can't go on blaming yourself like this. Ray is much better than he was as a child and that, I might add, is primarily thanks to you. But he's still oversensitive about certain matters -- predominantly culpability; perhaps he can't help it, but neither can we. It's impossible for us to watch everything we say constantly -- not even humanly possible."
Peter placed both fists on his hips, addressing his comment to the ceiling. "Maybe not, Spengs, but I should have known better than to mouth off at him over Lynn. The kid takes everything to heart whether I mean it or not." He bowed his head briefly, not objecting when Egon tightened his hold. "You can still see it in the back of his eyes, as if for a split second he's not sure whether he's going to be welcomed or trashed when I walk into the room. Frankly, boobies, I don't like it. It's too much like college."
"We all lose it sometimes, homeboy," Winston told him, slapping him on the leg. "Ain't no one blaming you if you slip up once in awhile."
"No one but yourself," Egon added pointedly. "Ray will get over this in a few days -- provided you do." He waited until Peter had raised his head, meeting those hopeful green eyes with a confident wink. "In the meantime, one of us had better pick him up before he gets arrested. If you'd like me to go get him...?"
Peter acknowledged the kindness with a smile. "Guess I'd better handle it. If I can't talk some sense into that thick skull of his, he'll end up getting us both popped for trespassing. Or worse." He glanced down at his filthy brown uniform and sighed. "I hope Lynn isn't home. If she sees me looking like this, I'm done for sure."
"Guess you'll have to rely on that natural charm, eh, Heartbreaker?"
Peter preened, while shooting the black man a returning sneer. "She doesn't stand a chance." He made his way to Ecto to the tune of good- natured catcalls and hoots, the first genuine smile in three days on his lips.
***
Peter confronted the recessed brownstone of the Stacey family circumspectly, circling the block once before pulling Ecto to a stop in front of the closest fire hydrant he happened upon. No flashing red lights adorned the fashionable edifice, no blue-uniformed men scampered hither and yon with the Ghostbusters' worst interests at heart. Taking courage from this fact, Peter left the sanctuary of the big hearse and approached the manicured access between the hedges segregating the home from the rest of Manhattan life.
"You have no right to arrest a Ghostbuster," he practiced under his breath. "Honest, officer, he just missed his medication." Pausing, he struck a pose, aristocratic nose in the air, one hand across his heart. "You do know to whom you are speaking?" he demanded in a slightly louder voice, then sighed and closed his eyes. "They'll throw away the key. Ray.... Aww, man, I got to have a loooooong talk with dat boy."
Shoulders back and a forced smile painted on his lips, he strode forth again, breasting the hedges and stopping cold, his smile fading into a imbecilic gawk. Prepared for a throng of police, reporters and angry residents, he was totally at a loss when confronted with the pleasant little vista awaiting him.
Lynn Stacey, clad in stylishly-battered jeans and fur jacket, sat crosslegged on the uppermost step of her home. Her beautiful face was unadorned by cosmetics, her long red ponytail draping over one shoulder and reaching nearly to her waist. She bowed slightly forward, head bent toward the second figure comprising the tableau, a fresh-faced young man with short auburn hair and soft brown eyes. Ray Stantz was positioned awkwardly, right leg stretched straight before him and sitting one step lower than the woman, allowing them to converse eye-to-eye. Their amiable tete-a-tete ceased at Peter's appearance, and two heads, one red, one auburn, rose to offer him sheepish smiles.
"Uh ... hi, Peter," Ray began, clearing his throat. "We ... uh ... that is, Lynn and I...."
"About the party...." Lynn climbed gracefully to her feet. "Ray's been explaining what happened -- you know, with Slimer and all? And...." She descended the steps, approaching the position in which Venkman stood rooted. "I'm very sorry, Petey. I should have let you explain."
"Ugh," Peter agreed scintillatingly. He shook himself, recovering his wits with a visible wrench. "Forget about the party. I intend to pay Slimer back in spades for that one." He turned his cheek, accepting Lynn's forgiving kiss, then shrugged and offered her a handkerchief from his pocket. She was busily scrubbing slime off her mouth as Peter turned to the apprehensive-looking young man still staring from the stairs. "I figured I was going to have to bail you out of the local pen. What possessed you to try a dumb-ass stunt like this, anyway? And why aren't you wearing a heavier coat?"
This last was by far the more aggressive question. Ray blinked at the non sequitur, glancing down at the light tan jacket and brown slacks he wore, then back up to Peter. "I...."
"What do you think? We like paying hospital bills?" Peter donned a suitably ferocious expression and Ray relaxed, sensing familiar indulgence through the facade.
"I'm okay, Peter. I could kind'a use a hand up, though."
"I ought to just leave you here until Spring rolls around again." Peter left Lynn's side to move to Ray's, fitting one hand around the young man's back, allowing the other to be taken in a powerful return grasp. He hauled Ray up, letting his arm slip around the other's waist in a supportive hold. "Come on, dopey, let's get you home to bed. You're not even supposed to be out of the house yet."
Ray swayed dizzily at the motion, his grip on Peter's arm tightening. "I'm okay," he repeated, finding his balance. "I just need to lie down for awhile." With Peter's patient support, he made his way down the steps, the both of them stopping in front of the waiting Lynn Stacey. "Thanks for talking to me, Lynn," Ray said, giving the woman a shy smile.
Stacey patted his arm. "The pleasure was mine, Ray." She turned to Peter, who was watching her with less-than-fraternal interest. "I'm not doing anything next Saturday," she hinted coyly.
Peter waggled his eyebrows, making a great show of consulting some mental calendar. "Wellllll.... I dunno...." He grinned suddenly and dropped a kiss onto the woman's forehead. "I'll pick you up at eight. On the condition," he added, sending a severe look at Stantz, "that your father hasn't had us arrested before then."
Lynn giggled. "I can handle Daddy. He was more afraid of bad press than anything." She spread both hands dramatically. "'Cold-hearted head of the Stacey clan arrests injured Ghostbuster! Pictures at eleven!' Daddy dreads things like that happening!"
She waved sedately as the two made their hobbling way through the concealing hedges to where Ecto waited. Once there, Peter held the door while Ray slid into the passenger seat. With Peter's help he positioned his stitched leg, only a tightness around his lips betraying the pain this must have cost him. Peter slammed the door, entered his own side, and started the engine.
"Ray," he began casually. "I...."
"Peter, before you say anything, I know I was interfering," Ray interrupted, gripping the dash tightly, "but I just wanted to try and patch things between you and Lynn. And I'm really sorry I messed everything up in the first place." That out, he stopped, large eyes fastened on Peter's profile, tensed for the rebuke he obviously expected.
"All I was going to say," Venkman protested mildly, "was that I was glad you were able to patch things between Lynn and me." He cast the younger man a warm look, releasing the steering wheel to ruffle the auburn hair affectionately. "Thanks, buddy."
Ray positively beamed. "Everything's fixed now, right?"
Peter nodded firmly, renewed inner peace gentling the emerald of his eyes. "If it's cool with you, kid, then it sure as blazes is cool for me." And if the contented smiles on two dissimilar faces was anything to go by, he was right.
***