Milestones

by Monica Stybz

Kermit feels guilty when a bust goes terribly wrong.

He raced desperately against the rushing mob, eager to reach his father. The bell would shatter at any moment and Peter feared his father would go with it into oblivion. He struggled and fought till he reached the stairs. Once free, he started his ascent.

Suddenly an unseen force pushed him against the railing. He couldn't move. Damon stood above him, cackling evilly. Peter felt the cold blade of the sword against his cheek. Fear gripped him. He stared into the eyes of the man who was his uncle, frightened by what he saw in them.

"Poor Peter," Damon mocked. "Afraid to be left alone again. Can't be without his daddy. Too bad. You know how it feels. You understand!"

The sword sliced his cheek. Peter suppressed a yelp. He felt the blade touch his chest. He fixed his gaze on Damon and waited.

Pop, where are you?

Damon grinned.

"No!" Peter jumped up in bed and clutched his chest, breathing heavily. He felt relieved to be home, relieved that it was a dream. But the fear remained.

Poor, Peter... Can't be without his daddy... You understand!

"I do," Peter said unconsciously. The words startled him.

Kermit leaned back in his chair and rested the keyboard on his lap. He typed away, swinging his head side to side like a blues pianist. Peter stood at the door watching him in wonder. He could never understand the relationship Kermit had with machines, but he felt grateful that someone could figure them out.

"Don't just stand there," Kermit said without turning or stopping his task. "Come on in."

Peter's smile faded as the insecurity grew inside him. His father's voice resonated in his mind. We must face the demons, Peter. Once we have conquered them, we can move forward to our destiny.

"I don't like people looking over my shoulder," Kermit said. "It's liable to get them shot."

Peter cleared his throat. "Sorry. I'll come back later." He turned to go.

"Hold it!" Kermit called.

Peter stopped and glanced back into the office.

"You're not getting off that easy. Get in here."

Peter walked in and closed the door, shutting out the noisy squad room behind him. He shoved his hands into his pockets and paced the small confines of the office.

Kermit tossed the keyboard onto the desk, pulled off his shades and stared at Peter. He said in a deep voice, "I feel your pain."

"Knock it off, Kermit," Peter said in annoyance.

Kermit put on his glasses and smiled. "Sorry, kid. Couldn't resist." His smile faded. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Peter said uneasily. "Fine."

Kermit raised his eyebrows. "If you say so, kid."

Peter cleared his throat. "Thanks for trying to track down my father for me the other day. I appreciate it."

"No problem. So what happened to Damon Caine? He obviously didn't boil your Pop alive. Or should I bother asking?"

"My father's home and he's fine. Damon has disappeared."

Kermit sighed. "I knew I shouldn't have asked."

Peter wrung his hands. "My father says Damon will come back."

Kermit shrugged. "They always do. You know siblings. They're always trying to mooch off you if they can when they can. Speaking of which, how are things with Martin Bradshaw - the other uncle?"

"Fine. He's in France visiting my grandfather."

Kermit leaned back in his chair. "That's going to be one hell of a reunion."

Peter rubbed his neck. "Yeah. Especially when Martin tells Matthew about Damon."

"How do you think he'll take that?"

Peter sighed. "If he's anything like my father, he might try to find Damon and help heal his soul."

Kermit rocked his chair. "Do you think Damon's soul can be healed?"

"I don't know. My father thinks so. I'm not sure if Martin does, but he might in time."

"Martin's a good guy. So, what will you call him? Uncle Marty?"

Peter smiled. "I don't know. I've never had an uncle before." He stopped himself from saying, 'Now I have two'. It was too hard to think about Damon. His smile faded as the image of Damon's face appeared in his mind. A chill ran through him. He shook it away with the thought and focused on what Kermit had said. He stopped pacing, suddenly realizing, "Oh, wait. You two know each other?"

Kermit grinned. "Apparently not well enough. I never knew of his relationship to your grandfather until he called me a few days ago and asked me to help him track down a certain Kwai Chang Caine."

Peter stared at Kermit in amazement. "You're kidding! You told him where to find my father? You told him about me?"

"Small world."

"You got that right." Peter shook his head. "If you knew about Martin before I did, how come you couldn't tell me where my father went? Martin knew."

"Martin didn't want me to know. All he told me was that he needed to talk to your father and that he needed me to find him. I pressed him for more details. I trust Martin, but Interpol has not been on my top ten list as of late.

"The only information Bradshaw had was that your father lived in this city. You should have heard his reaction when I told him that his nephew was sitting a only desk away."

"So he told you of his relationship to my father?"

"Pieces of it. I had no idea about this bell thing or brother Damon until after you came back. Martin wanted to keep this quiet. A smart move when the Sing Wah is involved."

"Yeah... Sing Wah," Peter said absently, sliding into a chair.

Kermit leaned forward. "What's bugging you?"

"I - uh - I... " The words caught in Peter's throat. He got up and began pacing again.

"Is it Damon?"

"No!" He winced. The answer came out too quickly. Too forcibly. Soon the words just came out faster than he wanted. "Not exactly. A lot has happened to me in the past three years, and lately, I've... "

Kermit held up his hands. "Hold it, kid. Don't give me the `I'm turning thirty soon, my life is changing' routine."

Peter stopped and wondered, "Do you think that's what it is?"

"Don't you?"

Peter sighed. "I don't know... I don't think so... Maybe."

"Okay. Let's cut to the chase. What do you want me to do?"

Peter shoved his hands in his pockets. "I know you're busy with the Carmichael case, and I don't want to infringe on your free time... "

"Out with it, Caine!"

"I want you to... I want to... I want to learn more about my mother. I was wondering if you could... could find out where her family is. You know, brothers, sisters... "

Kermit stared at Peter for a few seconds. "Are you sure you want to do that? It might open up a Pandora's box."

"I've been thinking about it since I was reunited with my grandfather. Now that I've discovered I have uncles, I want to know more about the other side of my family. I guess you could say I was inspired by Martin's determination to find his family."

"Have you asked your father about your mother?"

Peter leaned against the door. "Yes. He told me about her. He said her family refused to speak to her when she married him. He never spoke to them again."

"Sounds out of character for your father. I would have thought he'd try to reason with them."

Peter nodded. "He tried. But they wouldn't listen. I think he feels guilty for her death. He said he never could face her parents after that."

"Now that sounds uncharacteristic of Caine."

"I know. But can you blame him? I think he wants to reconcile with them. Especially since he forgave his own father when they were reunited in France. I think my dad wants to make up for the mistakes and the misunderstandings in his life."

Kermit shook his head. "That has to be his decision, Peter. You can't force him to do that."

"I know that, and I have no intention of doing that. It's just... " Peter felt a pang in his chest and he took a deep breath. "I've got a few of my own to contend with." He stared at his feet. "I want to see them. I want to talk to them. They're my family too."

Kermit leaned back in his chair and said, "I'll see what I can do. Have you got a name?"

Peter pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Kermit. "That's her maiden name." He smiled. "Thanks."

"Any time." Kermit read the paper. "Where do you want me to start?"

"What do you mean?"

"What city, state, country?"

"Oh. Braniff, California. That's where the temple was. I think her family lived about twenty miles from there. I'm not sure. I don't know the name of the town."

"I'll find out."

"Thanks." Peter's mind raced. He felt the urge to push another matter. However, his anxiety grew, and he wondered if he should drop it altogether.

Anxiety lost. "There's something else." Peter took in a breath and bit his thumb nail. After a few seconds he said, "I want you to find out where Paul is."

Kermit sighed. "I knew this would come eventually."

Peter leaned his hands on the desk, close to Kermit. "Can you find him? Do you know where he is?"

"Even if I did, I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because if Paul wanted to be found, he would be home by now."

"But he's not home, Kermit!" Peter said bitterly. "It's been close to a year now. Where is he?"

"I don't know."

"Don't you ever wonder, Kermit? Aren't you concerned?"

"More often than you think."

Peter pushed himself off the desk and paced once more. "He could have at least written. He could have called. Just because my father wanders off without a word doesn't mean that Paul can do that to me too."

Kermit rose and walked over to Peter. "Look. Paul's probably playing cold war tango in Eastern Europe. You know how he operates."

"No I don't, Kermit!" Peter snapped. "All I ever knew were the rumors, the stories told to me by other cops who had nothing better to do but gossip. Do you know what it was like to listen to your coworkers tell stories about someone you lived with for most of your life, someone you thought you knew? When I was in high school and Paul would go away, he told me he was going to some meeting somewhere. I didn't learn the truth until I was a rookie patrolman riding with Epstein. I heard all the rumors from Epstein. Then later from Strenlich. It wasn't until I confronted Paul two years ago that he told me anything, and it was sketchy at best. Who do you think told me all about the Falcon's Wing? Not Paul, but my father! My father told me."

"Paul had his reasons, Peter," Kermit said softly.

"What about Annie? What about his daughters? How are they supposed to cope with this?"

"Annie's been through this before. She'll... "

"She can't take anymore waiting, Kermit! She can't stand not knowing! And neither can I. Just one letter. One phone call. What's so hard?"

Kermit sighed and leaned against his desk. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "She seemed fine last week when I saw her."

Peter slumped into a chair. "Yeah, well. You know her, Kermit. She puts on a good brave face."

"Oh, yeah." Kermit nodded. "When did you see her last?"

"Yesterday. I had dinner with her and Kelly. Mom's got a lot on her mind right now. What with Kelly going to college and Carolyn having her baby soon. Each event, each milestone, is a reminder of what Paul is missing.

"Now with my growing family tree, and... " Peter stopped. He didn't want to go any further. He didn't want to share what had happened that night with his foster mother.

"What, Peter?" Kermit asked anxiously. "What about it?"

"Nothing, Kermit," Peter said awkwardly, struggling to push away the memory. "It just upset her, that's all."

"Upset her?"

"Another milestone Paul is missing." He stood up. "Look. Can't you do something? Just let me know if he's all right. Is there some way to contact him?"

"No, Peter. I can't do that."

"Can't or won't?!" Peter spat.

"I am not going to risk putting Paul in danger, Peter."

"What if the roles were reversed? What if you were gone for months? Paul would look for you."

"Not if he wanted a death wish."

"Paul isn't you!"

"You'd be surprised."

Peter kicked the chair. "Damn it, Kermit!"

"Do him a favor. Stay out of it. He's been on missions before. He'll be fine."

"That's not the point!"

"He doesn't need you chasing after him like you do your father. Drop it, Peter!"

Kermit's words stung him. "That's what I do, isn't it? That's what I always do," Peter muttered in shock.

"Peter, I didn't mean... "

Peter shook his head. Damon's voice played in his mind. You know how it feels. You understand! "I do," he said, softly. "I do."

He glanced at Kermit and said slowly, "This... This is a mistake. Forget the whole thing. I shouldn't have asked you. You're right. It's none of my business."

Kermit leveled his gaze at him. "Peter?" he asked in confusion.

Peter fought off the conflicting thoughts in his mind. He felt guilty and embarrassed for even considering searching for Paul or his mother's family. "It's time to grow up," he muttered.

"What?" Kermit asked.

"Nothing. I'm sorry for the trouble. Forget the whole thing. Paul, my mother, everything." He walked to the door.

"Was it something I said?" Kermit asked, flustered.

Peter pulled the door open and said sincerely. "No. It's me. Thanks, Kermit." He walked to his desk and opened the top drawer. He pocketed his cellular and grabbed his coat.

He approached Jody's desk and said solemnly, "If you get something on the Carmichael case, call me on the cellular."

Jody stared at him, concern written on her face. "Are you all right, partner?"

"Yeah. Fine," he said in almost a whisper. He turned and walked out, eager to be alone.

Kermit stared in shock at the wall across from him. Though Peter had only left his office a moment ago, the tension he had felt in the young man's presence still hung in the air.

He had seen Peter in several different moods, but this one baffled him. One minute he was filled with nervous energy. The next he was a stone wall.

Was it something I said?

Kermit turned and walked out of the office into the squad room, just in time to catch the look of concern on Jody Powell's face as she asked Peter if he was all right. Her expression was priceless, but Peter's was frightening.

He watched Peter leave, then approached Jody's desk. She looked stunned as if Peter had slapped her on the face.

"You okay?" Kermit asked.

Jody shook her head. "I don't know. What were you and Peter talking about?"

"Family trees."

She sighed. "I still can't shake that feeling that we're losing him."

Kermit sat on the edge of her desk. "What do you mean?"

"Well, he was really upset when his father disappeared. It's like... It consumed him."

"You weren't here when his father wandered off for six months, and you were on vacation when his dad was kidnapped for the Liji."

Jody leaned back in her chair. "So then this is normal?"

Kermit shook his head. "His concern over his father's disappearance, yes. His behavior since he returned, no. Usually, Peter is ecstatic about finding his father and bringing him home. You'd think he'd be happy to find out that he has an uncle - or two - just like he was when he came back from France told us his grandfather was alive. This time it's different. Something's spooked him."

"He is turning thirty in a few days," Blake chimed in.

Jody spun around and threw him a dirty look.

Blake shrugged and rested his elbows on his desk. "Sorry, couldn't help but overhear. But, Kermit's right. Something is not right with Peter."

"And you think hitting thirty is the reason?" Jody asked skeptically.

"It's one possibility."

Kermit shook his head. "Maybe. But I think there's something else."

"Me too. But what?" Jody asked, leaning forward.

"I don't know. But I'm determined to find out."

He stood on a ledge, looking down into darkness. Peter took a deep breath, fighting off the vertigo that threatened to take over. A cold wind chilled him.

"Help me, Peter."

Peter scanned his surroundings, looking for the source of the voice. He saw no one. He recognized the room he stood in. It was the bell tower.

"Peter! Please help me!"

"Damon?" Peter asked in confusion.

"Help me!"

Peter looked down and saw Damon hanging from the ledge, his grip slipping.

Damon looked up and fixed his gaze on Peter. "Help me, Nephew," he begged. "Help me. You can save me from this darkness. Only you. You understand! You know what it's like to be left alone."

"I do," Peter said mournfully. His heart tugged at him as he gazed into his uncle's eyes.

"Then help me to see the light," Damon said. "Take my hand. Pull me up."

Peter knelt down and grabbed Damon's hand. He struggled to pull him up, but he felt Damon pulling him down. He glanced at his uncle and his heart skipped a beat.

Damon wore a wicked grin.

The force of the wind grew stronger. "Your father left you!" Damon shouted viciously. "Just like my father left me. How can you forgive him? How can you go on loving someone who keeps leaving you? He does not love you!"

"Yes, he does!" Peter shouted back. "He's helped me more than you know."

"He does not love you, Peter. He helps you because it's the Shaolin way, because he wants you to continue the line. Come with me. I will show you the right way to live."

"No!" Peter fought desperately to release himself from Damon's grip, but he couldn't.

"We are so alike, Peter. Can't you see that?"

Peter answered despite himself. "Yes."

"Then we must join forces, my nephew."

"No!" He felt himself growing weaker. "This is not the way. Let me help you. You know I can."

"No, you can't. You are too weak, too vulnerable. I can break you in half." Damon's smile widened. "Do you really think your strength is what's keeping you from my world? Guess again, dear nephew. Yah!"

Peter plummeted headfirst into the darkness.

"UH!" Peter's eyes flew open. He glanced around fearfully. "Damn it, Damon! What do you want from me?" He breathed heavily, realizing that he sat on the floor in his apartment. He glanced down at an incense stick, smoldering in its stand and recalled that he had chosen to meditate for a while.

He gazed at the candles that surrounded him, their flames flickering. "Home," he said in a shaky breath. "I'm home."

He stood up and walked over to one of the windows. He opened the blinds and gazed outside. Darkness had descended on the city. A tremor shook him.

Caine walked into the squad room, looking for Peter. Skalany smiled at him as he walked past her desk, and he winked in return. He stopped by Peter's desk, but he already knew that his son had not been there for at least an hour.

He felt Jody's gaze on him without having to turn to look at her. He sensed deep concern within her.

"Peter's not here," Kermit said, coming out of his office. He walked up to Caine and spoke under his breath, "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Caine bowed his head once and followed Kermit back into his office. He watched as Kermit closed the door and indicated a chair. Caine sat down, sensing his son's tension still lingering in the room.

"This is about Peter," Caine stated rather than asked.

Kermit said uneasily. "You know me, Caine. I'm not good in the emotion department. Nor do I butt into family problems, but Peter is my friend and... "

"You are concerned about his strange behavior."

"Oh, yeah."

"I am too," Caine said sadly.

"Do you know what's eating at him?"

"No."

Kermit whipped off his glasses. "I thought you can sense things. Especially when it comes to your son."

"I can, but he is in conflict. It is hard to read a mind that is in chaos."

"Chaos is an extreme term, even for Peter. Don't you think?"

Caine shrugged. "Something happened at the castle. Something between Peter and Damon. But I do not know for sure."

"Do you think Damon has some contact with Peter now?"

"I do not know."

Kermit sighed. "Peter asked me to do some searching for him. He wanted me to track down Blaisdell. I told him I couldn't. He kept pushing me to do it, but I refused. Then he finally gave in."

Caine saw a look of concern on Kermit's face. "It is the way he gave in that bothers you."

Kermit nodded. "Oh, yeah. He suddenly went cold. It's like he turned to stone. He told me to forget the whole thing."

"Perhaps he felt angry. Peter tends to shut down if you do not back off."

"No, no. This wasn't his usual stubborn guilt trip. He seemed different, like he'd given up, like he'd lost something he could never reclaim."

Kermit's description surprised Caine. "When did he leave here?"

"Sometime around four, I think. Technically, he's still on duty. I'm trying to find some information on a case he's working on. Jody's supposed to call him as soon as I

can locate something."

Caine didn't hear. He stood up. "I must find him."

Kermit rose. "There are a couple of things you should know. Peter went to visit Annie Blaisdell last night, and something went wrong. I don't know what, but Peter didn't want to talk about it. He said she was upset. I'd go to talk to her but... "

"Dealing with emotions is not your strong point," Caine finished.

"You know me too well," Kermit joked.

Caine patted him on the shoulder. "I will talk to her. There is something else?"

Kermit picked up his shades and put them on. Caine sensed Kermit's eagerness to hide a sense of guilt.

"I said something that might have triggered his mood, but I'm not sure."

Caine said nothing, giving Kermit time to sort out what he wanted to say.

Kermit sighed. "I told him that Paul may not want Peter to know how to find him, because Peter might track him down. Just like he follows you."

The statement tugged at Caine's heart. He believed he had found the cause of Peter's pain, but he couldn't be certain. "And this... disturbed him?" he asked.

"Stopped him in his tracks," Kermit said awkwardly. "I'm... I'm sorry, Caine."

"It is all right. My sudden... departures have always been a... sore spot for him. It is something we have never discussed, but we should." He bowed to Kermit. "Thank you for the concern you have for my son."

"He's a good kid."

"Yes." He walked out of Kermit's office and to Jody's desk.

She looked up at him, her expression filled with fear.

"You have seen the terror in his eyes?" Caine asked.

"Yes," Jody replied breathlessly. "What's wrong with him?"

He grasped her hand. "I will find out."

Peter sat on the top of the small staircase in his apartment and leaned his head against the wall. He stared at the still burning candles that illuminated the room below and tried to fight off the depression that set in.

A knock at the door startled him and he forced himself up on his feet. He made his way to the door and opened it.

His father stood in the hallway. The sight surprised Peter.

"Since when do you knock?" Peter asked bitterly. "Usually, you like to sneak up on me and scare me to death."

Caine shrugged. "I thought it would be best not to frighten you."

"Why should today be any different?" Peter suddenly detected the harshness in his voice and held up his hands. "Sorry."

"May I come in?"

Caine's cautiousness made Peter suspicious. He felt guilty for his angry words, but he could not shake the mood. "Sure." He turned away and switched on the lights, busying himself with extinguishing the candles so he would not have to look at his father.

Caine shut the door and walked into the room. He said slowly, "Peter, we... "

"... must talk," Peter finished, his tone still cold. He blew out the last candle and picked up the incense burner and carried it into the kitchen. "There's nothing to talk about, Pop."

"You have been... meditating?"

"Uh, yeah," Peter said uneasily, immersing the drenching the incense stick under running water in the kitchen sink.

"Something is troubling you?" Caine asked.

Peter threw the stick into the garbage bag behind him. Then he stared at the sink, unable to meet his father's gaze.

Caine said, "I feel... "

"... your pain," Peter finished again, giving in to his anger. "You always feel my pain and that of thousands of people. Does that make a difference in my life?"

"You are angry at me for leaving you."

Peter glanced up at Caine, who stood in the living room. He saw the concern in his father's eyes. "No. I'm angry at me for not letting you go." He turned away and walked over to the refrigerator.

"Letting me go?"

Peter opened the door and closed it right away. He rested his head against it. "Yes.

That's what you want me to do. Isn't it?"

Peter heard Caine ascend the stairs and walk into the kitchen. He turned to his father and said, "I'm holding on to you too tightly. It's time for me to move on, to discover more about my life... without you."

Caine canted his head. "Have I hurt you so deeply, my son?"

"How could you? You're just doing your job, saving the world. I should understand that. I should prepare myself for the day you never come back. It's just the way you are.

"Everyone I hold on to slips away. You, Paul, my mother." Peter ran his hand through his hair. "I thought I had lost this feeling, but I was wrong. I was kidding myself."

"What feeling?"

Peter wanted to say `abandonment', but he couldn't. He didn't want his father to interfere this time. The less Caine knew the better.

Peter shifted his weight from one leg to another. "This is no one's fault but my own. I hold on too tightly to everyone. I can't do that anymore. It's not right." He fixed his gaze on Caine. "You go off all the time, leaving me to wonder if you'll ever return. On the surface I accept it because that's the way you are. But underneath... " He sighed and he stared at the floor. "I used to be so angry with you for doing that. Now Paul's doing it, too. So, it isn't you. It's me."

"Peter... ?"

"You know," Peter said sadly, "I worry about Paul a lot. I never told you, but I do. Do you know how many nights I lay awake wondering where he is?" He didn't wait for an answer. "What am I thinking?" he remarked. "Of course, you do."

"I... "

Peter turned his back on his father. "You're always there to help me, even when I don't want your help. You always know where I am if I'm in danger. You always sense my pain. But when you go off without a word, I have nothing." He spun around and faced Caine again. "Do you have any idea what I went through when I found your place deserted and learned that you might not come back? Do you know what it's like to not know where you are and if you're all right?"

"Yes," Caine said softly.

Peter shook his head. "No, you don't. You can sense where people are and what they're feeling. You never have to wonder how they feel or what they're doing." Peter stepped up to his father. "What if Martin didn't exist? What if I didn't find you and you had no way to destroy the bell? You would have had to kill Damon. You'd be gone forever, and I'd have no idea where to find you. Do you have any idea how dark and deep that pain is?"

"Yes," Caine said sadly.

Peter saw the pain in his father's eyes, but it didn't convince him. "Why don't I believe you?"

Caine opened his mouth to respond, but a ringing interrupted him. Peter pushed past his father and walked down to the living room. He picked up his coat and pulled out the cellular phone from the inside pocket.

He switched it on. "Caine," he said in an official tone.

Jody spoke in his ear. "We've found some dirt on Carmichael. Chin's getting the warrant. Are you interested, partner?"

"Absolutely," Peter replied, relieved for the interruption. "Where is this going down?"

"The stakeout unit saw him go into the Shot Glass bar. He's been there since four-thirty."

"I'm on my way." He shut off the phone and pulled on his coat. "I gotta go, Pop."

Caine walked down the steps and stopped in front of Peter. "I understand. You have work. We will discuss this later."

Peter's gaze fell to the floor. "Maybe," he said coldly. He bit his tongue. He moved to the door and left the apartment without another word.

Caine sighed and closed his eyes as he heard the door slam. "I do know how it feels, Peter," he said mournfully. "I do."

Sometime later, Caine stood outside the Blaisdell residence. The brisk night air reminded him of Peter's mood. His talk with Peter still plagued him. There was much that needed to be done, many things that needed to be figured out in order to help his son.

He rang the doorbell and waited. The door was opened almost immediately by Kelly Blaisdell. She smiled. "Caine! Hi. Come in." She stepped back as he walked inside.

"Am I intruding?" he asked.

"Not at all," Annie called from the den.

Caine turned to his right and saw her standing at the doorway. She smiled broadly. "We just finished dinner." She held out her hands. "Caine," she said warmly. "It's so good to see you."

Caine kissed them. "It is always a pleasure to see you."

She laughed. She wrapped her arm around his and led him into the den. They sat down on the couch. Kelly stood by the doorway.

"Can I get you some tea, Caine?" Kelly asked.

He bowed his head. "Yes. Thank you."

Kelly left the room.

Caine seized the opportunity. "How are you, Annie?" he asked gravely.

"I'm fine," she said, still smiling. "How are you? I hear you've found not only one, but two brothers."

"Yes. It was an... interesting reunion."

She laughed. "I'll bet. Peter seemed... " She stopped. Her smile faded.

Caine sensed the uneasiness in her voice. "He was here, last night?"

"Yes, he was." She hesitated. "Is everything all right, Caine? Is Peter all right?"

Her questions startled him. "Did he say something to disturb you?"

"Oh, no," she insisted. "It's... He's so worried about Paul. I can sense it, every time he visits. He tries to hide it, but I can tell." She sighed. "He's trying to be strong for all of us, but I know how much it hurts him. It's so easy for me to open up to him. No one sees how much Paul's absence affects me. No one, but Peter. Oh, Carolyn and Kelly have some idea, but I need to be strong for them. Peter... He's so easy to talk to. He knows how it feels... ," She stopped. "I'm sorry." She turned away.

Caine caressed her cheek. "Do not be sorry for speaking the truth. Peter knows how it feels to be left alone. That is why you can be honest with him about your feelings. He shares them with you."

She turned her head to him. "Yes. But I'm afraid I may have hurt him. He seemed so... I can't explain it."

"Tell me what happened."

She sighed. "He came by for dinner. Afterward we sat in here and talked. He told me about your brothers. Specifically, your half-brother Martin, and how they met while looking for you. He told me that Martin later went to France, to meet your father."

"Yes." Caine said. He let his mind play out the story as Annie told it to him.

"He mentioned your other brother, Damon... "

"What's Damon like?" Annie asked, leaning forward, eager to hear the details.

Peter seemed uncomfortable. "He's... He's an interesting character." He chuckled. "I guess that's an understatement where my family is concerned."

Annie laughed. "Makes for some interesting stories."

"Yeah."

"So, will you see them again?"

"I'll probably see Martin pretty soon. Damon... I... I don't know."

She sensed the uneasiness in his voice, and she tried to cheer him up. She put her arms around his waist and said, "Don't tell me Damon is the black sheep? And I thought you were the one who held that title?"

Peter didn't laugh. Nor did he return the hug. "Damon reminds me... He... Never mind."

She grew concerned. "Peter, what's wrong?"

He was silent for a moment. Then he pulled her close to him. "I'm fine, Mom. Just got to deal with the Caine family vine."

She giggled, rubbing his back. "You'll do just fine."

"Yeah," he said absently. Then he cleared his throat and asked. "How are you doing?"

She sighed. "The usual. I miss Paul very much."

"Me too."

"I feel so bad, Peter. Every time you come here, I end up crying on your shoulder. It's not fair to you."

"I don't mind. Consider it a payback for all the times I cried on yours."

"When you thought your father was dead. I know."

She felt Peter's body tense up as he took in a breath, and she quickly thought of something to say. "I think I finally can relate to what you went through, Peter. The feeling of loss. The anger."

Peter pushed her away. "No, you don't," he said bitterly. "Be glad you never will."

His behavior startled her. "Peter," she coaxed, "what's bothering you, honey? Tell me what's wrong."

Peter got up and walked to the other side of the room. "You don't want to know what's going on inside my head right now," he said grimly.

Annie smiled. "You remind me of Paul when you say that. You two are so much alike. He used to say that... "

"No!" Peter snapped. "I'm not like Paul! I never will be." He stormed to the couch. "And don't you EVER tell me how I feel. You don't know what I feel! I... " He stopped.

Peter's outburst stunned Annie to silence. Never before had she heard such venom from her foster son.

"Mom... " Peter said, his voice catching in his throat. "I'm so sorry." He rushed out of the room.

"Peter!" Annie called, but it was too late. The front door slammed. Tears formed in her eyes as she heard his car speed out of the driveway.

"I was stunned, Caine," she said. "I didn't know what to do, what to say. Peter tends to keep his feelings inside, but I have never heard him be so... severe."

Caine sighed. "You did not go after him?"

"I did," Kelly said, walking in with a tray of tea.

Caine rose and took the tray out of her hands and placed it on the coffee table. Kelly sat down in the armchair next to the couch. Caine resumed his seat next to Annie.

"You went after Peter?" Caine asked Kelly.

"Yes. I was upstairs studying when I heard his outburst. It scared me to death. I've heard him arguing with Dad many times. You know, the usual father and son spats. But Peter's never yelled at Mom like that. Anyway, I practically raced after him - sorry Mom - till he got to his apartment. He said he was sorry, and that he'd apologize to Mom. I asked him what was wrong, and he told me to drop it. I tried to convince him to talk to me, but you know how stubborn he is. He told me he had to work it out on his own and insisted I leave."

Annie shook her head. "I should have done something more. All I did was sit here."

Caine took her hand. "You tried to calm him. Peter does not think clearly when he is so... pent up. He knows his error. He feels guilty for what he had said. Have you talked to him since last night?"

"No. Caine, I'm so worried."

Caine nodded. "Neither of you should feel guilty for what happened here."

"Do you know why he's so upset?" Kelly asked in concern.

"I think I do."

The Shot Glass Bar was packed as usual with the gyrating bodies of scantily clad women and the drooling mouths of the cross section of city men who ogled them as they danced. Jody sat at the bar with Chin, waiting for Peter. She straightened when she saw him enter the establishment and flash his badge at the bouncer.

"Wait here," she said to Chin. She jumped off the stool and made her way to Peter, who stood speaking to the large man.

"Detective Peter Caine, Hundred and First. I'm looking for Steven Carmichael."

The bouncer shrugged indifferently.

Peter frowned.

Jody ran up and grabbed his arm. "What are you doing?" she scolded. "It's bad enough they know you around here. Do you have to rub it in?"

Peter snapped his arm out of her grasp. He spoke sternly. "I do what has to be done, Jody. Where is he?"

"Back room." She didn't like what she saw. Peter looked pale and tense. She decided to take some initiative. Peter started to move, and Jody stepped in front of him. "Wait. I know this is your collar, but I don't think you should just storm in there right now."

"Why not?" Peter asked impatiently.

She took a deep breath. "I'm telling you this because I care, partner. From what I see you are too stressed, too out of control to handle this collar."

"Handle?" Peter stared at her in confusion. "You called me. Remember?"

She thought, That was before I knew how awful you look. "I know how badly you want Carmichael. And I've seen you when you want something serious enough. I think you should back off and let me handle it."

"Since when did you make Captain?" he snapped. "Who made you in charge of this case?"

"Peter... "

"Is this another of those magical moments when you tell me you love me, then take it back?"

Jody felt struck.

"Every time something goes on in my life you've got to stick your nose in it. You think you know what's going on in my head. You think you understand. Well, you don't, Jody!" He pushed her aside and headed for the back room.

Jody chased after him, her heart pounding. She had expected a negative reaction from Peter, but not one so harsh. She had no idea what to expect from Peter and it scared her.

Peter pulled his gun and kicked the door open. Jody heard the screams from the room as two half-naked women ran out, struggling to get their clothes on. She stepped inside in time to see Peter push Carmichael against the wall and shove his gun up the man's large nose.

"Police," Peter said viciously. "You're under arrest for the murder of Richie Carson. You have the right to remain silent... "

"Take the friggin' gun out of my nose," Carmichael spat, his tall, thin frame flat against the wall.

"Over your dead body," Peter quipped. "You have a right to an attorney, scumbag."

"You'll never get me to court."

Peter slammed him against the wall and leaned closer to his face. "You killed a six-year-old boy for what, Carmichael? Because his father double-crossed you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You piece of SHIT!"

"Back off, Peter!" Jody shouted.

"Tell me," Peter said hoarsely. "Tell me what it felt like to pull the trigger." He cocked his gun.

Jody gaped at him in shock. "Peter!"

"Peter, put the gun down," Chin said from behind her.

Peter didn't move.

Jody heard the sirens in the distance, but it did little to relieve the fear she felt.

"TELL ME!" Peter shouted.

Jody raised her gun. "Drop your gun, Detective Caine!" she said firmly, pulling the hammer back. "Now!" Peter turned his head toward her. She couldn't tell what got his attention, her tone, or the sound of her gun, but she felt grateful.

He stared at her for what felt like ages. Jody saw the anger in his eyes melt into fear, then realization. Peter stepped back and holstered his gun. He stumbled into the opposite corner, his form trembling.

The back-up arrived and entered the room. "Take him in and read him his rights," Jody ordered one of the officers.

She turned to Chin who stood by the door, staring at Peter. She wanted him to leave for Peter's sake. He didn't need people staring at him. "You shouldn't have come in here, Roger," she said to Chin. "Now you've definitely blown your cover."

Chin shrugged. "That's okay. I was getting tired of this assignment. Is he okay?"

Jody glanced back at Peter, who shifted nervously while watching the officers take Carmichael away. "He'll be fine," she said. "You better call in the report."

"Okay," Chin said.

After Chin and the officers had left, Jody slowly walked up to Peter. "You okay, partner?"

"I'm fine!" he snapped. "I had it under control."

"No, you didn't have it `under control'!" she snapped back. "You were using excessive force, Peter. You could have killed him."

"I was trying to get him to talk!"

"By shoving a live gun in his face? What has gotten into you? You know that a confession under duress is inadmissible in court!"

"Scum like him get off on every technicality in the book! I'm sick of it."

"That doesn't mean you should take the law into your own hands!"

Peter punched the wall. "Damn it, Jody! What's the point? We haul our butts, and they get off. Small... Children are being killed and what happens? We have to risk our lives to bring the killers in. For what? So that they can go back out and kill some more?"

Jody's heart raced and she forced a calm tone on the surface. "Take it easy, Peter."

Peter didn't seem to hear. His breathing grew labored, and he looked as if he were going to cry. "What do we gain from our lives, Jody? What sense of accomplishment do we have? What are we fighting for?"

"Peace, Peter," she said sadly. "What everyone fights for."

He shook his head. "No. Not everyone. No one cares anymore." He walked past her and out of the room.

She watched him leave. "What are you frightened of, Peter? What has scared you so much?"

Kermit sat alone in his office with the door closed. He stared at his computer screen, waiting for a response from a contact he had called earlier that evening. He pulled off his shades and rubbed his eyes. Without glancing at his watch, he knew his shift had been long over, but he stayed anyway, eager to find out the information he needed. He sighed and thought about the conversation he had with Peter.

"But he's not home, Kermit!" Peter said bitterly. "It's been close to a year now. Where is he?"

"I don't know."

"Don't you ever wonder, Kermit? Aren't you concerned?"

"More often than you think."

Kermit leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. "I am concerned, Peter. But I'm not like you. I can't be attached to everyone. It hurts too much."

He stared at the screen, wishing for some news. The display 'Kermit to Kermit' was unmoving. He didn't know if this contact would use the old-fashioned method - like the telephone - or the modern method - as in the computer. Either way this person was putting his life and perhaps others on the line. For what? Peace of mind?

Kermit rose and walked over to Peter. "Look. Paul's probably playing cold war tango in Eastern Europe. You know how he operates."

"No, I don't, Kermit!" Peter snapped. "All I ever knew were the rumors, the stories told to me by other cops who had nothing better to do but gossip. Do you know what it was like to listen to your coworkers tell stories about someone you lived with for most of your life, someone you thought you knew?"

Kermit closed his eyes. "That's what happens, kid. You have to cut the ties if you want to survive. He doesn't need you chasing after him like you do your father. Drop it, Peter!"

He picked up his glasses and threw them across the room. "Damn it!" he spat. "What the hell was I trying to prove?"

He sighed. He knew the answer. "I can't talk about how much it hurts," he said regretfully. "I can't talk about what leaving family behind does to a person. It's too hard. But when you give yourself to a cause, you can't worry about those you love. No matter how difficult it is to forget them."

"Was it something I said?" Kermit asked, flustered.

Peter pulled the door open, there was a trace of regret in his eyes. "No. It's me."

Kermit shook his head. "You've got to let go, kid. It won't hurt as much."

A knock on the door startled him and he leaned back in his chair, turning the computer screen away from public view. He opened the desk drawer and put on his spare set of shades.

"Come in," he called.

Skalany opened the door and smiled at him. "Working late, Kermit?" she asked, peering in from the noisy squad room.

"Just catching up on a few things," he replied evasively.

She walked inside and leaned over him. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, but the Titanic was recovered a few years ago."

Kermit flashed his trademark grin. "Anything I can do for you, Detective?"

She shrugged and pulled up a chair. "Oh, you know me. Resident gossip monger. Don't tell the captain, but it seems Peter lost it at the Shot Glass tonight."

Kermit sat up. "What happened?"

Her smile faded. "According to Jody, he nearly took Carmichael's head off," she said gravely.

"He's lost his cool before."

Skalany nodded. "Yeah, well, this time he pointed a cocked gun in the guy's face. Kermit, I don't know what's going on, but I think it has something to do with this case."

Kermit rubbed his neck. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Do you think it's something else? Something with his father?"

Kermit shrugged. "You're the resident gossip. Find out."

Skalany's eyes fell. "Yeah, well, Peter and I haven't talked since he snapped at me a few days ago when his father disappeared. It's partly my fault, I guess. I didn't give him a chance to."

"Perhaps we should all give him a chance to deal with whatever is bugging him. You and Jody should give the guy a break, he's got a lot on his mind."

She glanced up at him. "Like what?"

"That's Peter's business. You know him, he'll talk when he's ready."

"Or he'll explode."

"That's a chance we got to take with him, sweet lips."

Skalany frowned.

His phone rang. He didn't move. "Close the door behind you when you leave," he said with a grin.

Her eyes narrowed and she rose. "I get the hint." She walked out of the room and shut the door.

Kermit leaped for the phone. "Griffin."

"You're a hard man to find, Kermit," the voice said. "How on earth do you spell your last name? I had to spell it ten different ways to locate you."

"Ten?" Kermit joked. "That's a record." He smiled at the confusion he enjoyed creating. Not only was the nameplate on his desk spelled differently than the name on his door, but he also spelled it drastically different on his car registration, credit cards and vital statistics. No one could track him. That was what he wanted.

"I like to keep them guessing," he added to his caller. "Speaking of risks. You're taking a big one calling me. Wouldn't the internet be safer?"

"I thought the personal approach would be more effective," the voice replied. "I've got the information for you. Is your end secure?"

"Give me ten seconds."

"What is wrong with you?" Peter asked himself in frustration. "What the hell were you doing tonight? Carmichael is in custody. Doesn't that mean anything? Doesn't your job mean anything anymore?"

He sat on the couch in his apartment in darkness, save for the moonlight that shone in through the windows. He held his left hand in his right, massaging it, hoping for the pain to ease. Cursing himself for punching the wall at the Shot Glass bar, he placed his hand in the bowl of ice on the coffee table. "Ow! Damn!" He pulled it out and moved his fingers. It hurt, but he believed that if he could move it, then nothing was broken.

He got up, went to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and took out a bottle of beer. Hesitating, he stared at it, unsure if that's what he wanted. He found it hard to relax and he needed something to calm him. He considered meditation but feared the return of the images he had seen earlier that day.

He put the beer back in the refrigerator and opened one of the cabinets. He picked up a bottle of vodka and opened it with difficulty, trying to ignore the sharp pain in his hand. He sniffed liquor to see if that was the relaxation he craved. He shook his head.

"Easy way out," he said, putting the bottle away. "I told myself I'd tackle this on my own and I'm going to keep my word. I've got to show my father that I can manage without him."

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He turned and jumped.

Caine stood by the staircase, watching him.

"How long have you been there?" Peter asked harshly.

"Long enough to see you make the right choice, my son," Caine said calmly.

Peter leaned against the counter. "I see old habits die hard."

"I was concerned. I wanted to know if you were all right. I thought you might be sleeping. I did not want to wake you."

"It's only eight o'clock."

"And you are very tense."

Peter glanced away. "It's been a tough day."

Caine nodded. "I understand." Caine paused, then said. "Is it all right for me to help you now?"

"What?" Peter asked, looking back at his father in confusion.

"You have hurt your hand. May I look at it?"

Peter glanced down at his hand then back at Caine. "How do you know these things?"

Caine shrugged. "You are cradling it against you. There is a bowl of ice on the coffee table. And, most obviously, it is... swollen."

Peter smiled despite himself. "I can't keep anything from you, can I?"

Caine raised an eyebrow. "You would be surprised. May I examine it?"

Peter nodded, reluctantly. "I'd rather have you look at it than a doctor. They make me nervous."

"Yes." Caine walked up to Peter, took the injured hand between his and closed his eyes.

At first Caine's grasp hurt, but Peter soon felt a soothing warmth envelop his hand. "That feels great," he said in amazement.

"It is not broken. Come." Caine led Peter out of the kitchen and down to the living room. They sat down on the couch and Caine massaged Peter's hand.

"Ow!"

"Relax, Peter," Caine soothed. "It cannot heal if you are so tense."

Peter leaned back and closed his eyes. "Yeah, okay."

"How did you hurt yourself?"

"I got angry. Punched a wall."

"Do you still insist on keeping this anger within?"

Peter sat up and gaped at his father. "I'm dealing with it."

"Ah. You have a very interesting method of... dealing with it."

Peter yanked his hand but could not free it from Caine's grasp. He yelped in pain. "Damn it!"

Caine tightened his grip.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. "Argh! That hurts!"

"Why do you insist on pushing everyone away?" Caine asked firmly, not releasing his hold.

Peter fell to his knees. "Let go!"

"Has the fear of loss scared you so much that you should hurt your friends, your family?"

"Pop, please!"

"You should know not to take out the anger you have toward me on others."

"It's not you!" Peter said between his teeth. "Aigh! You're going to make it worse!"

"I will not. If you wish to deal with the pain, you must face it. If you wish to handle it yourself, then do so, but do not harm others with your actions. I see you still have much to learn, my son."

"I learned to be this way from one of the biggest hypocrites." Peter forced out, angrily.

"And that is me. Am I correct?"

"Ow! Why is it you can shut me out, but I have no right to shut you out?"

"Because you wear your heart on your sleeve, Peter. Everyone knows when something is bothering you." Caine released his hold, and Peter slumped against the couch. He tried to pull his hand away once more, but Caine still held a firm grip.

"Is that how you heal, these days?" Peter snapped. "Or did you get tired of slapping me?"

"Sometimes the direct approach is the most effective," Caine said sternly. "Do not worry. I did not make it worse."

"Nor did you make it better." Peter pushed himself onto the couch. "Look. The problem is mine, okay?"

"Then stop making it everyone else's problem."

"I'm not!"

Caine sighed. "And yet, your friends worry about you. Your foster mother is very concerned."

A guilty pang thudded in Peter's chest. It only fueled his anger. "I know. I'll call her."

"When?"

"Tomorrow," Peter said impatiently. "Okay? I didn't mean to hurt her."

"You did not."

Peter took in a deep breath and tried to relax. "I know I shouldn't have taken it out on her, but I couldn't help it," he said regretfully. "I shouted at her. I never yelled at her that way, or Paul. Nor you, except... " He stopped.

"Except when the Brujo possessed you."

Peter's gaze fell. "Yes."

"He had stirred up those feelings you had buried for so long."

"I guess." Peter didn't like the direction of the conversation. "I-I've got to get to bed... "

"But it is still early." Caine placed his hand on Peter's shoulder. "You are feeling abandoned?"

Peter pushed Caine's hand away and glared at him. "I don't want to be interrogated tonight, okay? I'm not in the mood."

"Did something happen to you at the bell tower?"

"Enough, Father!"

"No! What happened between you and Damon, Peter?" Caine pleaded. "Tell me."

"Nothing happened."

"Then why does Damon's name send a chill through your veins?"

As if on cue, Peter shivered. He hugged his left arm against him and stared at the floor. "He spared my life. He could have killed me that night."

"You are his nephew."

Peter shot Caine an angry look. "And you're his brother, and he wanted to kill you. So, what's the point?"

"Yes, Peter," Caine demanded. "What is the point? What frightens you so much?"

Peter met Caine's eyes and stared for a long time. Then he said solemnly, "I'm not frightened. At least... I don't know. Something happened the night before you disappeared. I looked for you that night, but I couldn't find you. Then when I found your place deserted the next day, I felt lost. At first, I hated you for not saying good-bye. So, what do I do? I chase after you, like I always do."

Caine canted his head and said nothing.

Peter continued, "I felt so relieved to find you, thrilled about Martin and curious about Damon. But there is the other side. The lesson I realized I needed to learn."

"What lesson?"

"To let you go." Peter glanced at the floor. "And that's what I need to deal with, Pop. That and a few other things. I need to deal with them alone. It's the only way."

"Is Damon a part of what you must deal with?"

Peter sighed. "I don't know. I... . When he held the sword to my throat, I looked into his eyes and saw... I saw."

"Yourself?"

Peter felt like he had been struck in the chest. He looked up at Caine and nodded. "Yes."

"You saw what you might have become if the Blaisdells had not taken you in."

"Or what I am now."

"No. That is not what you are now. You will never become like Damon. He had been raised by evil. He knows this and will come to understand it." Caine took in a breath. "I also saw a piece of myself in Damon. I shared his anger at my father. The same anger you have felt toward me. You and I have both come to terms with that anger. We have accepted it. You must not let what you saw frighten you."

"But it does," Peter said in agitation. "Damon's been haunting my dreams. He kept asking for my help, but I couldn't help him. He kept trying to pull me into his dark side. I wanted to help him, but I couldn't. He laughed at me.

"I feel some connection with him. I want so badly to... to heal him, but I can't. I don't know how."

"And this frustration has intruded in your daily life?"

Peter rubbed his eyes. "Seeing Damon, knowing how much he hurt from the loss of his mother and father, made me thankful for what Paul had done for me." He sighed. "Then I thought about Paul. All those nights Annie, Carolyn and Kelly cried over him. No cards, letters, phone calls. It only made me feel worse. I... I felt like Damon. That's why I can't help him. I still share that anger, but it's not only at you for leaving, but at Paul, too. I'm feeling myself being pulled into that dark void and I can't stop it."

Caine placed his hand against Peter's chest. "This struggle is within yourself. There is no battle with Damon."

"I know that... I guess... At least, I think I do." He sighed. "There's so much going on in my head."

Caine tended to Peter's hand. "So much you cannot speak of?"

Peter nodded. "Not yet."

Caine sat back, letting his hand drop to his side. "I see."

"As much as I know I have to push you away, I can't. But I have to."

Caine shrugged. "You do not need to."

"But what if you go away and never come back? How do I deal with that?"

"I will help you to understand it, Peter. What I did was wrong."

"If it's so wrong, why is Paul doing it too?" Peter didn't wait for an answer. He closed his eyes. "I don't think I ever will understand."

"You will."

Before Peter could protest, he felt the warm feeling in his hand once more. It slowly spread up his arm and flowed through his entire body, bathing him in comfort.

A short time later, Caine went home to gather a few things for Peter's hand. No candles needed to be lit for Caine while he worked in his apartment. He didn't require them for he wasn't staying long, and the moonlight was sufficient for his needs. He took a jar off his shelf, opened it, sniffed its contents and poured a little into a bowl. Then he set it aside and reached for another jar.

His son's behavior bothered him. It hurt him to see Peter so withdrawn. He sensed a feeling of helplessness within Peter but didn't believe that Damon was the source. He knew something else upset his son, something Peter didn't share with him, but he didn't know what.

He sensed Skalany's approach before he heard her footsteps in the hallway. He took a deep breath and turned to greet her with a genuine smile as she entered the herbarium.

She stopped and laughed. "I can never surprise you, Can I? Even in the dark."

Caine shrugged, then bowed. "I apologize for... standing you up... the other night."

Skalany waved it off. "That's okay. I understand. Saving the world usually takes priority."

"Ah." He nodded.

"So," she said, looking around. "Why are you standing in the dark?"

"I cannot stay long." He indicated the bowl. "I must take these herbs to Peter."

Skalany's smile faded. "Is he alright?" she asked in concern.

"He hurt his hand. I am preparing a... poultice... to reduce the swelling."

"Oh." She nodded. "Is it broken?"

Caine turned back to the shelf and collected some more herbs, which he placed in the bowl. "No, but he will not be able to use it for a few days."

"Good luck trying to convince him not to use it. That's like convincing a bull to stop charging."

He detected some bitterness in her voice. "You are angry with him?"

"No. It's... He's been really snippy the past few days. I guess it has rubbed off on me. I don't know." She sighed. "Something is bothering him, and I think it might be this case he's working on. Have you talked to him?"

Caine nodded. "I am aware of his behavior, but... " He turned to her. "What is his case?"

Skalany stepped closer to Caine. "A few nights ago, a six-year-old boy was found shot to death in an alley on the east side of Chinatown. Peter discovered the body. When I saw him at the precinct the next morning, he seemed fine. I didn't find out about the boy until after he went to look for you. I feel, well... "

"Responsible?"

She nodded. "Yes. For getting him so worked up about you. I... " She took a deep breath. "Well, I was a little upset when you stood me up, and I let him know. Had I known... "

Caine caressed her cheek. "Peter is fortunate to have friends who worry about him. You are not the cause for his mood. But you have given me some insight."

"What do you mean?"

"The boy." Caine quickly threw the herbs, the bowl and pestle into his pouch. "I must return to Peter." He kissed her on the cheek and walked out of the room.

Kermit sat alone in a corner booth at Chandlers, nursing a whiskey. He didn't know why he hated himself at that moment, but he did.

Despite the image he projected of the cavalier merc who followed his own rules, deep down Kermit followed a strong code of ethics. He knew that he had broken each and every one that night.

Rule number one, he thought. Cover your ass. I broke that rule by calling my contact and getting information for a friend. Was it vital? No. Was it life or death? No. All I know is that my actions may reveal something that needed to be kept quiet, no matter who wanted the information and for what reasons. I made myself and others involved, too vulnerable to the enemy, whoever they may be.

He gulped down his drink, welcoming the burning sensation in his throat. Rule number two: Never get emotionally entangled in other people's affairs. I broke that when I joined the precinct a year ago. Why do I feel such a kinship with these people? I could get people killed. I can't do that!

Rule number three: Look out for number one. How could I put one man's life in danger for someone else? This has nothing to do with me. I shouldn't have gotten involved. I shouldn't have bothered, but I did. I told Peter to let go. Why can't I?

He sighed. Now that I've got this information, should I tell him? Should I continue to put lives at risk just so a family can have peace of mind? I never called my family when I went on a mission. Marilyn threatened to feed me to the dogs each time I came home. My marriage fell apart because I couldn't stick around. That's what happens.

"Another whiskey, Kermit?" a cocktail waitress asked.

He looked up at her. "Please."

She took his glass and walked away.

He stared at his hands. Paul is doing what he needs to do. But Peter's right. Paul is not me. He clings tightly to his family. He's always there for them. That's why we made a good team. He was the heart, and I was the head. He dealt with the emotional side of things. But Paul knew when to ignore his conscience when the faint of heart couldn't. Paul had the perfect balance. I just did what had to be done.

He closed his eyes. Now I'm willing to let my heart get him in danger. I've let myself get attached to these people. Have I been fighting the crazies for so long, that the mere fact that I am with normal people has made me soft?

A noise snapped his attention. He opened his eyes and saw a full glass of whiskey on the table in front of him. He glanced up at the waitress, flashed his classic grin and threw a couple of bills onto her tray. She smiled and walked off.

His smile faded and he downed the drink. So, what do you do now, genius?

Peter opened his eyes, gazed at the bedroom window on his right. He felt at ease, calmer than he had been in days. He figured by the ray of sunlight that shone through the blinds that he had managed to sleep through the night without incident. However, he couldn't remember getting into bed. He glanced down and noticed he still wore the same jeans and shirt he had on the night before.

He felt a movement at his left side. Peter turned to see his father sitting on the bed, wrapping an ace bandage around his hand.

He raised his head. "Pop?" Peter's voice cracked. He cleared his throat as he watched Caine in wonder.

Caine glanced up at him and smiled. "I hope you do not mind. I borrowed this from your... medicine cabinet."

"My hand feels numb," Peter said nervously.

"Do not worry," Caine said calmly. "It is the poultice. It will cool your hand while reducing the swelling."

"Oh." Relieved, Peter lowered his head back on the pillow. "What time is it?"

"Eight o'clock in the morning. You slept well?"

"Dreamless. I nodded off on the couch last night, didn't I?"

"Yes." Caine finished wrapping his hand and clipped the end of the bandage into place.

"You were responsible for that. Weren't you?" Peter asked, mildly. "You made me fall asleep and carried me in here. Right?"

Caine shrugged. "You looked like you... needed it."

Peter smiled. "Yeah, I guess I did." He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then sighed. "You only put it off temporarily," he said, feeling his insecurity return.

"Put what off?" Caine asked curiously.

"The dreams. They'll return, you know. You can't put me under a spell every night, Pop."

"I have no intention of doing that. Whatever your fear, it must be faced, Peter."

"I know." Peter carefully pushed himself up to a sitting position. "But not now. I've got to get to work. Captain Simms will... "

"She will understand if you miss a day."

Peter stared at Caine in puzzlement. "Why?"

"Your hand."

Peter shook his head. "I can't stay home because I punched a wall, Pop. I'll be the laughingstock of the precinct. I've got another hand. There's paperwork to be done. Besides, one look at this bandage, and the captain will chain me to my desk. I don't think I'll be doing any crime fighting today."

Caine canted his head. "Can you not... take the day off?"

"Can't. I need to get some work done, Pop. If I don't go in, there will be twice as much tomorrow."

"But there are other policemen who can do the work. You are not the only one, Peter."

Peter's mouth dropped open in shock. "What's with you? I've sworn to do my duty. To help people. If I don't do my part, what does that make me?"

"You do more than your part. You feel you are responsible for every case that is assigned to you. When you fail, it hurts deeply."

Anger seethed. "Don't start on me! I don't want you to psychoanalyze me! Understand? You have no right to judge me!"

"No," Caine said sadly. "I do not. But I am worried about you."

"Then stop! Cut me off! You've done it before. Do it now!" Peter jumped off the bed and went to the bathroom. He slammed the door, shutting out the conversation. He leaned against the door, his heart racing. He knew his father was right, but he couldn't face it. Not yet.

He listened but couldn't hear any noises from the other room. He wrestled with the guilt that rose within him. "You have to put an end to this madness, Peter," he whispered, "before you destroy everything you care about."

After a few minutes, he opened the door. "Pop?" He saw an empty room. Peter searched the rest of the apartment, but Caine had gone. He ran his good hand through his hair, and said, sadly, "Pop, I'm so sorry."

"I know the cause of his pain," Caine said angrily, pacing the Ancient's small room, "But I pushed too hard. I sensed his frustration. I felt it myself, but I only succeeded in making his worse."

"You must give your son time to understand what is disturbing him," Lo Si said from his seat at his worktable. "If you continue to pressure him, he will only withdraw deeper inside himself."

"But he is already withdrawn. I fear he will be so consumed by his pain that he will not see how it is destroying him."

"What do you know of this child?"

Caine crossed his arms. "I have asked the area merchants and they told me that the boy had been killed by a drug dealer."

"For what reason."

"Revenge."

"Ayaah," Lo Si said, shaking his head in disgust. "To kill a child is a disgrace. This man has no soul."

"This act of brutality has affected Peter. But he does not realize the depth of his pain. He wishes to face it alone, but he fears it."

"Have you asked him about the boy?"

"No. He is too angry. If I do, he will shut me out further."

"It is a path he must take on his own, Kwai Chang Caine. He wishes to prove to you that he can do this without your help."

Caine stopped and stared sadly at the Ancient. "And if he loses this battle of wits, what then?"

Lo Si rose and walked over to Caine. He placed his hand on Caine's shoulder and said, "My friend, Peter is no longer a child. He must search for the truth on his own. Much like you did when you were his age, and as you do now. He will come to you when he needs help, just as he has done in the past. Trust me, Kwai Chang Caine. Your son will talk to you when he is ready, but you must let him conquer his fears on his own."

Caine sighed. "I know you are right, that I must give him his space to seek out the cause of his pain. But I cannot help this frustration."

"It is a feeling you both share." Lo Si grinned. "Peter is very much like his father. Both of you shut out the other. And, when this happens, each one complains. You are both very stubborn. When one of you leaves to perform a task, the other catches up to help. If you were not father and son, I would have thought you were twins." He laughed.

Caine smiled. "Yes. We have been told of our... similarities before." His smile faded. "And I know how badly he wants to heal himself. However, I feel... He cries out."

Lo Si glanced away and thought for a moment. Then he met Caine's gaze and said, "I know that I cannot stop you, Kwai Chang Caine. Just as I could never prevent Peter from helping you. However, I must warn you. If you wish to continue to draw out the truth from your son, you must approach with caution. Do not push so hard. Allow him to tell you what is bothering him at his own pace. He loves you, Kwai Chang Caine. Do not destroy the bond you two share. It is very fragile at this time."

Caine bowed. "Thank you, old friend."

Lo Si returned it with a grin. "Anytime. My bill will be in the mail."

Caine laughed.

Peter walked into the precinct and took in the chaos in front of him. Nothing unusual, just the same racket that went on daily. He spotted Jody at her desk and sat down in the chair next to it.

"Hi," he said softly, waiting for her to look up.

Jody glanced up at him and said, "What?"

Peter raised his voice over the din. "I said, 'Hi'."

"Oh," she smiled and leaned back in her chair. "Hi."

Peter's gaze fell on his injured hand. "Look, about last night... I'm sorry I snapped at you. I have a lot on my mind. I said some awful things and I'm really sorry."

She eyed him for a moment, then said, "I understand. I just hope you know where I was coming from."

Peter glanced up and nodded. "I do. From the heart. There's just... A lot of things are going on in my head that I need to work out."

Jody placed her hand on his arm. "I know. Just remember that you do have partners here to back you up if you need to talk about it."

He nodded. "Thanks."

Jody pointed to his left hand. "How did that happen?"

"Last night. Remember the wall?"

Her eyes widened. "Oh. I wondered... "

"Yeah, well. It serves me right, I guess." He got up and walked to his desk.

Peter sat down and sifted through the mound of files on top of it. His left hand began to throb, and he ignored it. Grabbing a pencil, he started writing in one of the files. The pain was too much, so he switched hands, but that turned out to be more of a struggle.

After a few minutes he heard, "Hey, Pete!" Peter glanced up at Strenlich, who stood by the muster desk. "The DA wants the Carmichael file. What's the status?"

Peter froze. Stunned by his own reaction, he swallowed, taking a few moments to find the words. "I - uh - it'll be on your desk within the hour, Chief," he said, forcing a smile.

"Good." Frank turned and walked out of the squad room.

Peter released a shaky breath. He chewed on his pencil eraser nervously. He had hoped to put off that case for a while, but Strenlich wouldn't have accepted any excuse. Not even one about an injured hand.

It wasn't his injury that made Peter procrastinate. There was another reason.

Peter sighed again and reached for the file. He scribbled what he could on a sheet of paper, hoping that his handicap and time restraints would excuse him from writing a more detailed report. He wrote what he felt was necessary, leaving out parts he hoped were unimportant.

Once he finished, he waited for Frank to leave his office. He snuck in and placed the file in the chief's in-box, shoving it under other files piled there. Then he turned and left the office, reaching his desk before Strenlich could return.

The day dragged. Peter rubbed his hand and stared at the clock, wishing for the mound of files to disappear.

He jumped as a folder dropped on his desk from above him. He glanced up at Strenlich, who barked, "I can't read this! What the hell does this say?"

"Look, Chief, I... "

"I don't care if it takes you all day to write up this report! I need it done before you leave. Got that?"

Startled, Peter said, "Yes, sir."

Strenlich marched off. Peter stared at the pile and at the Carmichael file Strenlich needed. He felt buried. Somehow nothing seemed to matter anymore. He felt his workload catching up with him. Crime never ended. Innocent people kept dying, no matter how many criminals he put away. He wondered what he was fighting for anymore.

"Hey, partner," Skalany said.

He gazed at her as she approached her desk from the front of the precinct. "Don't let Frank bother you, today," she said. "He got some heat from above last night and he needs to blow off steam."

Peter glanced down at his hand. "I know the feeling." He looked up and watched her take her coat off and get settled at her desk. "You're in early today. I thought your shift didn't start until eight tonight?"

"Yeah," she replied, pulling her chair by his desk, and sitting down. "But I've got to finish up the Walden deposition for court tomorrow."

"Oh." He took a deep breath and met her gaze. "Look," he said awkwardly. "I know this is late in coming, but... I'm sorry I snapped at you a few days ago."

She smiled. "Nah. Forget it. I did."

He forced a smile. "Thanks."

"How's the hand?"

"How did you know?" He shook his head. "Never mind. My father told you, right?"

She shrugged.

Peter flexed his fingers and winced. "It hurts."

"Why don't you go home? You don't seem to be getting too much done this way."

"I know." Peter tossed his pencil across the desk. "I tried to use the computer, but I'm no better at typing with one hand."

"More like one finger," she joked.

Peter didn't laugh. He glanced at his watch, and saw it was nearly two o'clock.

Skalany noticed. "Have you had lunch, partner?"

"Not hungry."

Her tone changed to concern. "You want to go grab a bite? I haven't had breakfast yet."

He was about to respond when he heard Captain Simms' stern voice behind him. "Caine. My office. Right now."

Peter immediately got up and entered the office. Simms closed the door and circled to her desk. "I've been talking to Strenlich," she said pragmatically. "He's told me about your... injury. I think you should go home, Peter."

Stunned, Peter said, "Why?"

"You obviously can't do anything with your right hand. Your files are illegible. That's not good enough, and I think you know that."

"You assigned me those cases," he insisted. "I'll get them done."

"I'm reassigning them to Chin. He's being taken off undercover work after the arrest last night at the Shot Glass Bar. He's got a light caseload right now. As for the Carmichael case, Powell will take over full control."

Peter clenched his fists, wincing at the pain it caused in his left hand. It only fueled his anger. "You can't do that!" he spat. "The Carmichael case is mine!"

"You damn well know I can!" she snapped back. "It's as much Powell's case as it was yours. And I shouldn't have to explain myself to you."

"I busted my ass on that case! I'm not going to let you take it from me now."

"You're out of line!"

"I work my butt off for you! What do I get in return?"

Simms' mouth dropped open. "You get what everyone else gets, Detective!" she snapped. "I don't play favorites around here! You follow my orders, or I'll have you suspended! Do I make myself clear?"

Peter fumed. He ran his hand through his hair and said nothing.

Simms took a deep breath and said in a calmer tone, "What are you complaining about? Carmichael's in custody. You collared him. That will be evident in Powell's report. So, what are you so worked up about?"

Peter stared at her, speechless. He had no idea why he was so upset, but it scared him. He had hoped that wrapping up this case would end all the suffering, but it didn't. The pain still lingered. The anger remained.

"I don't know," he said softly.

Simms gazed at him, perplexed. "Are you all right, Detective?"

Peter glanced away, unable to answer. Confusing thoughts entered his mind and he tried hard to sort them out. Finally, he said unconvincingly, "I'll be fine." He spun on his heel and walked out the office. Grabbing his coat, Peter walked out of the precinct without a word to anyone.

He had drawn the blinds in the Livingroom and shut off the lights. Peter set out the candlestick holders in a circle around the center of the room and inserted the candles. He sat down in the middle and lit an incense stick, which he used to ignite each candle, then he blew it out and placed it in a holder. He closed his eyes and prepared for meditation.

He had come to the point where enough was enough. Although his last meditation frightened him, he needed to face his pain before it consumed him altogether. His behavior to his friends, his colleagues, and his father, scared him. All he knew was what his father had told him about meditation. Look within.

"I don't know if I can," Peter replied sadly. "But I'll give it another shot."

Peter took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Kermit walked into the squad room and searched the familiar faces for Peter. When he didn't find him, Kermit sighed and headed for his office.

Blake followed him in. "I've got some information on that pedophile case Skalany's working on. Really sick guy. You should hear the tapes."

Kermit deposited his gun into the file cabinet. "Blake, I've got better things to do with my free time." He walked back to his desk. "Has Peter been in?"

"Yes," Blake said with a sneaky smile. "And Captain Simms sent him home in a huff."

Kermit stopped what he was doing and fixed his gaze on Blake. "In a huff?"

"They had a shouting match in her office, and he walked out."

Kermit shrugged and pulled out a box of diskettes from his briefcase. "So what else is new? He's battled her before."

"I guess so, but he's still acting strangely."

"So, I've heard." Anxiety welled up inside Kermit and he pushed it away. "He'll be all right."

"I don't know. I think Jody's right about losing him for good."

Kermit sunk into his chair and said thoughtfully. "Only if we let him, Blake. Only if we let him."

A spotlight shone on Peter, the only light in the room. He had no idea where he was. He wanted to investigate, but he felt compelled to stay where he stood.

"Welcome to my world, Nephew," Peter heard Damon's voice in the darkness.

"Damon?" Peter called, trying to see into the darkness. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to see your potential, Peter," Damon replied. "I want you to know that the path you have chosen is wrong."

"You sound like my father."

"Don't ever say that!" Damon shouted vehemently. "I am not like your father!"

"No," Peter shouted back. "You're wrong. I can help you."

Damon laughed. "And what makes you an authority? You have failed so much at being good, Peter Caine. What makes you think you know better? What makes you think you can help me?"

"What are you talking about?" Peter asked in confusion.

"This," Damon said.

Peter heard a new voice in the distance. "Witness if you will one Peter Caine, would-be hero. What he doesn't know is that he is about to enter his own worst nightmare. Right here in The Twilight Zone."

The voice sounded all too familiar. "Max?!"

A set of lights came on ten feet in front of him. Standing under them were people from Peter's past. His heart skipped at he recognized their faces. Maxwell Foster, the kidnapper he had tried to save two years ago after the hijacking a school bus. Kira Blakemore, Jody Powell's sister, killed by a Shadow Assassin, the mark evident on her forehead. His friend from the temple, killed in the destruction when Peter had tried to save him from the fire. And many others, facing him, glaring at him.

Damon walked in front of the group. He grinned, spreading his arms wide. "Look familiar, Nephew?"

"Yes," Peter said, breathlessly.

"These are your failures, Peter Caine. The people you tried to help, but couldn't."

Peter swallowed, his heart pounding.

Kira spoke. "I called out to you, Peter! Where were you? How could you let him kill me?"

"I'm sorry. I tried, Kira. I swear."

Damon said, "This is what your good intentions did, PC. Is this right?"

Peter couldn't answer.

"Let us welcome your newest addition." Damon motioned to Peter's left. Someone carried a small boy in his arms. The body hung limp. His eyes were open and there was blood all over his clothes.

A tear streamed down Peter's face. "No. Please."

The man laid the boy on the floor in front of Peter and walked away. Damon stood over the body and stared at it before he spoke. "You saw Carmichael shoot this boy. You were too late to save him. Richie had run to you for help, and you had ignored him."

"That's not true!" Peter shouted.

"Yes it is, Nephew. Look at him. You could have saved him. How dare you ignore a child of the streets? You always put yourself in their shoes. What happened this time? Why did you turn your back?"

"I didn't! I couldn't help him!" Peter sobbed. "I tried! I swear!"

Damon shook his head. "See what good intentions get you? Why do you even bother?"

"Because I don't want to be like you!" Peter shouted in rage.

Damon stepped up to Peter and grabbed him by the throat. "Look where you are, Nephew. You're so close. Why stop now?"

Breathing grew difficult. Peter struggled to break free. "I don't want to be like you," he forced out.

Damon released him and Peter fell to his knees, coughing.

"You are stubborn, Peter. A family trait perhaps?"

Peter didn't respond. He rubbed his neck, his form trembling in fear and rage, sadness and guilt.

"I've got a new candidate for you, Peter," he said with excitement. "I've been waiting a long time for him to join the ranks of your failures." Damon paced in front of him. "Let's see. Let's see." He clapped his hands together and bent down to Peter. "I've got it. I will give you a test. If you succeed, both you and this man will be free. If you fail, both of you will be mine."

Before Peter could protest his surroundings changed. He stood in a corridor, stone walls on either side. He spun around, unsure of what to do. He wanted so badly to escape this world. He knew he didn't belong there, but he feared he would fail and remain trapped forever.

"Damon!" he shouted. "Damn it! Where are you?"

Peter heard a sound behind him and he wheeled around. Standing several feet down the hall was Caine. He wore a saffron robe. He waved to Peter and walked around a corner.

Peter gaped in shock. "No." Peter called, following him. "Pop!"

"Come, Peter," Caine said.

Peter followed Caine around the corner. Caine entered a doorway. Peter followed. The door slammed in his face. "No!" Peter tried to open it, but he couldn't. Darkness descended on him.

"The Sing Wah wins, Peter. Your father is mine. And you will join my realm!" He laughed.

Peter shrieked, "NO!"

Nightfall had descended upon the city. Caine opened the door to his apartment and stepped inside the dark hallway. Since he hadn't been home all day, no lit candles illuminated his arrival.

Lo Si followed Caine inside and closed the door. They were about to go into the herbarium when Caine stopped and raised his hand to caution the Ancient. He heard Lo Si stop behind him, without saying a word.

Caine sensed a disturbance in the air, a sense of discord that interfered with the peaceful surroundings. Someone sat in the darkness, someone familiar.

Caine walked into the large room he used for meditation and training and stopped. Against the near wall, knees against his chest, head in his arms, sat Peter. Caine kneeled beside him and hesitated. He felt the despair within his son. He wanted to reach out and offer comfort, but Lo Si's advice that afternoon held him back. He gazed at Peter for a few moments before he spoke. "Peter?" he asked in concern.

Peter raised his head. Caine didn't need the light to see his son's condition. Peter seemed lost, distant, afraid. His eyes glistened, but Caine couldn't be sure if they were from tears. He did know that Peter had sunk deeper within himself.

He tried hard not to push his son further. "Why are you sitting in the dark?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't know," he said in almost a whisper, his voice distant, depressed. "My hand hurts. I thought you could do something for it. No big deal."

Caine took Peter's hand in his and carefully removed the bandage. "A poultice needs to breathe, Peter," he said as calmly as he could. "This one should have been changed hours ago."

"Whatever."

"I will prepare a fresh mixture." Caine rose.

Peter grabbed his arm. "No. Don't go," he said fearfully. "I... It can wait."

"I will make the medicine, Kwai Chang Caine," Lo Si said from behind Caine.

Peter jumped at the sound of the Ancient's voice, then settled down, still clutching Caine's sleeve.

Caine bowed his head to the Ancient. Lo Si bowed in return and left the room. Caine sat down next to his son and stared into Peter's hazel eyes. Peter held the gaze for a second, then glanced away. In that brief moment, Caine could see the pain that clung tightly to his son.

Peter released his grasp on Caine's arm and said solemnly, "I'm sorry. Perhaps you should go help the Ancient."

"If it is what you wish, Peter," Caine said. He didn't move but would do so if Peter really wanted him to.

"I don't know what I wish for anymore."

Caine didn't know what to say. He had so many questions to ask, but he held back, hoping for his son to make the first move.

Peter stared off and said nothing.

"May I light a candle?" Caine asked. "I would like to look at your hand."

"I don't care."

Caine rose and brought a candle in its holder closer to where Peter sat. He lit it and resumed his seat beside his son. He took Peter's hand in his and fanned out the fingers. Peter grunted but didn't complain or move his hand. Caine noticed the swelling had decreased, but not enough to consider it healed.

"Have you been using your hand?" Caine asked.

Peter shook his head. "Not really. Sometimes I'd forget, then I would switch hands."

"How was work today?"

"Fine."

Caine stifled a frustrated sigh and said, "We will wait for the Ancient to make the poultice." He scrutinized Peter and saw how pale and tired he looked. He sensed that Peter hadn't eaten. "Are you hungry?"

Peter shook his head.

"Perhaps some tea?"

Another shake.

Peter's silence unnerved Caine. Known for his constant chatter, Peter's stillness was out of character. Caine recalled how Peter's mother had always been full of activity.

"Don't look at me like that," Peter said.

"I am sorry," Caine replied. "I did not mean to stare. I just noticed the resemblance between you and your mother."

Peter's gaze fell. "I don't want to hear it."

Caine ignored the statement. "When she walked in the room, it was like a... ray of sunshine. She was so full of life, so full of energy. Nothing slowed her down.

"Many people wondered what a quiet Shaolin priest would see in such a ball of fire." He laughed. "There was so much strength within her... Such vitality. I see that same strength within you, my son. She would be most pleased."

Peter shook his head. "No, she wouldn't. I don't have it anymore."

Caine's smile faded. "That is not true. You cannot lose what is a part of your being."

Peter met Caine's gaze. "I have lost more than you think."

"Why do you say that?"

"Everything I cling to slips away. You, Paul... People put their trust in me, and I let them down. Then they go away."

"My son, you must have faith in yourself... "

Peter cut him off, his voice bitter. "I don't, Pop. All right? I don't know what's real anymore." He ran his hand through is hair. "I'm a failure. I've let people down. I don't deserve to be a cop. I don't deserve much of anything."

"Why do you say these things? What has happened, Peter?" Caine pleaded. "Tell me."

Peter stared off into the distance. "I meditated today," he said, dismally. "Damon was there again. He showed me my failures, paraded them in front of me. Told me that I should stop trying to be so good. He told me that I was walking the wrong path." He shrugged. "Maybe he's right."

Caine gaped at Peter in shock. "No. He is not."

"I failed, Pop. A young boy put his life in my hands, and I failed him. I let him down."

Progress. "How?"

Peter shook his head. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"It does, my son. Or you would not feel this way."

A tear streamed down Peter's face. "His name was Richie Carson. He was six years old. He was friends with some of the Chinese kids in the neighborhood near the community center. His father lives around there."

Peter took in a breath and squeezed his eyes shut. "I can't... It's not worth discussing. Forget it."

Caine's mind reeled from his son's behavior. He couldn't accept this shutdown now. "Please continue. I am very interested."

"I don't feel like it."

Caine heaved a sigh and took a stand. "Do you still want to heal yourself? Do you still wish to resolve your problems by yourself?"

Another tear touched Peter's cheek. "I don't think I can."

"You can," Caine insisted. "But you must face what hurts you so much."

Peter hugged his knees and buried his head in them. The sight tugged at Caine's heart. He placed his hand on his son's shoulder and squeezed it. Peter didn't respond.

They sat that way for several minutes. Lo Si popped his head in and Caine signaled to him that they needed to be alone. Lo Si nodded and left the room.

Finally, Peter raised his head and gazed at Caine. Tears stained his face and more kept coming. "I'm so lost, Pop."

"I am here with you, Peter," Caine soothed.

Peter's eyes widened. "If you see me get pulled into the darkness, don't come after me."

The statement stunned Caine. "I will never allow anyone to draw you from the light, my son."

"No," Peter insisted. "You can't get involved. Whatever happens you have to promise me that you won't come after me."

"Peter, what are you saying? What has brought this on?"

"In the dream this afternoon Damon gave me a test. You were his next... candidate for my list of failures. He had me follow you to this room. You went inside, but the door slammed in my face. I couldn't save you. I couldn't help you."

"It was a dream, Peter. It is the darkness within yourself that calls you. Not Damon."

"It was more than a dream, Pop. It was so real. All of it."

"Was the boy, Richie, in your dream? Was he one of your failures?"

"Yes," Peter replied solemnly, "because I let him down."

"Why?"

Peter bit his lip as tears continued to fall. "He came to me for help, and I turned my back. And now he's dead."

"His death was not your fault."

"You weren't there."

Caine rubbed Peter's shoulder. "Tell me what happened, my son."

The afternoon sun did little against the cold breeze that blew. Peter pulled his car up to the vacant spot in front of the community center. He stepped out and closed the door, scanning his surroundings for his current snitch. Donny had not been back since his wedding and Peter missed him - actually, Peter missed his information. For the time being Peter had to rely on Bernie, who was less than reliable.

He felt a tug on his leg. Peter glanced down into the large eyes of a small boy. He crouched down to the kid's eye level and said with a smile, "Hey, there. What can I do for you?"

The boy replied, "My mommy say I should never talk to strangers. She says to get a policeman when a strange man scares me."

Peter's first thought was to ask, 'How do you know I'm a cop,' but the child's fear pushed it aside. "Your mommy is right. Who's scaring you?"

"He is." The boy pointed to a large man heading their way.

Peter rose and waited for the man to approach. The guy did look intimidating, from his walk to his long leather coat and massive cowboy boots.

"Richie," The man said, "you know you shouldn't talk to strangers."

"Who are you?" Peter asked.

The man narrowed his eyes at Peter. "I should be asking you that question." Then to Richie, "Let's go, Son."

Peter grabbed his arm. "He's your son?" he asked suspiciously.

The man yanked his arm out of Peter's grasp. "Nephew. Who the hell are you?"

Peter revealed his ID. "Peter Caine. Hundred and First Precinct. This boy says you're scaring him."

The man laughed. "That's what my whole family says. Quite a stigma. Don't you think?"

Peter wasn't amused. "Depends on who you are."

"I told you. I'm his uncle."

"Don't you have a name?"

The man sighed in disgust. "Steven Carmichael. C'mon, the kid is just playing a game. You know how they get?"

Peter glanced down at Richie, who clung to his leg. "Do you know this man?"

"Uncle Steven," the boy replied softly, tightening his grip.

Peter knelt down. "Why are you scared of him?"

Richie didn't respond. He stared at Carmichael without saying a word, his eyes wide in fear.

"Do you want me to take you to your mommy?" Peter asked him.

"I don't have a mommy anymore," Richie replied sadly.

"What about your daddy?" Peter asked.

Carmichael cut in, "That's where I was taking him. So, if you don't mind... "

Peter ignored him. "Richie, how did you know I'm a cop?"

"Your daddy is a priest. All the kids know your daddy. Everyone talks about you."

The statement warmed Peter. "I'm glad you came to me," he said to Richie. "Do you want me to take you home?"

"Now, wait a minute!" Carmichael snapped. "You butt out of this. You understand?"

"Or what?!" Peter countered.

"Richie!" Someone called from the opposite direction. Peter turned to see a man around his age running in their direction. From what Peter could tell, this man looked like a successful businessman in his gray suit and charcoal coat. He noticed the obvious lack of resemblance between the two men and figured that they were not brothers.

Richie released Peter's leg and ran to the man.

"Daddy!" Richie said with glee as the man scooped him up into his arms.

The man approached Peter and Carmichael. "What's going on?" he asked, sternly. Then to Peter, "Who are you? Oh wait. I know. The cop."

Peter feigned a smile. "Glad to know my reputation precedes me." He indicated Carmichael. "Do you know this man?"

"Yeah. What's it to you?"

"He was frightening your son."

The man's eyes widened.

"Come on!" Carmichael said. "This is nuts. I was just bringing him home. That's all."

"Sure," the man laughed nervously. "He does that all the time." Then to Richie, "He won't hurt you, Son. That's Uncle Steve, Daddy's friend. Okay?"

The boy nodded and buried his head in his father's shoulder.

The man smiled. "Sorry for the inconvenience, Detective. I hope we didn't cause you too much trouble."

Peter wasn't reassured. "Who usually picks your son up from school?"

"A bus, usually. But sometimes Richie likes to play at a friend's, so I go and get him."

Peter nodded. "Okay. Just take care, sir. The streets aren't the place for a young boy to be running around alone."

"I understand. Thank you."

Peter watched the man walk off, carrying Richie in his arms. Carmichael ran to catch up with them.

"Was this man really Richie's father?" Caine asked.

"Yes," Peter replied somberly.

"And the other man? Was he really an uncle?"

"No. He's what they call a pusher. He deals drugs and bleeds you dry. Carson, Richie's father, is an addict. He's also an accountant. In return for drugs, Carson kept track of Carmichael's deals. Something must have gone wrong, cause Carson wasn't getting his drugs from Carmichael anymore."

"And this angered Carmichael?"

"That's what we think."

"What happened next?" Caine asked.

"They walked away," Peter replied softly. "I shouldn't have let them go, but it's too late now. I didn't know anything about them until it was too late."

"You could not have known."

"The boy was scared, Pop. His father was uncomfortable. I should have done something. I should have run a check then, not after the murder." He waved his hand to push away the statement. "Forget it. It's not worth the effort. It's over. Everything is over. I don't want to talk about it anymore."

Peter's depression hurt Caine. "I would still like to hear it, my son."

Peter sighed and stared at the floor.

"When did you see the boy again?" Caine asked.

Peter licked his lips. "Later that night. Bernie never showed for our meeting, so I called him. He likes this bar called the Red Letter. He told me he'd be there at nine, so I went there to wait for him."

Peter pulled his car into the alley behind the Red-Letter Bar. He stepped out and closed the door, adjusting his leather jacket against the cold. He turned to walk toward the front entrance when a noise stopped him. He heard a rustling and a whimper. Normally, he'd assume the sound came from a homeless person, but this time he sensed something different.

One light shone in the alley as he made is way toward the far end. Instinct told him to keep his gun ready, so he rested his left hand on it without taking it out of the holster.

A shot rang out. Peter whipped out his gun and wheeled around, searching for the shooter.

A man ran out from behind a dumpster. Peter chased him. "Police!" he called. The man's build and clothing looked familiar. "Carmichael!" The man didn't stop. He kept running until he got to the street, then he turned a corner, glancing at Peter long enough for the detective to make a positive ID.

Peter followed, but when he reached the street, he saw no one there. "Damn!"

He ran back to the dumpster and searched the area around it. He heard a sound from inside. Peter raised the lid and looked down. He nearly dropped the top in shock.

Richie Carson lay in the pile of trash and food. He was bleeding from a large wound in his chest, his eyes wide open and his breathing labored. In an instant Peter leaped inside and took the boy in his arms. He tried vainly to do something to help Richie, but Peter knew it was too late.

It took a moment to realize the boy was crying, struggling to breathe between sobs. The sight brought tears to Peter's eyes as he fished for his cellular phone. "It's okay, Richie," Peter said as calmly as he could. "I'll help you. Don't cry. Concentrate on breathing, okay?"

Richie didn't reply. He stared at Peter, tears streaming down his face.

Shit! Don't die, Peter thought, as he caressed the boy's cheek with one hand and dialed 911 with the other.

After a couple of rings, someone answered. Peter started to speak, "Officer needs... ," he stopped. Richie lay still, not moving, his eyes wide open. "No." Peter leaned down and felt for a pulse. Nothing. "Richie, no. Don't die. Please." The little boy didn't respond.

"Hello?" a voice called on the phone. Peter snapped it shut and threw it out of the dumpster. He caressed the boy's face, as tears streamed down his own, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I sat there and cried." Peter put his head in his hands and sobbed. "He shouldn't have died."

Caine rubbed his son's shoulder. "It was not your fault, Peter. You did what you could."

"I could have prevented this. I should have done something when I had the chance."

Caine placed his arm around Peter shoulders and pulled him close. Peter leaned against him and cried openly.

Peter sat in the warmth of his father's embrace for a long time. At first, he didn't want to let go, wanting to disappear from the world. But as he cried, he started to feel better, finally released from a burden he had carried for what seemed like an eternity. Once the depression eased slightly, Peter pushed himself away and leaned against the wall.

"Peter?" Caine asked.

"Thanks for listening," he said, wiping his face. "I know I've been a real jerk these past couple of days."

Caine rubbed Peter's neck. "Why did you hold this in so long, my son?"

Peter stared at the floor and sniffed. "I was... I was so shook up by the whole thing, I didn't know what to do. I sat with that kid for so long... When I finally called it in, Strenlich showed up first and sent me home. He said I was stinking up the place.

"I came straight here, but you were out. So I went home and drank myself to sleep. I figured I'd be able to deal with it eventually and that you'd help me through the rough parts. But when you went off after Damon, it all seemed... trivial."

"Death is not trivial," Caine said sternly.

"Yeah, but my problems are," he snapped as new tears fell. "No one wants to listen to Peter ramble on and on about how much a young boy affected him. They've got their own stuff to deal with. Including you. You go off to save the world without one word of good-bye. Paul's off somewhere, saving another. Annie's too busy worrying about him. Carolyn and Kelly have their own worries. And everyone at the precinct is tired of hearing my problems."

"We are all concerned about you," Caine insisted.

"So what else is new." He mocked, "Poor Peter. What's wrong with him this time? Can't he let his father go and live his life?"

Caine sighed. "Yes. We must talk about that. I have always known how much my leaving hurts you."

Peter met Caine's eyes and said, solemnly, "Yes, it does. But I have to learn to accept it, right?" Peter didn't wait for an answer. "Three years ago, when you left for six months, I held on to the hope that you'd return. The other times you left, I always managed to find you. There was always something... Some clue to where you were. This last time there was nothing. Until Martin came along, that is. But it was the first time since you came back into my life that I thought I'd lose you forever."

Caine canted his head. "Because I deserted you?"

Peter shrugged. "I guess. I also felt like there was some unfinished business between us. Like you went off and left me back where I started. It made me think about all the things I didn't get to accomplish."

"What kind of things?"

"Lessons that I need to learn. Like the ones that help me understand why you leave forever without saying good-bye."

Caine sighed. "I am sorry for doing that to you, my son," he said regretfully. "There is no excuse for what I did."

"No Shaolin teaching?" Peter asked, skeptically.

Caine shrugged. "I have told you that it is my destiny to walk alone, and that is correct. However, I have a more human problem. I am very attached to my son. And I have a problem... saying... good-bye."

Peter stared at Caine in disbelief.

Caine continued. "It is a... finality that I cannot face myself. You are not the only one who has suffered deep scars from what happened at the temple."

Peter nodded. "I know. It's just... No matter where I am, you know what I'm doing. I don't have that."

"Yes. But there are times when I do not know what you are doing or feeling. And this frustrates me, also."

"When was that?"

"Many times. Most recently these past few days. Do you not recall how much I pushed you to talk to me, and how strongly you shut me out?"

Peter suddenly realized it. A smile touched his lips. "And that drove you crazy, didn't it?"

"Perhaps."

Peter shook his head. "No, not perhaps, Pop. Say it. It bothered you. It annoyed you. You felt helpless, didn't you?"

Caine sighed and nodded his head. "Yes."

"Now you know how I feel whenever you shut me out or go away without a good-bye." Damon's words came to mind and Peter repeated them. "You know how it feels. Now you understand."

"I do."

"Of course, you do... " Peter laughed. "You feel exactly the way I do. When you shut me out, I keep pushing. I thought it was wrong, that you didn't want me interfering, that I should grow up and let you go. But you're doing the same thing to me. When you don't know what's happening you push. You don't let go, no matter how hard I shut you out."

Caine nodded slowly. "Yes."

"So, it's normal to feel this way?"

Caine smiled. "For us."

Peter laughed again, enjoying the much-needed release. "That's too funny, Pop."

Kermit put the last sheet of his printout into a folder marked 'P. Caine' and tossed it into his briefcase. He closed and locked it, then placed it under his desk. He then headed for the coffee machine.

He picked up a Styrofoam cup and poured his third cup of coffee that morning. He had gotten in bright and early to finish up some personal work before tackling the cases for the day.

Jody got up from her desk and walked over to him. "Do you know if anyone heard from Peter?" she asked him.

"Nada, babe," Kermit replied, turning on his trademark bravado. "I'm sure he's fine."

Jody didn't seem convinced. "Yeah, well... I looked at the case report he attempted to write, yesterday and something just doesn't add up."

"Which report and why?"

"The Carmichael case. Peter told me that he had never seen the boy before the murder. And his report reflects that. Or at least I think it does."

"What are you driving at?"

"Peter said that he knew Carmichael from some past busts. That how he claimed he recognized Carmichael in the alley the night of the shooting. However, according to Carmichael, he never saw Peter before the day of the murder.

Kermit shrugged. "Cons lie all the time."

"True, but I checked Carmichael's arrest record and Peter's name isn't on it at all. What's more, I took Malcolm Carson's statement, yesterday. He's the boy's father. Anyway, he said that Richie came to Peter for help the afternoon of the shooting. Carson said that Carmichael had frightened Richie, and that Richie ran right to Peter."

It took a minute for Kermit to digest the information. "So Peter knew Richie Carson."

Jody nodded. "Right. And he even had a run-in with Carmichael about Richie hours before the murder."

"Why would Peter lie?" Kermit asked.

"I don't know, but it explains Peter's behavior these past few days. Perhaps he grew attached to the boy and his death affected him."

"And all this time we thought it was his father," Kermit said, lost in thought. "Skalany was right."

"I just wish we had known sooner," Jody said regretfully. "Maybe we could have helped him."

"We're cops, Jody," Kermit said matter-of-factly, "not psychologists."

"We're his friends, Kermit. That means something to me." She turned away and went to her desk.

Kermit nodded and muttered reflectively, "Yes, friends. That means something to me, too."

Caine opened his eyes and took a deep breath. He smiled at the morning sun that shone into the herbarium, bathing the plants in warmth. He uncurled himself from his lotus position and walked to the other room.

Peter lay sleeping on the floor, his head resting on a pillow. The blankets Caine had covered him with the night before were in a twisted heap next to him. Caine checked the poultice on Peter's injured hand, then unraveled the blankets and covered his son once more before leaving the room.

Lo Si stood on the balcony when Caine returned to the herbarium. "Your son still carries many fears, Kwai Chang Caine?" Lo Si asked.

"No," Caine replied. "Not fears. Concerns. He is unsure of his path. He feels... lost."

"Because of the boy?"

"That is a scar that will take time to heal. But there is much more... "

Footsteps interrupted Caine's thoughts. He turned to see Skalany enter the room and stop at the doorway. He grinned and she smiled. "Is it a bad time?" she asked.

Caine bowed. "Please come in."

"I can't stay long. I'm due in court in an hour." Skalany walked over and handed him an envelope. She approached the Ancient and gave him one as well. "It's an invitation," she explained. "We're throwing a birthday party for Peter on Friday night." She paused. "Well, actually, I'm throwing the party. You two are the first ones to know about it. I just thought it would cheer him up a little, get his mind off what's bothering him."

"That is very thoughtful of you," Caine said sincerely.

Her smile faded as she returned to his side. "Have you talked to him? He seemed really down at the precinct yesterday."

"Yes. You were correct. He is troubled about the boy."

"Do you think this party is a good idea? If not, I'll... "

"It is a wonderful idea."

She grinned. "Good. Well, I should go distribute these before Peter gets to work."

"Peter will not be going to work today."

"Why not?"

"He needs to rest his hand. It has not yet healed. He is sleeping in the next room. I did not wish to wake him."

Skalany smacked his arm and teased, "Why didn't you tell me he was in the other room? I don't want him to know about the party. I want it to be a surprise."

"Do not worry. He is still asleep."

"How do you... Never mind. You just know." She giggled. "I'd better distribute these. If you can think of anyone in the community who should be there - a lost relative perhaps - invite them."

"It is a date," the Ancient said.

Caine threw him a scornful look.

Skalany kissed Caine on the cheek and whispered, "Gotta run. Bye, handsome."

Caine watched her leave, then placed his hand on his cheek, rubbing in the warm feeling her kiss left behind.

Lo Si chuckled. "I must hurry," he said, turning to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"To buy a gift for the party."

"But it is not for another three days," Caine said in amusement.

"Ah. That is too soon." With that he was gone.

Caine laughed.

A noise from the other room snapped Caine away from his thoughts. He rushed over to find Peter stirring and moaning in his sleep. His first impulse was to wake his son, but Caine stopped.

Peter jumped up and his eyes flew open. He met Caine's gaze, breathing heavily. Then he turned and leaned against the wall.

"Another dream, my son?" Caine asked calmly.

Peter nodded, catching his breath. "Yeah. The same one, where I can't save you."

"Was Damon in it?"

"No. I don't think so." He stared at Caine, his eyes reflecting the uncertainty in his voice. "Why am I having this dream, Pop? Why do I feel so helpless?"

"The loss of this child has brought on these feelings, my son. It will take time to heal."

Peter sighed. "I know. I just... I don't know what I can do anymore. My job seems useless. Nothing feels the same. I want to do so much - to help people - but I don't think it's enough anymore."

Caine felt Peter's despair from the previous night start to return. He grasped Peter's arm and said, "You have helped so many, my son. You must focus on that. Each achievement balances each loss."

Peter glanced away and nodded. "I guess." He looked at his hand. "Do you need to change the dressing?"

"No."

"Can you wrap it in the bandage, then? I... I'd like to get some air, take a walk or something."

"Would you like some company?" Caine asked, concerned that his son might be pushing away his feelings again.

"No, thanks. I need to sift through these thoughts alone. I don't mean to shut you out this time, Pop. I've just been... Well, I have been locking up my thoughts - and myself - these past few days, and I'm getting a case of cabin fever. I need to take a walk or a drive or something. Anything to clear my head. I'll be back later, Pop - to talk - I promise."

The statement warmed Caine. "I will be here, my son."

After Caine wrapped the bandage, Peter got up and pulled him into an embrace. Caine held tightly, eager to comfort his son.

Peter loosened his hold and stepped back. "Thanks, Dad. I always feel better when I've talked to you. I guess that's why I'm so frightened of losing you."

"I am not going anywhere," Caine said, hoping to cheer his son.

Peter didn't seem to find the humor in the statement. He leaned over and kissed Caine's forehead. "Love ya, Pop." He grabbed his coat and walked out of the room.

Caine sighed. "I love you too, son."

Peter pulled his car into the driveway of the place he had called home for many years. He turned off the engine and hesitated, unsure how to begin to apologize to his mother. He thought about what had gone on in his mind since he had stormed out of the house two nights ago, but he felt certain that no excuse could mend the harm he had caused. He bit a nail, swallowed his pride and stepped out of the car.

He rang the bell and waited, shifting his weight nervously. He knew that Annie would answer the door since she was alone in the house during the day. He fully expected to receive the cold treatment from her. It wouldn't be the first time. He had gotten her angry more than once in the past and had paid for it dearly.

"Who is it?" She asked through the door.

"Peter."

Annie opened the door. His gaze fell. "Hi, Mom."

"Do I know you?" she asked sternly.

He winced. "Sorry."

"Not good enough. It's one thing to storm out of here, but it's quite another to wait for two days to apologize. Did you think I'd just forget about it? I spent those days worrying about you."

"I know. I worried about me, too."

She fell silent for a moment. Peter couldn't tell if she waited for him to say something more.

Annie stepped forward and extended her arms. "Come here, Honey."

He walked up to her, and she wrapped him in a warm embrace. "Does this mean you're not going to kill me?" he asked, surprised.

She released the hug. "Not this time," she said sternly. "But don't think you'll get off this easy next time. Understand, young man?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Peter responded solemnly.

"Come inside."

Peter walked in and shed his coat. "What were you doing before I came?"

"Reading," she replied.

"Oh." Somehow, he had hoped for something more active. It had become a normal routine for him to help her with her cooking and/or the chores whenever he stopped by. It helped him to think when he had a problem. It was better than pacing or fidgeting.

"Peter. You're so quiet. What's wrong?"

He walked into the study and did what he did best - pace. "I just feel really guilty for shouting at you. I never should have done it and I'm sorry."

Annie walked up to him and grasped his elbow. "I know there's a lot on your mind. Paul is a sensitive topic for you and I'm sorry if I stirred up any bad feelings that night."

Peter took her hands in his and kissed her cheek. "No. It has nothing to do with you. I was upset and I took it out on you."

Her mouth dropped open as her fingers traced his injured hand. "What happened?"

Peter couldn't resist the joke, "You're not the only one I took out my anger at." Then he added in embarrassment. "I punched a wall."

"Peter... "

"It's okay, Mom. It's not broken."

"What upset you so much?"

He released her hands, then walked to the window and gazed outside, not really looking at anything. "You were right that night. I miss Paul. Sometimes I get so mad at him." He turned away from the view to face Annie. "Every time I come here, I think about what his leaving is doing to you. Just like when my father wasn't around or when he left for six months. I know what you're feeling, and for a long time I didn't want to face it.

"Then this kid dies, and my father disappears... Suddenly things just started to fall apart."

"What kid?" she asked, walking up to him.

He crossed his arms and sighed. "I... I saw a brutal killing a few nights ago. A young boy, six years-old, shot and thrown into a dumpster." He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the tears. "He was an innocent, harmless kid who was murdered for... for revenge. How can people be so cold?" He composed himself, and added, "I had no idea how deeply it affected me until much later. I mean, it did affect me, but I thought I'd get over it."

She put her arms around him and held him close. "I'm so sorry, Honey," she soothed. "I'm glad you're telling me about this. You know you can always talk to me about what's on your mind."

"I know. I just feel like I'm unsure about... things."

Annie raised her head, as if she needed to see his face. "How do you mean?"

He broke off from her, took her arm, and led her to the sofa. He guided her to sit, then he sat down on her left. Peter ran his hand through his hair and sifted through his thoughts. Finally he said, "I feel like... " He sighed. "When I was at the orphanage, my view of the world changed from the ideals I had learned at my father's temple. I felt alone in a cold, dark place. I tried to hold on to the hope that my life would be better once I got out, but I didn't believe it. Then you and Paul took me in and my path - as my father would say - changed. I decided I wanted to help people, to... to serve and protect, as the police motto says. Even when my father returned, I still had that desire to be a cop. Now... I don't know.

"I feel like I'm missing something. It used to be when something bothered me, I handled it on my own."

"Until you exploded," Annie said with a smile.

"Yeah," he said absently. "Lately I feel like I can't handle anything without my father's help. I always feel so... cut off when he leaves. It's the same thing with Paul. He goes off and we never hear from him. And I feel like there's some unfinished business."

Annie took his good hand in hers.

He continued with difficulty, "I keep having nightmares about failing... my job, my life, everything. I don't have confidence anymore. I don't know who I am anymore, and I fear it has something to do with never being able to heal from those fires at the temple.

"Then there's this boy, reminding me of my own pain; my father disappearing without one word of good-bye; my growing family; Paul... It's just too much to think about and it's coming to a head."

"Does your father know you feel this way?"

"Yes. I think so." He shook his head. "My thoughts have been in such a jumble these past few days, I'm not sure what I said, but I think he knows. He always knows."

"I'm sorry to hear about your distress, Peter," she said sadly. "I wish I could make it go away."

The statement struck Peter. "I don't want you to think that you failed me, Mom," he urged. "You and Paul were the best things to happen in my life. You saved my life. I mean that."

She touched his cheek. "Honey, I can't help it if I worry about my son. I had hoped that when Paul and I took you out of that orphanage, we would give you a better life."

"And you have," he insisted.

"Maybe, if you think that being a cop is a good way to live."

He sighed. She had never questioned his decision before, and he believed that she didn't because her husband was a cop too. Now he saw the fear within her, and he felt guilty for it being there.

"I'm not trying to sound disapproving, Peter," she explained. "Though I always worry about you, I know you are helping many people with your work. I'm just wondering... if you made the right choice."

His first instinct was to say, 'Yes I did', but he stopped. It had been Paul's idea for him to attend the lecture on police enforcement. It had been Paul's encouragement and guidance that got him on the force. Just like it had been his father's encouragement and guidance that had motivated him to study the Shaolin way at the temple many years ago. So, what did this mean? "I don't know. I think that's what I need to find out."

Annie nodded. "I think so too."

"It's funny," he said with a smile. "Lately I've been wondering what I might have been like if I had become a Shaolin priest. I started to think that way after I met my grandfather. I feel so calm and at peace around my father. I envy him at times.

Annie canted her head. "Are you considering it?" she asked slowly.

His smile faded. "I don't know. It's something I have to think about. It's a big decision."

"I know that whatever you decide will be the right choice," she said, squeezing his hand.

He nodded, unsure if he agreed with her. "I hope so. Damon's been in my dreams, beckoning me to join him in a... 'path of darkness' as my father would say. I resisted, but I kept failing. For a while I thought he was really invading my mind, but my father thinks it's my own fears playing tricks with me. I don't know." He took a deep breath and said with determination, "I don't want to end up like Damon."

"You won't," Annie insisted. "You have a heart of gold and you're too stubborn."

Peter laughed. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks for listening, Mom."

She smiled. "I know you'll find the answer. Until then, you can always talk to me. Don't push your family away. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Good. Now, what are your plans for Friday?"

Peter thought for a moment, relieved by the change in subject. "I don't think I have any plans." Then it hit him. "Oh, wait. Mom... "

Annie laughed.

"Really," he insisted. "I don't feel like celebrating this year."

"Oh, Peter. It's your thirtieth birthday. Of course, we have to celebrate."

"Mom," he pleaded.

"It'll cheer you up."

"No it won't."

"That's an order, young man," she mocked.

He laughed, giving in. "Okay. But I'm doing this for you."

She giggled. "Well, thank you, kind sir."

"You're welcome... I think."

Kermit sat in his office, reading his e-mail. His mind wandered. He hadn't seen or spoken to Peter since their conversation about Paul and he was growing antsy. He pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, then replaced them. He heaved a sigh against the frustration he felt. He still hadn't made up his mind about the information, and it drove him crazy. He wrestled with the thought of finding Peter. Finally, he got up, grabbed his trench coat and walked out of the office.

"Calling it a night, Kermit?" Broderick asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "It's five o'clock. Your shift isn't over 'til six."

"Got to see someone," Kermit replied evasively. "Did Peter ever call in?"

"Yeah. Sometime this morning. Said something about needing time to heal?"

Kermit nodded. "Sounds like something he'd say these days. Did he say where he is?"

"Nope. Did you try him at home?"

"Not yet."

"Well, if he's not there, you know you could check with his dad." Broderick's eyes widened and he snapped his fingers. "Skalany was in here this morning, handing out those party invitations. She said that Peter was at Caine's place. He might still be there."

"Thanks." Kermit walked out of the precinct and up to his bright green Corvair. He gazed at the sky. Dark, threatening clouds rolled past, obscuring the setting sun. He got in his car, closed the door, and leaned back against the seat.

He closed his eyes. He wondered if he should just drop a hint to Peter about the information and pray it would be enough. He shook his head. Kermit knew that was a mistake. Peter would want to know everything, no matter what. Especially in his current state of mind.

"God, Kermit," he muttered. "Why did you let these people get to you? Why did you let them penetrate the shield? Why?"

He opened his eyes, sat up in his seat and started the car. His tires squealed as he sped out of the parking lot.

A few minutes later he wandered into Caine's herbarium. He switched on the bravado. "Caine," he greeted.

Caine glanced up from his task at the worktable and bowed. "Kermit."

"I'm looking for Peter. Skalany mentioned earlier that he was here."

"He was, but... he left. He will return later."

"Okay," he said, relieved by the delay.

Caine stopped his work and stared at Kermit. "Something is troubling you?" Caine asked.

"No," Kermit replied uncomfortably. "Not exactly. Just curious to know how he's doing."

"You feel guilty for what happened in your office."

Kermit hated when Caine did that, though it intrigued him at times. "One day." He pointed at the priest. "One day I'll figure out how you do that." He put his hands in his pockets. "Things will work out. They always do."

"Yes."

Kermit's cellular phone rang. "Excuse me for a minute."

Caine bowed again.

Kermit pulled the phone from his jacket pocket and walked to the hallway into the other room, where he switched it on. "Hello."

"Kermit?" he heard Blake's voice in the receiver.

"What's up, Blake?" He asked.

"I've got some bad news for you," Blake replied quickly. "Carmichael's out on bail. Word is he's going after Peter."

Kermit's heart raced. "How do you know?"

"He told Jody that he was going to take Peter down. She tried to get more out of him, but his lawyer was there. They left a few minutes ago. Jody's got a tail on him, but we need to find Peter. I've tried to reach him on the cellular, but I keep getting an operator's recording. And he's not picking up his home phone, so I'm spreading the word in case anyone sees him."

"Damn!" Kermit spat. "Thanks, Blake. I'll find him." He disconnected and strode back into the herbarium. "Do you have any idea where Peter is?" Kermit asked urgently.

"Something is wrong?" Caine asked.

"Oh, yeah."

Peter walked along the dock, staring at the water, as darkness descended upon the city. Snow started falling. A cold breeze chilled him, and he welcomed it, hoping to clear the cobwebs in his head. He closed his eyes against the wind and took a deep breath. Just a few more minutes, he thought. Then I'll go back to my father's.

Since he had left his mother's house hours ago, he had driven around for a long time before ending up here, still wrestling with his thoughts. He felt determined to come to a decision about his life, but so far, he didn't have an answer. He knew he pushed himself too hard, and he realized it would take time for the decision to be made.

He pulled his coat collar up and shivered. The snowfall increased to almost blizzard proportions. I guess it's time to go in. He turned and headed for his car and stopped.

Someone leaned against the Stealth, bathed in the faint yellow glow of a streetlamp. The light did little to illuminate the man's features against the tempest. Peter could tell he smoked a cigarette. The man's stance gave the impression of someone unaffected by the inclement weather. His coat lay open, flapping in the wind.

Peter stepped closer till he could identify the man. He shivered in recognition, anger and disgust growing inside of him. Stephen Carmichael met his gaze and stared coldly. Peter glared at him in return. Deep down he cursed. He didn't have a chance to call for backup.

Peter watched Carmichael push himself off the car and walk up to him. He took a deep breath and prepared himself for an attack.

"You should get inside before you catch a cold," Carmichael patronized. "Your mommy will be worried about you."

"How did you find me?" Peter asked flatly.

"I have connections," Carmichael said arrogantly, blowing smoke in Peter's face. "I know where you live, your dad, your foster family... I know everything."

"So, what do you want?"

"Your head."

Carmichael swung, and Peter blocked the punch, but missed the kick in the groin that followed. Peter went down on one knee and grabbed the man by the arm and flipped him over.

They wrestled. Peter pinned him on the ground. "Give it up, Carmichael," Peter said. "Killing me will get you in deeper shit. You won't get away with this one."

"Over my dead body," Carmichael mocked. He pushed Peter off and the wrestling continued.

Kermit hid behind a tree across the street, his gun trained on the two men fighting on the ground by Peter's car. With the wind and the snow he couldn't make out which one was Peter. Both men wore long coats.

Kermit glanced around for Caine, but the man had disappeared into the storm. He wished Caine had stuck around long enough to point out who was who before going off to perform his fantastic feats.

"Will the real Peter Caine please raise his hand," Kermit muttered. Then he realized. "Injured hand." He searched but they moved around too swiftly to make it out. "Damn! Now what? Where the hell is Caine? Should I wait and watch them kill each other? Or should we just break up this little dispute right now?"

He made his decision. "Police!" he shouted. "Nobody move!"

The man on the ground froze. The one kneeling on top of him reached inside his coat.

Kermit fired on him. "I warned you!"

The man collapsed against the Stealth and slid to the ground. The second one got up and ran.

"What the... ?" Kermit asked in confusion. "Peter?"

He scrambled to his feet and ran to the unconscious man. He dropped his gun in shock and fell to his knees. "Peter... "

The young man lay motionless.

Caine stood in the tree cover, waiting for Carmichael. He had heard the gunshot. He knew Peter had been hit. His heart told him to go to his son, but he stood his ground. Carmichael had to be stopped. If Caine didn't stop him, then he might return to do more harm to Peter.

He heard sirens in the distance, growing louder, and recalled that Kermit had radioed for back-up once they had pulled up to the scene. Caine hoped they would show mercy for the man who had shot his son.

Carmichael ran blindly into him. He stood unfazed. Carmichael snapped, "Out of my way, old man." Caine grabbed his shoulder and pressed firmly. Carmichael let out a yelp and fell to his knees.

Caine pulled the weakened man to his feet and walked him to a patrol unit that had pulled up. He pushed Carmichael against the car and said, "You will no longer do harm to others." One of the cops got out of the car and looked at Caine in confusion. Caine explained, "He is the man who threatened Detective Caine's life." The cop's eyes widened in realization and nodded. He pulled out handcuffs and read Carmichael his rights. Caine turned and made his way to his son.

Kermit sat huddled over Peter, shaking him. "Come on, damn it!" he spat. "Wake up!"

Caine moved to Peter's side and pushed Kermit away. He gasped at the sight of the gash on the left side of Peter's forehead.

"I'm so sorry, Caine," Kermit said in anguish. "Shit! What have I done? Shit!"

"It was an accident," Caine said as calmly as he could. Deep down he worried for Peter, but he also felt the agony within Kermit. One of them had to be strong.

"He needs an ambulance," Caine said running his hands along Peter's face and neck, searching for the flow of his chi. Caine felt for a pulse and found it, beating strongly beneath his fingers.

"I'll call it in," a cop said behind him as police swarmed the scene.

"Oh, my God!" Caine heard Jody say in shock. "What happened?"

Kermit rose. "Where were you?" he snapped at her, viciously. "I thought you were following Carmichael!"

"I was," she shouted back. "I lost him, all right?! I'm sorry."

Caine placed a handkerchief on Peter's wound. His son didn't flinch.

Kermit spoke with difficulty. "No... . I'm sorry." He sighed. "I shot him - Peter."

"What?!" Jody asked.

"You heard me. Here."

Caine turned just in time to see Kermit hand over his badge and his gun. "Take me in," Kermit added.

"No," Caine said. "Peter needs you."

"What can I do, Caine?" Kermit asked in disbelief. "I just shot him!"

"He needs you close by him."

"Like hell he does." Kermit walked off in the direction of the police units.

Jody watched him go, then turned to Caine, her eyes wide in fear. "What happened, Caine?" she asked breathlessly.

"It was an accident. I do not know how it happened, but I do know that Kermit did not mean to hurt Peter."

She knelt beside Caine. "Is he alright?"

Caine turned his attention back to his son and sighed. "He will be."

Emergency room entrance doors flew open, and paramedics rushed inside with Peter on a gurney, his head bandaged and his nose and mouth obscured by an oxygen mask. Caine ran beside the gurney, at first fearful of another trauma-induced journey into Peter's soul, but he did not sense the urgency within his son this time.

A nurse stopped him just outside of the treatment room and, for once, he obeyed. It had been his idea to bring Peter here. He knew he had to let the doctors perform their duty. He knew Peter would be all right, but he could not help the worry he felt.

Kermit sat in the Internal Affairs office and stared at the man in front of him. Lieutenant Walker glared back. Kermit wasn't scared of interrogations. He had been trained extensively. He could never be broken, even during the toughest of times. Deep down he thought about Peter, worried about him, and feared for his life. Guilt had a strong hold on Kermit, but he kept all those emotions within and pulled his thoughts together, waiting for Walker's next move.

"Let's go over this one more time," Walker said sternly.

"We've gone over it twice, Walker," Kermit said slowly. "The story won't change."

"Too bad. I was hoping for something stronger to pin you with, like industrial espionage."

"Very funny."

"I know Blaisdell pulled some strings to get you in here, and I don't like it. I have a big problem with people with no personnel files. Especially ones who carry Desert Eagles and shoot fellow cops."

Kermit stared straight ahead and said nothing.

Walker leaned forward. "What were you doing at the docks?"

"Looking for Peter." Kermit replied mechanically.

"Why?"

"A murderer by the name of Carmichael threatened his life."

"So, you just went in with guns blazing, is that it?"

"No, that's not it!" Kermit spat. "Don't put words in my mouth."

"I'll put more than words, Griffin. If that's your real name. What is your first name, by the way?"

"I go by the name of Kermit," he said flatly.

"I asked you a question!" Walker shouted.

"And I gave you an answer."

Walker leaned back in his chair. "You think you're funny. Don't you? Just like the puppet. Well, we don't like to play games around here, KERMIT."

"That's Muppet."

"Shut up. What possessed you to open fire on two men you couldn't identify?"

"I ordered them to freeze. One of them didn't."

"So, you naturally assumed that he was this Carmichael fella?"

"He reached into his pocket. How was I to know he wasn't going for his gun?"

Walker rocked in his chair. "Do you ever take off your sunglasses, Kermit?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Kermit asked in confusion.

"Were you wearing them when you shot Detective Caine?"

"Yes."

"But it was dark. No wonder you couldn't identify the two men."

"The streetlamps were on. Besides, I would have had more trouble without them with that snow coming down."

"Perhaps you wouldn't have shot anyone either."

Deep down Kermit seethed but stayed calm on the surface.

Walker picked up a file. "What about Caine's father? Why was he there?"

"I was looking for Peter. He took me to him."

"And you naturally assumed Caine would act as back-up. Is that right?"

"I called for back-up," Kermit insisted.

"Is that so?" Walker patronized. "Then why didn't you wait?"

"They were fighting. I had to break it up."

"Why? Supposedly Detective Caine is a highly trained martial artist."

"He's not invincible."

"Obviously not. And his father... He always seems to be around. Doesn't he? Perhaps we should issue him a badge? Why not give him yours?"

Kermit felt his patience waning. "Am I done here?"

"Not hardly." Walker tossed the file onto his desk. "We have plenty to talk about, Griffin."

"Then ask me some real questions."

"Very well... You're a crack shot, aren't you?"

"On better days."

"This wasn't one of them then. Or was it? Were you aiming for the head?"

The scene replayed in Kermit's mind, and he swallowed a lump in his throat. "No."

"Are you sure? Someone like you should be able to hit your mark every time."

"He moved."

"Sure, he did." Walker said in disbelief. He sat up in his chair. "What is your relationship with Detective Caine?"

Kermit knew Walker would ask this eventually. "We're friends."

"How close?"

Kermit smiled. "I don't let anyone get too close."

"Ah." Walker raised an eyebrow. "Then he might have touched a nerve, perhaps?"

"What do you mean?"

"He might have tried to get too close to you - penetrated your shield - and you retaliated."

The statement startled him, but he automatically covered it. "No. You're wrong." He spoke with sincerity. "Peter is a good kid. One of the best cops in the precinct. You're right about Blaisdell. He did get me this job. He's a very special friend. Peter is his foster son. I'd do anything to prevent something from happening to Peter."

"Because of Blaisdell?"

"Because of Peter. I've known him since the captain took him in. About fifteen years. Peter is one of the most honest, trustworthy cops on the force. He's got a heart of gold. I'd give my own life to spare his."

"Very honorable. But hard to believe."

"Why? Because I don't have my life story in a file for you to read? I thought Big Brother only existed in George Orwell's world. What motive would I have to kill Peter?"

"That's what I plan to find out."

Kermit crossed his arms. "Well, you better order out for pizza, Walker, because we're going to be here for a while."

Caine sat on his son's bed, watching Peter's unconscious form. Annie sat on the other side of the bed, holding Peter's hand. The Ancient stood in the back of the room, quietly observing the scene, while Kelly and Carolyn Blaisdell stood at the foot of the bed, doing the same.

A few minutes earlier Peter had been moved to this private room after spending over two hours in emergency. Since his arrival at the hospital, the oxygen mask had been removed, as well as most of the bandages. Now a thick piece of gauze taped to his forehead covered the wound. Caine gently placed his hand on top of the bandage. Peter winced but didn't wake.

"What are you doing?" Carolyn whispered in awe.

"Healing," Caine said softly. He glanced at Peter's left hand. The doctors had removed the bandage while Peter was in emergency. Caine noticed that it had healed considerably. He felt sorry that he couldn't say the same for the head injury, but he knew it would take time.

"Caine," Kelly asked, "is it true that Kermit shot him?"

"Yes. But he did not mean to do it."

"I don't understand how," Annie said.

Caine shrugged. "It was dark, and it was snowing heavily. He could not identify who was who. Kermit saw one man in danger and acted."

"Still. Kermit is trained. He should have known better."

Caine grabbed her hand. "We are all trained to perform a task in life. Sometimes we make mistakes. It is then that we learn that we are human."

"So you can accept the fact that Kermit nearly killed Peter?"

"Yes." Caine sighed. "But I also made a mistake this day."

"What was that?"

"I did not see this coming. I should have anticipated it and prevented it."

Annie shook her head. "You can't always protect Peter, Caine. He's a cop. He has sworn to take risks to save others. You can't save him all the time."

"Well, put," The Ancient said.

Annie continued, "He must learn his own lessons. Wouldn't you say that?"

"Yes," Caine said solemnly.

"As Kermit will learn from this. Is that right?"

"That is correct."

She took his hand and squeezed it. "As I have learned right now. We are not perfect."

"None of us are. That is what makes us unique."

The door to the room opened and a nurse stepped inside. "I'm sorry, but only family are allowed in here," she said frankly. "The patient needs his rest."

Caine gestured around the room. "We are his family."

She seemed visibly embarrassed. "Oh, I'm sorry. Just following procedure. I need to check on the patient."

Caine rose and gave her room to work.

"Peter... ?" A soft feminine voice called to him from a distance. "Peter, wake up."

He opened his eyes and stared at the unfamiliar face that swam in front of him.

"Can you hear me, Peter?" Her voice seemed out of sync with the movement of her lips. Was she speaking? He didn't know. Nor did he care. He only wanted to do one thing - sleep.

"Peter? Can you hear me?"

"Yes." Did I say that? I can't tell.

"Good." she sounded pleased.

He blinked his eyes. Who are you? Then the faces of Annie Blaisdell and his father drifted in front of him. "Pop... "

"Rest now, Peter," his father coaxed.

Pop, where am I?

"Sleep, my son."

"It's all right, Peter, Honey," Annie soothed. "You will be fine."

The images faded into darkness.

"Why did you shoot Detective Caine?" Walker asked, pacing the room. Hours had passed in the little office and Walker seemed antsy.

"It was an accident," Kermit replied mechanically, his outward demeanor more at ease than his interrogator's. "I ordered them to freeze, and he moved." Deep down he had enough of the questioning. He wanted to know about Peter's condition, but he needed to be cool.

"Why didn't you fire a warning shot?"

"Because I had already given them a warning."

"Oh, so shooting one of them was the answer," Walker patronized.

"Carmichael killed a six-year-old boy without hesitation. I couldn't take the chance on Peter. He would have killed him in a heartbeat."

"Then why the hand-to-hand combat? Why didn't he just pull a gun on Peter from the beginning?"

"I don't know. Maybe Peter didn't give him the chance."

"Are you saying that Detective Caine made the first move and not Carmichael?"

"Only Detective Caine can say."

"You didn't see?"

"I got there too late. Besides, I couldn't tell which one was Peter, so how should I know who acted first?"

Walker sank into his chair. "All right, Griffin." He sighed. "We're going to stop here."

Relieved, Kermit glanced at his watch. "Two hours," he quipped. "That's a record. Isn't it?"

"I'm not finished with you. We'll talk again."

"Oh, fun. I can hardly wait."

Walker stared at him coldly. "You don't give up, do you?"

Kermit grinned. "Not if I can help it." He stood up.

"I'll be in touch," Walker said.

"I'll be waiting." Kermit threw him a mock salute and bolted out of the room.

A short time passed. Caine sensed something out in the hallway and went to investigate. He opened the door to Peter's room and stepped outside. Kermit hovered nearby, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"You have been outside a long time?" Caine asked.

"Twenty minutes," Kermit said nervously.

"You can come inside," Caine offered. "I will tell the nurse... "

Kermit held up his hands. "No. Not yet. I mean... How is he?"

"It is a... flesh wound. The bullet did not... penetrate."

Kermit rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Thank God."

"He does have a... concussion."

"Has he regained consciousness?"

Caine shrugged. "He drifts in and out."

Kermit paced.

Caine sensed the anxiety within him.

Kermit spoke fast. "When we arrived on the scene you disappeared. Where did you go?"

"Into the trees."

"Why?"

"I had planned to sneak up on Carmichael."

"You identified him?"

"I knew which one was Peter."

"How?"

Caine shrugged. "It is what I felt more than saw."

Kermit stopped and glared at him. "What you felt? Like... his aura?"

"Sort of."

"So... If you didn't have this-this gift, would you have been able to identify Peter?"

"I do not know."

"Shit," Kermit muttered.

Caine clutched his arm. "Come." He pulled Kermit to the door.

Kermit resisted. "Is there anyone in the room with him?"

"Annie and her daughters."

Kermit shook his head. "I can't face her - Annie. I can't."

"Why?"

"Paul is my friend. I shot his foster son. If he were here, he'd kill me. I just... I just can't face them, yet."

"Annie forgives you."

"Well, I can't forgive me!" Kermit snapped. "So, I don't want to hear how everyone else has."

"Kermit...," Caine pleaded.

"I need a cigarette." He marched off.

Caine sighed, then walked back inside and resumed his seat at the bed.

A few minutes later, Doctor Sabourin came into the room. "Hello, everyone," she said softly with a smile. "I'm sorry to have to do this, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Peter needs to rest in peace and quiet. I am sorry."

Annie didn't move. "I don't want to leave him."

"He will be fine," Caine soothed. She nodded. "Physically, but he's been under so much stress lately. I want him to see a familiar face when he wakes up."

"Well," Dr. Sabourin said after a moment, "I could allow Caine to stay with him. Would that ease your concern?"

"I do not wish to cause any trouble," Caine said.

"On the contrary," she insisted. "Your help in the past has been invaluable to me and this hospital."

He bowed to her, then said to Annie, "I will make sure he rests peacefully."

"Thank you." Annie said to Caine. She rose reluctantly. Then she leaned over and kissed Peter on the cheek. "We'll be back tomorrow, Honey. Sleep well."

Peter stirred slightly but didn't wake.

Kelly and Carolyn also kissed him good night. All three said good-bye to Caine and filed out of the room. Dr. Sabourin followed.

The Ancient remained. "You are troubled, Kwai Chang Caine?"

Caine sighed, staring at Peter. "I should have known this would happen. Why is it that I cannot always sense danger?"

"Should you?"

"Sometimes I can and sometimes not. Why is this so?"

"It is as you told Annie Blaisdell. You are not perfect. Your mind was clouded with other thoughts. You were concerned over your son's emotional state. You could not sense the outside forces that put him in danger."

"But I should have."

"I understand your grief, my friend. But blaming yourself will not change things."

"I know." Caine sighed, then turned and bowed to his friend.

Lo Si returned it. "I will see you in the morning." He left the room.

Caine steered his gaze back to his son. After a few minutes he said, "They are all gone. You do not need to hide."

Kermit stepped out of the shadows. "I wasn't hiding."

"Perhaps." Caine rose. "I will leave you alone with him."

"What about Dr. Sabourin? She wanted you to stick around, didn't she?"

"I will be close. Do you wish me to stay?"

"No."

"Very well." Caine opened the door.

Kermit grabbed his arm. "What happened wasn't your fault."

"I should have known."

"Just like I shouldn't have shot him."

Caine sighed. "The Ancient is right. Neither of us can help Peter by behaving this way. I do not condemn you for what happened."

"But you're not pleased about it either."

Caine thought the statement sounded strange. "I am his father. I feel his pain. I feel yours too."

"Don't, Caine," Kermit said, releasing his sleeve. "You're not allowed in there."

Caine patted his cheek. "I forgive you, Kermit. Now you must forgive yourself."

Kermit glanced at Peter. "Will Peter forgive me?"

"I think he will." Caine left the room.

"In a million years, right?" Kermit muttered bitterly. Tears welled up in his eyes and Kermit blinked them away. "Why is it the moment I let my guard down I fall apart?"

He walked up to the bedside and pulled up a chair. He stared at Peter's pale face for a long time. He saw the bruising beneath the bandage and relived the scene in his mind. He sighed and took Peter's hand in his.

"I am so sorry," he said, his voice cracking. "I don't know what else to say."

Peter didn't stir.

Kermit took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. "Four years ago, I joined the force - Blaisdell put me in the one-oh-one, that is - to escape. Prior to that, I had spent years killing people.

"When I started out as a mercenary, I was an idealist like you. But things changed. It didn't matter what side I chose, I did my job. Sometimes I had to kill friends. That hurt more than you could imagine. Finally, a few years later, I had enough. I couldn't take it anymore. I started spending my downtime fiddling with computers because I found reality too hard to handle.

"As a rule, mercenaries couldn't have friends. It was too dangerous. They were liable to be killed. I couldn't let that get to me, so I avoided contact. I thought I had that down to a science. Then I met Paul. He and I became close friends. He was like a father to me. You know what that's like. Paul was different. He was tough when he had to be, but soft when I couldn't be. He saved my life more times than I could count. He was the only one I could open up to.

"After a while I began to lose control. Blaisdell saw it and started pulling me off assignments. When I found out, I nearly strangled him." Kermit laughed. "You should have seen the look of terror in his eyes." His smile faded. "I never saw him that scared in all the years I knew him. It freaked me out so bad I broke down. Your foster father is the only man alive who has seen me cry. Let's hope it stays that way... Though you're coming in a close second." Kermit hoped for a reaction but didn't get any.

"Then he puts me in your precinct, and, for the first time, I see normal people. After twenty years of dealing with rebel forces and third world lunatics, I found myself in Paul's world. A world of sane people - or almost sane.

"I didn't realize until after the conversation you and I had in my office a few days ago just how attached I have become to everyone. It feels good to fight for the small causes, to bond together to help people. I envy the determination you have. I had that fire in me a long time ago, but I got jaded. Now I want to reclaim it, knowing full well I can never go back to the way I was."

He took a deep breath. "I joined the precinct to disappear into the bureaucracy. My plan was to spend my days working on the computer, finding leads, tracking suspects, gathering information. I wanted to lose that other persona. But what happens? I miss the excitement. I start to get more involved in the field. I blab about my mercenary days. I go out into a snowstorm and shoot a good friend..."

Tears formed in his eyes. He sighed, forcing the next statement out with effort. "I guess what I'm trying to say is... that I... I see in you what... my... I... I used to be. And that's why I care so much. Don't let the real world extinguish the fire within you, Peter. No matter how tough it gets, don't lose your values."

A tear streamed down his cheek. "I just hope what I did hasn't changed your outlook on life. You're an inspiration to everyone at the precinct. Including me. I hope your heart is still big enough to forgive me, because it's going to be a long time before I can forgive myself." He put his head in his hand and cried.

The door opened. Kermit jumped and quickly put his glasses on. He turned to see the night nurse enter the room and approach the bed.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir," she said sincerely. "I am very sorry."

Kermit nodded, keeping his voice steady. "I understand." He backed away as she leaned over Peter.

"Peter?" she asked, shaking him slightly. "Wake up."

Peter moaned and stirred. Kermit waited, anxious to know his friend's condition.

"Peter, open your eyes."

His eyes fluttered open.

"Good."

"Kermit?" Peter muttered.

"Who?" The nurse asked.

Kermit felt unsure of what to do. A voice on his right startled him. "Go to him," Caine said.

"No. I don't want to upset him."

"He is asking for you."

"I can't. He's too weak. I'll only excite him."

"Kermit?" Peter said again. Then his eyes closed and his facial muscles relaxed.

"Peter?" Kermit said in concern.

"He is all right," the nurse said. "He does need his rest."

Kermit nodded. He pushed himself away from Caine and out of the room.

Jody, Simms, Blake and Strenlich walked down the hospital corridor toward the nurses' station. They stopped at the desk.

"Excuse me," Captain Simms said to one of the nurses sitting behind the counter.

"Yes?" the woman asked.

"We're looking for Peter Caine's room. We were told he was moved to this floor."

The nurse checked her directory. "Room A-two-thirty-five." She pointed down the corridor. "Straight down there. But you can't see him now. Doctor's orders."

"How is he?" Jody asked her in concern.

A voice behind her responded, "He will be fine."

The group wheeled around to see Caine standing with them. Jody noticed how tired he looked.

"Has he regained consciousness?" she asked him.

"He... fades... in and out." Caine glanced toward his son's room, then bowed to them. "Excuse me." He walked down the hall.

Jody watched him go, eager to know the details, eager to see Peter, but she held back. She didn't want the others to know how the situation affected her.

"Where is he going?" Blake asked.

Jody saw Caine open the door to his son's room and go inside. "Peter's room," she answered softly.

"I thought no one is allowed in Peter's room."

"Caine isn't just anyone, Blake," Simms said. She glanced at each person. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'd like to stick around for a while. I'd like to talk to Caine about what happened at the dock."

"I think I'll stay too," Blake said.

Strenlich turned to the nurse. "Is there a waiting room on this floor?"

"Yes," she said, pointing in the direction of Peter's room. "Just ahead on your left."

Strenlich thanked her and the group headed for the waiting room. Everyone went in except Jody, who stood in the doorway, keeping an eye on Peter's room, which was a few yards away. She half-listened to the conversations inside the waiting area, her mind on Peter and what had happened earlier that day.

She held her breath at the sight of Peter's door opening, and nearly choked when she saw Kermit walk out. He met her gaze then dropped his as he walked her way.

He didn't stop as he passed, just kept going.

"Kermit!" Jody called, catching up with him.

He stopped. "Peter is still unconscious," he said, staring straight ahead. "He woke up for a few seconds. That was all."

His detachment made her uncomfortable. "How are you doing?"

"Fine. I've got to get going."

She grabbed his arm. "Kermit!" He threw her a threatening look, and she quickly released her hold. He didn't move. "Why don't you join us? We just got here. Blake, the Chief and the Captain..."

Kermit grinned and cut her off. "No thanks. The last thing I need right now are cold stares and an interrogation from Strenlich and Simms."

"No one hates you for what happened," she said quickly, hoping the words would sink in. "We understand. It was an accident."

Kermit nodded and said sarcastically, "Yeah. Tell IA that. Tell Peter that." His smile widened. "I know. Why don't you go call Blaisdell and tell him that? Do you think he'd agree?"

"Yes," Jody said sincerely.

"You don't know him very well. You're better off." He walked away.

Jody sighed and watched him go. It hurt enough to see Peter suffering, but it made things worse to see Kermit losing his edge, too. She felt helpless. Her love for Peter tore at her and her compassion for her friend cut her deeper. All because of one man - Carmichael.

She walked back into the waiting room and sank into the nearest chair, wanting to disappear.

"What did Kermit have to say?" Strenlich asked from the opposite corner of the room.

"No change," Jody said soberly.

"Was he in Peter's room just now?" Simms asked. She sat up in her seat on the couch next to Blake.

"Yes."

"How did he get in?" Blake asked. "He's not even family."

"Caine probably let him see Peter," Strenlich replied. "He might have given him some time alone, that's probably why Caine was in the hallway before."

Simms shook her head and said somberly, "Kermit must be going through hell right now. I know of his relationship with Blaisdell - and Peter. This must be killing him."

"I think he's afraid we've all judged him guilty," Jody said.

"The only person who's guilty is Carmichael," Simms snapped. "I hope he rots in prison. If he ever gets released again, I'll see to it that he never does harm to another innocent person."

"I've never heard you talk with such venom, Captain," Frank observed.

Simms met his gaze. "No one should get away with killing a child."

"I had a talk with the DA before I came here," Jody said. "He's going to make sure that Carmichael stays in jail 'til the trial. I just hope he can convict him."

"Peter's the only key to that one," Frank said. "That's why Carmichael tried to kill him."

"I just hope Peter comes out all right from this," Jody said. "The death of that boy really got to him."

"Did Peter know the child?" Simms asked.

Jody sighed. "According to the victim's father, his son asked Peter for help that afternoon."

"Help for what?" Frank asked.

"Against Carmichael. Richie Carson told Peter that Carmichael was scaring him. His father believes that Peter might have done something if he hadn't intervened."

"Intervened how?"

"Carson told Peter that everything was cool when it wasn't. Peter took his word for it."

Simms' eyes widened. "So, Peter blames himself for turning his back."

Jody nodded.

"How come this is the first I've heard of this?"

Jody shrugged. "I think it hurt too much for Peter to talk about it."

Simms sighed and put her head in her hands. "What a mess."

"Father...," Peter muttered in his sleep.

"I am here, Peter," Caine soothed, brushing his son's hair off his face.

"Father, wait!" Peter said with urgency, his head tossed.

"It is all right, my son. It is only a dream."

"No. Don't-don't go there. No. Can't... follow you. Can't help-help you. Please don't. Father... no... .NO!" Peter jumped up. His eyes flew open.

Caine took hold of his shoulders. "You are safe now."

Peter looked at him for a few moments, his breathing heavy. "What happened?" he asked breathlessly.

"You were hurt."

"Where are we?"

"In a hospital. Lie back." Caine pushed his son gently against the pillow.

Peter's eyelids fluttered. "Carmichael?" he slurred.

"He is in police custody. He will not harm you any longer."

Peter's eyes closed and his breathing slowed.

Caine placed his hand on his son's wound. "Sleep now, Peter. You will be better in the morning."

He stared at the white sheet in front of him. He saw tiny flecks, but he couldn't identify what he was looking at. Finally, the image came into focus and Peter blinked for a better view. Still no idea. He turned his head to his left and felt himself spinning. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for it to stop.

"Drink this," Caine said.

Peter opened his eyes just in time to feel his father's hand behind his neck, raising his head to a tiny china cup. The spinning didn't stop. "No," he said breathlessly. "Dizzy."

"This will ease the dizziness. Drink it slowly."

Peter obeyed. Once he emptied the cup, his father lowered him back onto the pillow, and he stared, once again, at the white in front of him, this time waiting for the vertigo to end. He realized that it was the ceiling that held his attention.

Soon, as Caine promised, the spinning stopped. Peter turned his head once more, relieved that everything stayed where it should be. "Hi, Pop," he said with a smile.

"Do you remember where you are?" Caine asked.

"Yeah. A hospital. You said I got hurt." He turned to his left and gazed out the window. He figured that it was morning, since the last time he remembered being awake it was dark. "What day is it?"

"Wednesday."

Peter shifted his head back to his father. "How long have I been here?"

"Several hours."

A nurse stepped up to the bedside. "How do you feel, Peter?"

"A little tired," he replied truthfully. "But okay, I guess."

She nodded. "I'll notify Dr. Sabourin and your friends." She left the room.

"What happened?" Peter asked Caine. "How did I get hurt?"

"What is the last thing you remember doing?"

Peter let his thoughts drift back to the other day. "I went to visit Mom - Annie Blaisdell. I apologized to her, and we talked. Then I drove around for a while. I ended up at the docks. I have no idea why. Then... Carmichael!" Peter jumped up in alarm. "He was waiting for me at my car. We fought. The rest..." He shook his head. He couldn't remember.

Caine sighed. "You were shot."

Peter stared at his father in shock. "Shot? Where? By whom? Carmichael?"

"In the head. By... someone else."

"Someone else?" Peter asked in confusion. He touched the bandage and winced at the pain it caused. "How bad is the wound?"

"The bullet grazed your temple. You will be fine."

"Who shot me, Pop?"

Caine lowered his gaze. "I... I cannot say."

"Wha-what? What do you mean you can't say?"

"I was asked not to. The person insists on telling you himself."

"You're not making sense, Pop. You make it sound like it's some kind of honor."

Caine shook his head. "No. He merely wishes to face you with it himself. He deeply regrets what he has done. I hope you can forgive him."

Peter felt a nervous ache in his stomach. "You're scaring me, Pop."

Caine placed his hand on Peter's shoulder. "There is nothing to fear, my son. The truth is your ally."

"When will this mystery shooter step forward?"

"When he is ready."

"Is he in custody? Does he work for Carmichael?"

"No, he does not."

"Well... Can you give me a hint?"

"I'll do more than that," Kermit said.

Peter hadn't seen, nor heard Kermit enter the room. Kermit walked up to the bed and said slowly, "I heard the nurse tell someone that Peter was awake, so I thought I'd beat the morning rush. How are you doing, Kid?"

"Fine, I guess. A bit confused." He glanced back and forth between the two men. "You guys want to tell me what's going on?"

Caine rose. "I will leave now."

"Pop!" Peter snapped.

Caine bowed to Kermit and left the room.

Peter stared at Kermit in bafflement as the man watched Caine leave. Then Kermit turned around and met Peter's gaze before glancing at the floor.

"What I have to tell you... you'll find it hard to believe."

Peter lost his patience. "Try me."

"When you were fighting with Carmichael, yesterday... I... I accidentally... shot you."

The words struck Peter with a jolt, knocking the wind out of him. "You did what?"

Kermit shifted his weight from one foot to the other, still staring at the floor. "I shot you."

Peter swallowed hard. "I don't understand."

Kermit met his gaze. "I was trying to stop Carmichael and I accidentally shot you instead. It was dark and snowing heavily. I... I couldn't tell who was whom... You were fighting and..."

"So, you shot me?" Peter asked angrily. "You didn't recognize either or us, but you decided to pull the trigger anyway?"

"That's not what happened," Kermit defended.

"Then what did happen, Kermit?"

"I called out a warning. I ordered you to freeze. You moved."

"Oh, yeah," Peter said with sarcasm. "Shoot the moving target!"

"I thought he was pulling a gun on you!" Kermit shouted. "Would you rather I stood there and watched it happen?"

Peter seethed but said nothing.

Kermit put his hands in his pockets. "I didn't mean to, Kid," he said in a calmer tone.

Peter leaned back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, digesting the information.

"Peter, say something," Kermit said, finally. "Chew me out. Call me an asshole. Say something!"

Peter didn't speak. He was at a loss for words. He didn't know what to think. He couldn't believe it. Finally, he said softly, "Leave me alone."

"Peter..."

"You heard me."

"Okay. But we're not done here. I'll accept it if you hate me forever, but the silent treatment doesn't wash with me. We're going to have this out. And once it's over, you can do what you damn well please." Kermit walked out of the room.

Peter closed his eyes, unsure what to think.

Sometime later Annie, Carolyn and Kelly visited him. Peter greeted them with a warm smile, welcoming the diversion from his thoughts.

"How are you doing, Honey?" Annie asked, kissing him on the cheek.

"Fine, Mom," he replied. "Just a little tired. Have you been here all night?"

"No. We went home for a while. But you know me, I can't sleep when one of my children is hurt."

Peter took her hand and squeezed it. "There's nothing to worry about. I'm all right now."

"Are you?" she asked in disbelief.

Peter knew what she meant. "I will be, Mom. I promise."

She smiled. "I hope so."

Peter noticed Carolyn glancing around the room. "Where's Caine?" she asked.

"I don't know," Peter replied, suspicious of his father's disappearance. "He hasn't been back since Kermit..." He stopped.

"Was Kermit here?" Annie asked in alarm.

"Yeah, but he's gone now," Peter said evasively.

"What did he say?" Kelly asked.

Peter shrugged. He didn't want to think about it. He closed his eyes and said, "He apologized."

"Did you accept?" Carolyn asked.

"I don't want to discuss it."

"I'm sure he didn't mean to do it," Annie said.

Peter didn't feel like talking anymore. "My head hurts," he said, rubbing his forehead. "Can you come back later?"

"Sure, Honey," Annie said, squeezing his hand.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

"It's all right, Peter." She smiled, running her hand along his cheek. "You need to rest. We can talk about this later when you're feeling better."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Bye, Peter." Kelly said as the women headed for the door.

Carolyn waved. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

He nodded. "I will."

They left the room. Peter welcomed the solitude once more. He closed his eyes and pondered over the events that had occurred in the past several days, thinking about what Kermit said. The anger rose within him, and he took a deep breath.

He pushed the thought out of his mind and tried to relax. He couldn't, however, for other thoughts fought their way in. He recalled the dream he had the other night. It was the same dream of him running after his father, not being able to save him.

"I know you're behind this, Damon," he muttered bitterly. "I know you are."

"Good morning, Peter."

He opened his eyes and glanced up to see Dr. Sabourin standing beside his bed, smiling. He hadn't heard her come in. "Good morning, Doc.," he replied with a grin. "How am I doing?"

"Well, your vitals are normal and... considering the fact that your father is a respected apothecary who has helped me - and you - on numerous occasions, I think you can go home."

"Thank you," he said in relief, though he sensed there was more.

"Under one condition," she added in an official tone.

"Oh-oh."

"I'm putting you in your father's capable hands. That means, if he says rest, you rest. Got that?"

He saluted. "Got it."

She softened. "Good. I'll get the paperwork ready. I suggest you get someone to drive you home. I think you should give yourself at least a day before getting behind the wheel. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Okay." She walked to the door, then stopped. "Oh, and Peter."

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Take care of yourself."

"I'll try."

She laughed and left the room.

Peter's smile faded and he sighed. "I'll try."

Kermit leaned back against the sofa and stared at the green walls of his apartment, wishing to disappear into them. He thought about what had happened earlier that morning. Peter had a right to be angry with him. Kermit expected it. But he hated how Peter's anger hurt so much.

"What happened to you, Kermit?" he asked aloud. "You're letting them in. If you're not careful, they'll learn the truth about you. Then you'll have no one but yourself to blame."

He sat up and reached for the bottle of whiskey that sat on the coffee table. He stared at the label, unsure if he should take a drink. "You've been alone before. Why is it so hard now? Your divorce was less painful than this. Are you getting old and soft?... Is that so wrong?

"Why don't you just give the kid what he wants? Repair the wound?... Because I could be risking a life, that's why... But isn't that person you're trying to protect also willing to make contact? Yes, but he thinks with his heart. I think with my head... Or do I?"

He put the bottle back down on the table and rubbed his eyes. "Maybe the old fire is returning. The old naiveté is rearing its ugly head. Idealism has returned to Kermit Griffin." He shook his head. "No. This kid is what's got you in such a turmoil, Kermit. Why? Because... " he stopped. The answer suddenly revealed itself, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. He couldn't chase it away, however.

"Say it, Kermit!" he snapped. "Damn it! Just say it. He reminds you of your son."

"Hey, partner," Jody said cautiously.

He glanced over at her. She stood at the doorway, smiling. "Is it a bad time?"

"No. Now is fine." He raised the bed up part way so he could see her better.

She walked over to the right side of the bed and sat on the edge. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay. My father gave me something to clear my head. I'll be out of here in no time."

"Glad to hear it." She sighed. "About Kermit..."

Peter turned away, "Not now, Jody."

"Peter, he didn't mean to hurt you," she insisted.

"Please!" he said firmly.

"Okay," Jody said softly. She took in a deep breath. "I - uh - have to get your statement on what happened yesterday."

He grew impatient. "Can't we do this later?"

"Wish I could, partner, but Walker will be here any minute and..."

Peter shot her a surprised look. "Walker? IAD Walker? That Walker?"

"Yeah. You know him?"

"Yeah. I had a couple of run-ins with him. Why is he coming?"

"One officer shoots another... IAD gets called."

Peter closed his eyes. "Shit. Great."

"I have the feeling you're not on good terms with him."

"No. He's tough and good at what he does, but he suspects everyone of trying to sabotage the precinct. He even accused my father of using his Shaolin skills to brainwash me into ruining the credibility of the department."

"When was this?"

"All the time. He started bugging me about it when..." He hesitated, meeting her gaze. "... when Kira was killed."

Jody's eyes widened. "Why was IAD called on that case?"

"Try explaining to a hard-nosed cop that Kira was killed by a man who thinks too much."

Jody nodded. "Oh."

The door opened and Walker sauntered in. "Good morning, Detective Caine. And to you Detective Powell."

Walker's enthusiasm made Peter nervous, but the man always did. Anyone from IAD made Peter nervous.

Walker moved closer to the left side of Peter's bed and pulled up a chair. "Did you start already?" he asked Jody.

She grinned, Kermit-like. "Waiting for you."

"Thank you." He dropped his congenial tone and became all business. "Okay, Caine. Lets get to it. What were you doing at the docks yesterday?"

"Taking a walk," Peter responded mechanically.

"There was no other reason?" Walker said in disbelief.

"No."

"How long were you there?"

"I don't remember. An hour, maybe more. Just as the snow got heavy."

"Then what happened?"

"I walked to my car. Someone was leaning against it. It was dark and the snow was really coming down, so I couldn't make him out."

"How far were you from the car?" Jody asked.

Peter closed his eyes and tried to remember. "I don't know. Eight feet, maybe."

"Then what?" Walker prompted.

"I took a few steps closer, until I could recognize him... Carmichael. He walked over to me until we were face to face. I asked him how he'd found me, and he said he had connections. He claims to know my whole family, the Blaisdells too."

"Why did you let him get that close to you?"

"It didn't seem like a wise choice to back away," Peter replied.

"What happened next?" Jody asked.

"He said he wanted to kill me. He threw a punch and we fought..."

"Why didn't he just pull a gun on you?" Walker asked.

"I don't know."

"What next?"

"We fought for a while. Then..." He replayed the scene in his mind. Soon images forgotten before revealed themselves to him. "I heard Kermit's voice. He shouted out a warning."

"What did he say?"

He heard Kermit's voice call out in his memory and he repeated the words. "He said, `Police. Nobody move.'" Peter opened his eyes and said in alarm, "I moved."

"What?" Jody asked.

Peter's voice was distant, "Kermit couldn't identify us in the snowstorm. He ordered no one - nobody - to move." The realization stunned him, and his head began to throb. "I assumed he saw me. I m-I moved... and he shot me."

"How did you move?" Walker asked.

Peter lifted his right hand to demonstrate. "I was reaching into my coat pocket for my handcuffs." Then Peter placed his hand over his eyes and muttered, "Kermit, I'm sorry."

"So, you're saying it was not Detective Griffin's fault?"

"I should have waited. I didn't know who else was there with him, or if Carmichael had anyone backing him up. I should have waited."

He felt Jody's hand on his arm. "It's all right, partner. You couldn't have known."

"Do I detect guilt, Caine?" Walker said in disbelief. "Griffin could have killed you."

Peter dropped his hand to his side. "He didn't, okay?" he snapped. "He was doing his job. He shouldn't be punished for that."

"So, you're not going to press charges?"

"No."

Walker got up. "Okay," he said resignedly. "But that isn't the end of this investigation. Griffin isn't cleared of this just yet."

"He will be," Peter affirmed.

"Sure," Walker patronized. "Good day, folks." He walked out of the room.

"Not for you, perhaps, Walker," Jody said, when he was out of earshot.

Peter turned his gaze to her, and she smiled. "You did good, partner," she said.

Peter nodded, trying to ignore the guilt that rose within him. "Do me a favor?" he asked her. "Find Kermit for me?"

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "My pleasure."

An hour passed and no one came to give him the okay to leave. He grew restless. He wished Kermit was around. Peter had tried to call him on his cellular a few times, but there was no answer.

He picked up the receiver for the umpteenth time but called Jody instead.

"Powell," she said in his ear.

"Jody, it's Peter. Have you reached Kermit yet?"

"No. And I can't find him anywhere. I don't even know where he'd go. Do you want me to put out an APB?"

"No. He'd kill me."

"Too bad no one knows where he lives."

"Yeah," Peter said absently. "Thanks, Jody." He hung up the phone and leaned back against the pillow.

Peter wanted to apologize, to let Kermit know that he understood. He wanted Kermit to know he forgave him. But his friend wasn't giving him the chance. Peter couldn't blame him. He'd probably do the same thing.

Something, a dream perhaps, tugged at his psyche. Something Kermit had said about not losing the fire within himself. Something about Blaisdell. Peter couldn't remember for sure.

He closed his eyes and tried to put some order to his thoughts when he heard a knock at the door. He opened his eyes and stared in dismay at the man standing in front of him. "Are you taking lessons from my father?" Peter asked.

"No," Kermit replied. "But I'll take the compliment." Kermit stood with his arms crossed in front of him, his expression all business. "We need to talk."

"We do," Peter agreed.

"My phone has been ringing off the hook, and I'm getting tired of it."

"Why didn't you answer it?"

"Because I knew it was you. I hate the phone, Kid. I prefer e-mail."

The statement amused Peter. "Is that why you keep changing your phone number?"

"Part of it. I only give it out to a privileged few. That's why I knew it was you." He stepped closer to Peter. "I do things at my own pace when I am ready to do them. You're my first stop."

"I'm glad," Peter said sincerely.

"Save it. You'll have to hear me out first."

Peter nodded. "Sounds fair."

Kermit paced the small area near the bed. He spoke with difficulty. "I'm sorry for what happened yesterday. It was an accident. I acted impulsively and nearly got you killed. It was dark and snowing heavily. Maybe I should have waited, but it's too late to second-guess things. I just want you to know that I'm truly sorry."

"I know. I understand that now. It wasn't your fault."

Kermit threw Peter a look of surprise. "Big change from this morning."

"Yeah, well, I had just woken up and I wasn't thinking straight. I didn't remember what happened until much later. I realized that the fault was mine. You had ordered no one to move and I moved. I reached for my handcuffs. It didn't occur to me at the time that you couldn't tell who I was. I knew the visibility was bad. I should have known better."

Kermit took a seat in a neighboring chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "We both made a mistake that day. But I think neither of us were wrong for what we did."

"I'm not so sure about that. I should have waited. I didn't know if Carmichael had anyone backing him up. And I didn't know if you had anyone with you. I should have waited until everything was secure."

Kermit sat silently for a moment, then asked, "Do you always carry your handcuffs in your coat pocket?"

"You never know when a crime is about to happen, Kermit," Peter joked.

Kermit straightened. "You wanted to kill him, didn't you?"

The question surprised Peter, as did his answer. "Yes."

"Look, Peter. I know that the murder of that kid really got to you. Hell, I know what it feels like to lose someone." He cleared this throat. "I hate to say this, but how do I know it wasn't your gun you were pulling out. Maybe I saved Carmichael's life?"

"It wasn't," Peter said without hesitation. "You know I don't keep my gun in my pocket, Kermit."

"I figured. I just..."

"You don't want me to lose the sense of honor within me. That fire? That drive?" To Peter's amazement the words had come out without warning.

Kermit's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"I thought... I was dreaming last night, but somehow... I don't think so," Peter said thoughtfully.

"Dreaming about what?"

"People talking... My father, Annie Blaisdell and you. I remember bits and pieces. Something about Blaisdell getting you that job at the precinct and how crazed you were. Then you said that I shouldn't lose the idealism that burns inside of me."

Kermit took off his shades and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I had hoped you slept through that."

"Well, either way, I heard it." Peter leaned forward and rested on his elbow. "I won't say a word, Kermit. I promise."

"I know you won't," Kermit said with a nod.

"It's nice to know a little more about you. Do you think... Never mind." Peter glanced away.

"What?"

He turned his gaze back to Kermit. "Do you think you could... tell me some more about Paul sometime?"

"Sure. Just don't ask me any questions about my assignments or any personal questions about me. I'm not sharing. Last night was a one-shot deal."

"Well, don't worry. I won't." Peter stared thoughtfully at him for a moment. "There is something, though..."

Kermit shook his head. "Forget it, kid."

Peter held up his hands. "Wait. Hear me out. How did you get your nickname? Or should I ask, which came first, the nickname or the glasses?"

Kermit put his glasses back on. "You're treading into dark territory."

"Come on," Peter pleaded, eager for a distraction.

Kermit smiled secretively. "When I was first starting out, I joined an elite group of mercenaries and had pledged my life to them. I was like you, young, eager, and ambitious. A true idealist in every sense of the word. I wanted to conquer the world and make a difference. My colleagues nicknamed me 'Green' at first, because of my inexperience, and the fact that I was the new kid on the block. As a joke, one of the men called me Kermit. The name stuck.

"Most of my assignments were in the jungles and forests of Asia, Africa, Central America. You name it. The forests and jungles became my home. Trees were my ally, the grass my bed, the rivers and lakes my bath, shower and refreshment, and the plants my food.

"We wore sunglasses to shield the strong rays of the sun." He shrugged. "Mine just happened to be green.

"When I returned to this city, I went through culture shock. The concrete jungle offered no comfort, no peace, no protection. Harsh colors; red, brown, black and dark gray; violence, anger, hate, and fear were reflected in them. I needed an escape, so I just wore the green shades more often. The computers were more of an escape, but the persona of Kermit, well..." He grinned. "Mystery."

Peter drank in the story, engrossed. "Why not move out of the city?"

"Because the domestic life isn't for me. I need the action, the activity, or I'll go mad."

Peter regarded him skeptically, thinking to himself that Kermit might already be a little insane. But, as Cap once said, you have to be a little bit crazy in order to survive in this world.

"Enough about me," Kermit said, leaning back in his chair. "Let's talk about you. When do you break out of this prison?"

"Today. I'm just waiting for the official word. I need a ride home. Are you willing?"

"No problem. When will you be returning to work?"

Peter didn't want to think about it. "I don't know. I don't care, really."

Kermit's brow knotted. "Why?"

Peter sighed. "You're right. This murder bugs the hell out of me. Seeing that kid lying there..." He swallowed and quickly changed the subject. "I also have a lot of other things on my mind right now."

"About Paul?" Kermit asked slowly.

"Yeah. But it's not just him. It's... It's hard to explain, Kermit. I just don't think I'm ready to return to police work just yet. Captain Simms did me a favor a couple of days ago by sending me home. She gave me a chance to start resorting my life."

"And what have you figured out?"

Peter felt an ache in the pit of his stomach and his head began to throb. "Nothing... yet."

"Peter," Caine said from the doorway. "You have been released by the hospital. You can leave at any time."

He smiled at his father, relieved by the change in subject. "Thanks, Pop." He glanced at Kermit. "Let's get the hell out of here."