By Wendy Shywalker

Part One

Peter sat watching the machines breathing life, keeping his father's body from becoming silent, keeping death that short but obtainable distance away. The minutes turned to hours, which in turn evolved to days -- days watching the man he loved more than life struggle to live.

<It should be me here, Pop.>

This was his fault. He always did things without thinking. He had seen the robbery going down, and reacted, forgetting Pop was with him and would behave as he always did, to protect his son. He had seen the gun too late; his father's responses had been quicker, and he had put himself as a shield in front of his one and only child -- a shield made of love, and one that was not invincible.

Peter had caught his father's body, and as they both slid to the ground, his father's eyes had searched his son. Once he had seemed satisfied that Peter had survived unscathed, his eyelids had fluttered and closed.

Peter couldn't believe this could happen again. Everything changes so quickly, so violently. It could not end here, not this way, not for them, not now. They had paid the price for violence before, and he refused to allow them to pay again.

So as Peter sat at his father's bedside. He talked. He begged and shouted. Words of anger and love, words of threat and kindness -- he talked until his voice was choked to a whisper. His father had to hear; he had to listen. Get angry, take pity, anything, but he had to come back.

Peter stood over his father, gently cradling his head in his now shaking hands, and as the tears glided down his cheeks, he made a plea that even the heavens surely heard. <You can't go like this Pop. This is no way to say goodbye.>

Peter rested his head gently against his father's chest. He felt the false pretensions of life being forced into his father's body. His mind began searching for anything that was his father, anything to give him hope. All he found were the memories that tore at his heart.

~~~Flashback~~~~~~~~~

Their lunch was finished and reality was now -- a desk with files waiting to be completed, the joys of being a policeman. As Peter and his father walked through the streets of Chinatown, Peter was in awe at how people reacted to his father. Their respect for him was surpassed only by his own feelings of pride and joy at being his son.

He stood watching as an herbalist offered Caine some herbs he had just gotten in that day. Peter looked at his watch. "Excuse me, Mr. Lee," Peter apologised. "Pop, I have to go; I'm going to be late. Same time tomorrow? If you're free, that is?" he asked, trying not to sound too desperate for his father's time.

Caine smiled and bowed to his son. "I would, of course, be honoured, my son. Ah...same time, same place?"

Peter smiled as he kissed his father on the forehead. "See ya then, Pop." Bowing -- "Mr. Lee" -- he set off for precinct.

He hadn't gone far when a scream rang through the streets. Peter pulled his gun and ran toward the sound that now had become a continuous cry of fear. He was about to make his way across the street when a shot rang out, silencing the scream. "Shit!" Peter swore out loud as he crouched behind a car.

The door of the restaurant flew open, and a man ran out, his gun drawn, nervously pointing the gun in all directions.

"Police! Drop you weapon and lie on the ground," Peter called to the shooter.

The shooter swung his gun toward the sound of the voice and fired. The shot took a nick out of the wall behind Peter.

Peter had no choice; he returned fire. Peter's bullet spun the man around and he fell to ground, not moving. Peter cautiously moved across the road, his gun still aimed at the prone body. Peter kicked the shooter's dropped gun out of the man's reach, but as he felt for a pulse, he knew it had been a pointless gesture. The shooter was dead. Peter reholstered his weapon. He was about to check out the restaurant when a movement caught the corner of his eye.

"Peter!"

He heard his father's concerned cry, and turned to see his father rushing toward him. "Pop, you shouldn't be here," Peter snapped. Peter had no time to react;, his father suddenly grabbed him. "Pop, what the..." Peter felt his father's arms go protectively around him.

What happened next would be engraved in his mind forever. Peter hadn't expected another shooter, but his father had seen what Peter hadn't and had reacted accordingly. Peter felt his father's strong grip move him ever so slightly, to place his own body as a shield in front of his son. Then he heard the shot, and felt his father's body jerk as the bullet found a target.

Peter grabbed at his father, who still had not let go of his son, and in that second, their eyes locked in a moment of heartbreak. "Pop," Peter pleaded, as they both slid to the ground. "Someone call an ambulance!" Peter screamed at the gathering crowd.

Caine stared at his son, bringing his hand up to touch the blood on his son's shirt. Tears fell down Peter's face as he took his father's hand. Shaking his head, Peter choked out the lie, "No,Pop, not my blood." His father smiled, reassured his son was uninjured, and his eyelids fluttered and closed.

Part Two

Mary Margaret ran up the corridor to find Peter hunched over, his face buried in his hands. She bent down, cupping her hand to Peter's face. "Peter, I just heard. How is he? He is not...?"

Peter's head shook ever so slightly, but enough for Mary Margaret to let out a sigh of relief.

Peter wearily leaned back in the chair. Mary Margaret gasped when she saw the blood that cover the front of Peter's shirt. "Peter?"

Peter shook his head and pulled his jacket over the stains. "I'm fine. It should be me in there, not Pop. Why couldn't it be me?"

Mary Margaret tried to put aside her own anxiety for the moment. "Peter, your father did what he had to do. He wouldn't want you lying in there."

Peter shot up from the chair. "What? So I am supposed to be grateful that it's him dying in there, not me? Well, I'm not. This a consequence of my life, not his. It should be me. It should be me!" he cried as he leaned against the wall.

Mary Margaret saw Lo Si and Kermit coming and was grateful for the reinforcements, as her own emotional state was getting shakier by the minute. Kermit took Mary Margaret aside as Lo Si went to tend to Peter.

"Peter..." Lo Si was cut off as Peter swung around, putting up his hand.

"Don't, Lo Si. I am fine."

Lo Si seemed to look right through Peter as he studied him for a moment. "You are not fine, young Caine. You have been injured."

Mary Margaret's ears pricked up as she stormed over to her partner. "Injured! Peter, what is the Ancient talking about? I thought it was Caine's blood," she accused as she tried to have a look under his jacket.

"Leave it, Mary Margaret. I'm fine," Peter snapped as he tried to pull away from her.

A doctor interrupted the confrontation as he came in searching for Caine's relatives. Seeing the blood on Peter's shirt, he knew he was headed in the right direction. "Are you here for Mr. Caine?" he asked.

Peter pulled from Mary Margaret's grasp, wincing as he did so. "I'm Peter Caine, his son. How is he?"

The doctor looked at Peter's pale face. "Well, Mr. Caine, you look like you are about to drop. Come and sit down, so we can talk."

Peter stood his ground. "No! Just tell me how my father is," he demanded.

The doctor sighed. "Mr. Caine, the bullet went straight through, but caused a great deal of damage on its way. There is no easy way to tell you this. We have had to put your father on a respirator."

Peter felt the room spinning. "But he will be all right?" he asked as he tried to keep his head clear.

"Mr. Caine, there are no promises, especially with an injury as severe as your father's. At the moment, it's a wait-and-see situation. I'm sorry. That's all we can do."

Peter heard Mary Margaret sob and turned to see if she was all right, but the room began to spin in earnest, and suddenly everything went black.

He woke to the touch of a healing hand on his forehead. "Pop." Peter smiled, but the smile faded as he opened his eyes and saw Lo Si standing next to the bed.

"I am sorry I am not your father, Peter," the Ancient apologised. Peter tried to get up, but the strong hands of Lo Si held him down. "You cannot help your father at this moment. You will rest, young Caine."

Peter looked at the IV attached to his wrist. "What happened?" he asked, looking around the room.

Kermit came forward with the explanation. "Only you and your father could get shot with the same bullet, you know, Kid? Your family takes this close family thing just that little bit too far." Kermit tried to lighten the moment. "You're fine, Kid, no serious damage. You should be out of here tomorrow."

"And Pop?" Peter's voice was barely audible, as if not wanting to ask the question, in case he didn't like the answer.

Kermit looked over to Lo Si, who had to restrain Peter again. "There is no change, Peter. You will rest, and I will stay here to make sure." Lo Si ordered.

Peter shook his head. "No! Lo Si, I will rest, I promise. But Father needs you, please!"

Lo Si bowed to Peter " As you wish, young Caine, but you must rest."

As Lo Si was leaving, Peter called after him, "Lo Si, tell Pop I love him."

Lo Si smiled at the younger Caine. "I will impart those words to Kwai Chang Caine, but do I believe he already knows this."

Part Three

Peter's heart ached. He needed to see his father; he needed to be close; he just needed him, period. Pulling the IV from his arm, he got up from bed and went looking for him.

"Mr. Caine, what are you doing out of bed, and where is your IV?" a nurse admonished as she caught him looking into one of the rooms. "You're going back to bed right now," she ordered, taking his arm.

Peter pulled his arm from her grip. "I'm not going anywhere until I see my father. Where is he?" He continued to search the rooms.

The nurse tried again to grab hold of Peter's arm. "Sir, you are coming back to your room. Now," she repeated, with a bit more authority.

Peter swung around. "Listen, lady, my father is in one of these rooms. If you don't show me where he is, I am going to search every room, one by one, shouting at the top of my voice as I go." To prove his point, Peter called as loudly as he could, "Pop!"

The head nurse came bolting down the corridor. "Nurse, what the hell is going on here?" Then she noticed Peter. "Mr. Caine, you again. I told you I would keep you informed on your father's condition."

"I need to see him for myself, please," he pleaded.

The head nurse looked at Peter. "Peter, you are recovering from a bullet wound; you should be in bed. However, as we can't have you causing this sort of commotion, and for your sake as well as the other patients..." Turning to the nurse, she asked, "Please get a fresh IV for Mr. Caine and bring it to ICU." Looking back at Peter, she shook her head. "Okay, Mr. Caine, you win. Follow me. But remember, we do have other patients, so behave."

The nurse led him to the ICU. As Peter entered, the reality of his father's condition hit him. Peter became light-headed for a moment, and grabbed for the wall for support.

"I knew you should be back in your room. Come on," the nurse coaxed gently.

Peter shook his head. "No, I'm fine. My father needs me." He walked over and stood at the end of the bed, watching as the respirator breathed the life that his father's body couldn't. Closing his eyes, he felt tears begin to fall. <I'm sorry, Pop. It should be me.>

Taking a deep breath, Peter moved to stand at his father's side. He bent down and looked into the gentle face of the father he loved more than life. Bringing up his hand carefully, he gently ran his fingers around his father's face. His skin was warm. He was sleeping, that's all; he would wake any minute. Leaning down near his father's ear, he whispered, "I love you. Please don't leave me." <Po...Father, I need you.>

Nothing the nurses could do would shift Peter, so in the end the big guns were called in.

Kermit arrived twenty minutes later, with Annie on his arm. "Where is he, Kermit?" she asked. Kermit looked over to Caine's bed to see Peter had fallen asleep with his head next to Caine's hand. "He's fallen asleep near Caine, Annie. I'll take you to him."

Annie put out her hand and gently felt for her son. "Peter? Wake up, Sweetie," she whispered as she gently touched his back.

Peter woke with a start. "Pop?" He was relieved to hear the machine still going, and turned to see what had awakened him. "Mom? Kermit? What are you doing here at this time of night?" he asked.

Kermit showed Peter his watch. "It's morning, Kid. You've been here all night."

"Sweetie, you have to go back to your room and get some proper rest. You won't do your father any good if you make yourself sick," Annie told her son.

Peter looked over to his father. "I can't leave him. He needs me," he pleaded.

Annie took her son's arm. "He needs you well. Kermit has offered to stay with your father until you get some proper rest, and I am here to see you do," she said, in her gentlest motherly tone.

Peter allowed Annie to pull him up from his chair. Taking one more look at his father, he pleaded. "Call me if he needs me, Kermit. Please, no matter what."

Kermit settled in the chair beside Caine and nodded. "Don't worry, Kid. He's in good hands. You just get some rest."

Part Four

"You are very lucky, Peter," the doctor stated as inspected the wound.

Peter didn't feel lucky. "How do you work that out? " he asked sullenly.

The doctor pointed to Peter's wound. "You are lucky that bullet didn't kill you both. Any higher, deeper, it would have been serious."

Peter pulled his shirt together, jumping from the table, and glared at the doctor. "Serious? My father is fighting for his life, because he took a bullet meant to kill me. The bullet did go higher, deeper, Doctor. Or don't you call that serious?" he snapped.

"Caine!" a voice barked. Peter turned to see Kermit standing at the doorway, shaking his head.

Peter took a deep breath. "I am sorry, Doctor."

The doctor patted Peter's shoulder. "I understand, Peter. I will go and check on your father while I'm here." He smiled as left the two men to talk.

"What brings you here, Kermit?" Peter continued to button his shirt; he was anxious to get back to his father.

"Thought I'd check on how you two were doing," Kermit said offhandedly.

Peter stopped dressing. "And?" he asked, knowing there was more to this visit.

Kermit moved toward Peter, not sure how he would take the news. He had wanted to be the one to tell him. Apart from Paul and Caine, he was the only one who could keep Peter under any sort of control. "We caught the shooter. I'd rather you hear from me than the papers."

Kermit got ready to tackle Peter, to stop him from running from the room and trying to kill this man who had nearly killed his father, and still might. But nothing happened. Peter just continued to dress.

"I'm glad. Just make sure he stays caught, " a calm Peter answered.

"Jesus, Kid, you surprised me." Kermit tried to read Peter's face, to see if he was planning anything. "I thought I was going to have to sit on you, but you're not interested? " he asked suspiciously.

Peter shook his head. His face suddenly darkened as he spoke. "You put him in front of me and I will show you how interested I am; I will be so interested he will find it hard to breath. But my focus is my father, and making him well. I can't allow revenge to become part of that. He is all that is important to me now. Nothing else matters -- nothing."

Peter spoke so intently, Kermit believed every word. It was a relief. He didn't want to have to protect this guy from Peter, when all he wanted to do was kill him himself. He could have cost him the lives of two good friends.

"I have to go. Pop's waiting for me," Peter said as he picked up his coat. "Thanks for letting me know about everything, Kermit."

Peter was nearly out the door when he turned to look back at his friend. "Oh, Kermit, about sitting on me? My father dies? To stop me, you'll have to shoot me."

Part 5 - Conclusion

There had been no change in five days, but Peter wasn't giving up. They had given up on each other once; he would never do it again. As he clasped his father's hand between his, he begged, "Pop, please, come back to me." <You can't go like this. This is no way to say goodbye.>

Peter gently laid his father's hand back on the bed. He was tired and he was getting angry. "Damn it, Pop, you can't do this." Peter jumped up, making the chair slide back and hit the wall. He began to pace around the bed, running his hand through his hand as he went. "You wouldn't let me give up like this. You would make me fight. Fight, damn it!" he ordered the still form. But the only answer was the monotonous beat of the machine as it continued to breathe life.

Peter walked over to the window. Looking out, he was at a loss how to help his father find his way home. Then he had a thought. <Maybe he is home.> Peter sighed as he rubbed the wound in his shoulder. That was something he hadn't thought of before. <Home, with Mom, with his Laura, happy. Maybe this time he isn't meant to come back to me.> Peter shook his head. <No, I'm sorry, Mom. You have eternity with him. I have missed too much of his life. I can't give him up, not even for you. I won't.>

He marched back to the bed with renewed strength. Leaning over, Peter looked into his father's face. "You listen to me, Pop. I don't know where you are, how lost or happy you are there, but you are not staying there. Do you hear me? I need you, and if it means going to where you are and carrying you back, I will. I will do anything in heaven, hell, and in between to get you back to me. Are you listening? Because I will keep talking, and you know how much I can talk. This is not your time, Pop; this is ours. Damn it, wake up! You can't leave me."

Peter rested his head gently against his father's chest. He felt the false pretensions of life being forced into his father's body. His mind began searching for anything that was his father, anything to give him hope, anything to tell him his father had heard him. Then there it was -- a flick, a spark of light, of being -- and as he slowly raised his head, their minds touched.

Peter smiled as his father's eyes slowly opened, and Peter clearly heard his father's voice resounding strongly in his mind. <I never left you, my son. I never will.>

THE END