TO PROTECT AND SERVE
By Wendy Hislop

Note: This is the final episode of the
First Kung Fu - The Legend Continues FANFIC Season

To read the other episodes, visit the official website at:
http://www.crosswinds.net/~jademac/KFFS/main.html

PROLOGUE : Peter's Room. <Scene one>

Calm warmth spread over Peter's slumber. All the questions that had been plaguing his days and nights seemed to be at peace.

"Peter." The voice was soft and lilting, happiness evident in its speech.

Peter opened his eyes searching for Annie, for it was his mother's voice that called him from his sleep. His room was dark, a cold darkness that chilled his bones. Trying to peer through the blackness as he had been taught was futile. There was nothing but emptiness ...nothing.

Reaching for the bedside light, his hands sliced through air. Startled by the emptiness that surrounded him, he leapt from the bed. Looking around, he saw nothing; reaching back for the bed he had just left, his hands again found nothing. He was alone in the midst of a black void.

"Peter!" his mother's voice called, more urgently this time.

Peter spun around, tightness rising in the pit of his stomach. "Mom? Where are you?"

"I'm here, Peter."

Peter turned toward the voice, only to see a mirror appear.

Stepping toward the mirror, he touched the glass. "Mom?" He smiled curiously. "What are you doing there?" he asked the image that had emerged.

Annie smiled back. "I love you, Peter, no matter who you are."

Touching the place on the mirror where his mother's face was staring back at him, Peter wanted so much to hold her. "I know, Mom, I've always known. What's the matter, Mom... why have you come to me like this?" he asked, the worry beginning to rise again.

"Don't blame yourself, Peter." Her face smiled at him.

"What? Blame myself for what? Mom, tell me." His fingers began to unconsciously claw at the mirror. "What is it?"

Peter watched as what seemed like a red laser dot began to circle Annie's body. "Mom!!" he shouted, thumping his fist at the mirror.

"I love you, Peter...remember, it's not your fault." She began to turn her back to him, the dot coming to rest on the back of her head.

Peter's voice was hoarse as he screamed "No!" Using all his force, he smashed his fist at the mirror, causing a crack to appear. He continued his pained pleas as his fists repeatedly rained blows onto the mirror.

The sudden sound of a gunshot coincided with the shattering of the glass.

Peter flew from his bed, beads of sweat dripping off him. As he dressed he tried to center his thoughts, reaching in for the real and unreal, trying to sort them out.

Snatching his keys from the bedside table, he raced to the door. Just as he reached for the door knob, he knew: his heart exploded with pain ... too late. <I'm always too late>

Part 1

Blaisdell family home 7.30am. <Scene two>

The red dot pierced the early morning light as it moved through the house, inspecting, examining, gliding over the furniture. Moving from the dining room, it made its way to the kitchen in its hunt for prey.

The sudden activity of opening bedroom curtains drew the dot like a moth to a flame, and it scurried in a new direction. Sliding along the outside wall of the house, the hunt drew closer to its end.

At the window stood an attractive blonde woman soaking in the warmth of the early morning light. Her unseeing eyes stared out into the morning sky as she smiled in the new day. The scanner, alert to sound, picked up her mouthed words. "It's going to be a beautiful day, Paul."

The dot joined the morning sun as it caressed the woman, pausing at her heart for a few short beats of time. Then it moved slowly up to her neck, the neck she now touched as if sensing the intruder. The dot continued its journey, stopping dead center between those same unseeing eyes........

Paul watched Annie from his position in bed. As he saw her standing in the light from the window, he couldn't help but think what a stunning woman he was married to. He always wondered if she knew how attractive she was and if she really understood the depth of his love for her.

"Its going to be a beautiful day, Paul."

He couldn't help smiling; if his Annie said so, it would be. Nowhere was there a better human barometer; not to mention psychiatrist, mother, and lover. <Now there's a thought.> He smiled to himself.

"Well, how about you come over here and get my day off to a beautiful start, Mrs. Blaisdell?" Paul patted the other side of the bed.

Annie, who had had her back to Paul all this time soaking up the warmth through the glass, began to turn around. "Yeah, yeah, promises, prom..."

Paul watched as she turned toward him, a cheeky smile starting its curve on her face.

It wasn't the shattering of the window or the faint glimpse of something red that drew his first seconds of attention. It was the curve of her lips, the smile that just stopped. It was the look of puzzlement that took that smile's place. It was the terror that screamed at his heart that woke him too late to the danger.

"Annie!!"

He was out of the bed within a second and beside her fallen body in that same amount of time. "Annie? Honey, can you hear me?" he pleaded; but her eyes never opened. <God, this can't be happening!>

Trying to keep low, he searched Annie, his hand coming away from the back of her head covered in blood. "Nonono, Annie, babe, you stay with me. You hear me? You stay with me."

He scurried on his hands and knees to the bedside table. Grabbing the phone by the cord, he yanked it down and crawled back to to his unmoving wife.

As he called in the emergency, he pulled the sheet from the bed and held it tightly to her wound. "Stay with me, babe, stay with me." With the ambulance and police on their way, he tossed the phone down and concentrated on willing his wife not to die.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

<Scene three> Hospital

The gurney burst through the hospital doors, its patient unaware of the panic that moved like a whirlwind around her.

Paul's eyes seemed glazed as he walked beside Annie, holding her hand, begging for her not to leave him. He couldn't believe this was happening; with everything that they had been through together, to have it all taken away this cruelly was beyond thinking about.

Oblivious to everything but his Annie, Paul didn't feel the hand that came to his shoulder or hear the distressed voice pleading for him to let go. "Dad, you have to let the doctors see to Mom... Dad, please."

Paul didn't move his eyes from Annie, but weakly acknowledged the voice that called through his pain. "P-peter?"

Peter gently pried Paul's hand from Annie as he nodded for medical team to take her. He felt Paul start to step forward as if to follow the disappearing gurney. Reaching out to pull him back, Peter found himself instead just in time to catch his father, as his legs threatened to fold beneath him. "Dad! Come on...let's get you a seat."

Stealing one more look at the room where his mother now fought for her life, Peter slowly moved Paul over to one of the chairs that lined the wall of the corridor. Peter could feel his father's trembling body shaking under his touch. They made it to the seat just as Paul's agony gave way.

"Oh God, this can't be happening...it can't be happening... God, Annie," Paul cried into his hands.

Every painful cry stabbed at Peter. He had felt the danger but had been too late to do anything but wait for the ambulance to arrive at the hospital. His time was not spent well. Anger at his uselessness and failure to protect his mother preyed hard on him. He tried to calm and center his rage, but he was finding it increasingly difficult lately to keep the priestly robe he wore settled as the skin it should be.

The failure to see his mother's danger was just one more reminder to the young priest of so many things he still needed to learn. The slow trickle of doubts that had grown over the last few months had begun to cascade into a river of what he saw as his own imperfections.

<Master? That's a laugh. Pop... what is the use of this skill... if I can't protect my family?> Looking at his father's pain, he ran his hand through his hair. <Enough Caine, this isn't about you.>

Forcing himself from his own pity, he slipped off the chair so that he was at Paul's eye level. "Dad? Please...please talk to me."

Paul jerked at the sound of the voice and seemed surprised to see his son's face staring at him. "Peter?" His fearful eyes darted around the hallway before stopping at the room where he knew his wife lay.

Peter anticipated the movement before Paul made it. "No!" he said softly but firmly. "Let them do their job."

Nodding, Paul sat up in the chair as he tried to recollect the last few minutes. "You were here when we got here. How did...? Sorry." He patted Peter's arm, his fingers gently brushing the tiger brand. He watched his son take a seat beside him. His son the Shaolin priest... wondered if he would ever get used to that side of Peter. It was a done deal, he knew that; the hot shot cop was gone, burnt away with the searing of the brands that now signified the man of faith that sat at his side.

It had not been unexpected, but he hadn't been prepared when he arrived home those months ago to find Peter had taken them so soon. Or was it more than that; was it just one more thing Caine shared with Peter that he didn't?

"Dad?...Dad, I'm so sorry." Peter folded his arms around the man who had been and still was such an important part of his life, wishing he could change what was happening; praying for the life of the only mother he truly remembered.

A sudden thought struck Peter. His eyes darted up and down the corridor, looking for something that wasn't there. "Dad?" Peter carefully moved away so he could look into his father's eyes. "Dad? Kelly, Carolyn, where are they?" He tried to keep his voice level and calm, tried to hide the alarm that was twisting his stomach.

Paul looked momentarily lost, seemingly having to search for the answer. He was about to panic himself when the memory of saying goodbye to his girls soothed his bewilderment. "Don't worry, they're all right. They're in Colorado visiting ...friends..." Turning to his son, he looked intently into his eyes, wanting to ask something but not sure how to do it.

Peter smiled. "Yes, Dad, she's still with us. She'll be with us for a long time yet."

~Flashback~

Applying his shaving cream, he began the customary slow strokes with the razor blade, as Paul had taught him so many years ago. A blonde head reflected in the mirror. "Good morning, Mom. I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, sweetie. We were just lying in bed, remembering the old times. Discussing what went on while he was gone." Annie walked up behind Peter, wrapping her arms around his waist.

He saw her lean to the side so that Peter could see her face, though she couldn't see his. He watched her through the mirror as she

talked. Peter noticed a red mark on her face, then saw the ruby stone

of his ring and chalked up the mark to a reflection from the stone. The moment's hesitation caused him to nick himself. Stemming the flow of blood as his mother handed him some tissue, Peter's mind wandered, showing him scenes of Annie lying in a pool of blood, then himself and

Paul at a funeral. The headstone read: "Beloved wife of Paul Blaisdell. Annie Blaisdell, born 1946. Died 1999."

"No," Peter whispered, shaking his head to rid himself of the ghostly images.

"Peter? What's wrong?" Concern built up in the unseeing mother.

She had felt the tremble in her son's body as she put her arms back around him after giving him the tissue.

Unwilling to tell her about his vision, Peter took a deep calming breath, forced a smile, and answered, "Nothing."

Knowing he wouldn't say what was troubling him until he felt like it, Annie kissed his shoulder. "Remember, I love you, no matter what."

Peter turned to look at her, "What?"

"All I said was I love you." With that, Annie left.

~End of flashback~

< I knew this was going to happen. God, I knew it.>

Paul's eyes zeroed in on the room Annie was in again. Unable to sit still any longer, jumping up from his seat, he was about to barge through his blocking son. "What's taking them so long?"

"Where in Colorado, Dad?" Peter asked, trying to distract his father. "We have to let them know."

Paul started pacing in front of his son, eyes never leaving the doorway. "I don't know, Peter, the number's at home," he snapped at his son. Realizing how he must have sounded, he pulled Peter into his arms. "I'm sorry."

Pulling his father even closer, Peter took comfort in his father's arms, even though it should have been the other way around. "It's all right. It hasn't been as long as you think. ...Where in Colorado, Dad?"

Separating himself from Peter, Paul ran a weary hand over his forehead. "Aurora. They're visiting their old school friend Annette...something. The number's in the book at home. Will you call them? I don't want a stranger to call ... this should come from family."

Peter nodded. "When we know something, I'll call them, okay?"

Forcing a smile, Paul cupped the nape of Peter's neck. "You mean you don't already?"

Wrapping his hand around his father's forearm, he smiled in return. "All I know is I love you both." Looking behind him, Peter squeezed Paul's arm again. "Dad, the doctor's coming."

Not questioning his son's word, Paul fell into step beside Peter as they walked to the door.

The doctor exited the doorway, his head buried in the pages of Annie's vitals. So intent was the doctor on his job he didn't notice the two men, and it was Peter's hand on his chest that stopped an all-out collision.

Looking up from his clipboard, the doctor's eyes scanned from the hand to take note of the two men for the first time. "I'm sorry. Are you here for Mrs. Blaisdell?"

Watching Peter remove his hand with a small nod, Paul stepped forward. "Yes. I'm her husband, and this is our son Peter. Annie... How is she?" he asked, unable to keep the nervous change of tempo from his voice.

Looking around, the doctor attempted to grasp Paul's arm. "I think we would be better off talking...."

"No!" The concerned husband moved his arm from the doctor's reach. "Here and now. We've waited long enough."

Understanding the passion that burned from the man's eyes, the doctor agreed, not wanting to waste any time himself. "The bullet is lodged in the back of the head, in the occipital area. We have her stabilized, but time is of the essence here. I want to get her to X-ray and to surgery as soon as possible. I need you to sign the consent form."

Taking a deep breath, Paul took the offered pen and paper with shaking hands. Signing it, he passed the pen back, keeping a white knuckled grip on the paper for a moment. "What are Annie's chances?" he asked as his fingers slowly released the paper to the doctor.

The doctor wished he could be more hopeful. With injuries this serious, she would be needing all his skills and God as his assistant. "I won't lie to you, Mr. Blaisdell. Your wife's injuries are very serious, but she looks like a strong woman."

"The strongest," Paul muttered softly.

Excusing himself, the doctor started to move away, but stopped to look back at the two men. "If you believe in someone, some prayers wouldn't hurt."

<Scene Four>

The green Corvair came to a screeching stop. Its only occupant, a slightly grey-haired man, waited only enough time to cut the engine before jumping from the car. Ignoring the beeping horn of a vehicle he barely missed, he miraculously made it to the hospital, only to practically run through the glass doors in his impatience for the electronic eye to register his presence.

Strenlich was standing with a group of uniformed officers. At the sound of the sliding doors, he turned to see Kermit striding toward them. Quickly moving in front of the concerned ex-mercenary, he placed a hand on his friend's chest to block his way. "Hold it, Kermit."

Kermit took off his glasses, glaring at his friend. Watching the Chief remove his hand, the detective replaced the glasses, his green wall back up. "Okay, tell me. How bad is he?"

Strenlich nervously pushed his hands in his pockets as he looked down the hallway. "You don't know?"

<God, I'm too late.> He dreaded the answer to his next question. "If I knew, Frank, I wouldn't be asking, would I?"

"It wasn't Paul, Kermit..." Frank had been on his way to work when he had intercepted the call and arrived at the Blaisdell home within minutes. Trying to keep his voice under control, he tried to block out the memory of Paul as he cradled Annie's bleeding head. " It was Annie ... The bastards shot Annie."

The news hit Kermit like a blow to the stomach and it took all his effort not to punch something. "Shit! Shit! How bad?"

"Real bad. Damn it, Kermit! It was a head shot."

Kermit knew the meaning; he had even used that shot himself. It was one way to make sure the target never survived. But that had been war, this was something entirely different; this was an innocent woman, a friend who didn't deserve this. Clenching his emotions as tightly as his fist, he forced his heart back to that safe place; that place where it would not interfere with the things he would do in the name of friendship.

Strenlich knew that look; he had seen it many times before; other times when Kermit's friends were in danger. "Don't even think it, Detective," he said, using his best superior's voice.

Kermit ignored Frank as he turned his head to scan the corridors. "Where's Paul?" His voice betrayed no emotion but seething anger.

Knowing there was nothing he could say, Frank pointed down the corridor. "Paul and Peter are waiting outside the emergency room. I didn't get much from him...understandable, but I do need to talk to him."

Nodding silently, Kermit took steps he wished he never had to make.

<Scene Five>

The two men watched as the gurney holding the core of the Blaisdell household was wheeled from the room. She looked so small lying there, so pale she seemed to blend into the sterile white sheet.

The desperate looks on the men's faces did not go unnoticed by the doctor. A gesture to the orderlies brought the wheels to a stop. "Just a minute, gentlemen."

Paul stepped forward, his shaking legs barely holding him up. Bending over Annie's fragile-looking figure, his shaking hand absently went to touch her head. Stopping himself, he gently touched her face. A tear glided down his cheek as he gently touched his lips to hers. "I'll be waiting, don't be long." He didn't want to tear himself away from her, but he knew there was no time.

Peter moved past Paul to take his father's place at his mother's side. Carefully taking Annie's arm, he cupped her hand between his two trembling ones, placing a kiss on the back of her hand. Stooping, he whispered for only his mother to hear, "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry, we have to go now."

Both husband and son watched as the stretcher was wheeled away again to be hidden behind closed doors. Kermit watched, waiting for the right time to approach his guilt-ridden friends. Now was better than never, he thought as he walked over, placing his hand on Peter's shoulder. "How is she?"

Kermit felt the tremble of the younger man's body under his hand, then air as Peter slipped out from under his grasp.

"We don't know yet." Peter moved to distance himself, standing with his back against the wall in silence.

Recognizing Peter's 'no go' signs, Kermit turned his attention to his old friend, who hadn't moved a muscle. Paul's mind was still lost in the scene that had played out only seconds before.

"Paul?" Receiving no sign of recognition, Kermit moved to gently shake his friend's shoulder. "Paul, are you all right?"

A sudden awakening crossed Paul's face and he turned to face the voice that called to him. "I don't know if I'll ever be all right again, Kermit. I just...I just don't understand. Why Annie? Why would anyone want to hurt her?" He didn't expect an answer. There was no answer that would be good enough to explain this cowardly attack.

Looking past Kermit, Paul saw the congregation of officers that appeared, waiting a discreet distance away. "They want to see me."

"They do. I know it's not right, but they need to know what you

can tell them."

Rage glinted in Paul's eyes. "What I can tell them...is that some bastard tried to kill my wife." Taking a deep breath, he shook his head. "Sorry. Okay, let's get this over and done with."

"Coming, kid?" Kermit asked Peter as they drew alongside him.

Peter said nothing, but gave a slight shake of his head.

Clasping Peter gently by the nape of his neck, Paul sought his son's eyes as he asked, "Are you all right, son?"

A weak smile was Paul's answer. "Go," Peter urged his father.

<scene six>

Peter stood watching Paul and Kermit leave. He wanted to follow, but he was a priest... he didn't belong there, not anymore. Finding a seat again, he leaned forward, resting elbows wearily on his knees.

He tried his best to stay focused on his mother, but all his anger and self doubts kept seeping through. Peter struggled to sift through and discard the emotions that his father had learned to control so well. Lost in that struggle, he nearly missed the presence of the person who stood in front of him. "How long have you been here?" he asked, without looking up to see who it was. He didn't need to.

"I was waiting...I believe you needed time with your father."

Peter straightened himself and leaned back in the chair, looking into the caring eyes of Kwai Chang Caine. "As usual...you were right." He didn't mean to sound petulant, but Caine's ease at always knowing what to do suddenly annoyed him. Seeing his father's questioning look, Peter looked away. "Sorry. Thank you for the time."

Caine could feel the turmoil moving around his son like a whirlpool, but the cause, other than Annie's fate, he could not tell. Taking a seat beside Peter, he couldn't help noticing his son's furtive looks down the hall toward the group of police officers. "How are you, my son?"

"Why does everyone seem to be asking me that lately? I'm not the one with a bullet in me, or the one praying for the woman he loves." Peter nodded toward Paul's agitated form.

Caine shrugged. "No... but you are praying for your mother. Your pain is no less than theirs."

Peter's nod was barely visible as he fought to keep himself under control, failing as a tear slipped down his cheek.

Caine moved to hold and comfort his son, but Peter was too quick and jumped from his seat. "Why are you not down with the others?" he asked, ignoring his son's uneasy pacing.

"I don't belong there anymore. I'm a priest, remember?" Peter gestured to his brands.

"You still work with Kermit and your father," Caine replied.

" That's different."

Caine's eyes kept in time with his son's pacing as he tried to get Peter to talk. " How?"

"Please, Pop," Peter begged, waving him off. " Leave it alone."

"I cannot... you are my son."

"You must ... Damn it, Pop, I'm a grown man. I have to do this on my own." Peter's voice was slowly rising with the faster pacing of his feet.

It hurt Caine to see his son in so much pain. "You do not have to do anything on your own, Peter."

Peter stopped pacing and glared at his father. "Oh, that's rich coming from you." His voice had become loud enough for Paul and Kermit to look around at the sound. "How many times did I offer help to you when you had a problem, only to be told in not so many words to mind my own business?"

Caine's frown showed his opposition to his son's thoughts as he stood to join him. "Peter? I have never..."

"Oh, but you have. Maybe not in the same words but it was the identical meaning." Peter stepped away as his father closed in on him. He couldn't deal with this and Annie's injuries at the same time. Catching sight of Paul and Kermit starting to move back down the corridor toward them, he realized it was just another thing he couldn't deal with.

"I need some fresh air. Tell Paul I'll be back to check on Mom."

" Peter, please...?" Caine called after his fleeing son, but it was to no avail ... Peter was already gone.

Part 2 <scene seven>

The priest entered the hospital, taking time to stop and talk to an elderly man waiting in the reception area. With a smile and a kindly pat of the old man's hand, the minister moved over to the front desk.

The receptionist didn't noticed the priest's arrival and continued with her paper work. To get her attention the priest cleared his throat. "Excuse me."

"What is it now?" the receptionist snapped as she looked up. Her cheeks blushed red when she noticed the white collar around the man's neck. "I am so sorry, Father. I didn't ... I thought you were one of the police officers. We have been run off our feet this morning. I really am sorry, Father," she apologized.

The priest smiled and with a gentle wave of his hand, shrugged off her embarrassment. "Please, I do understand. All of these police officers; is there something wrong? Anything I can do?"

"It's so sad really. A woman was shot, but she's well connected to the police force, it would seem. I think the police officers think she's the only patient we have here. Oh I'm sorry, that must have sounded awful."

"Shot!" the priest exclaimed as he shook his head. "Such a sad world we live in. Of course it didn't sound bad. You care for all in this hospital, not just the one. I hope she will be all right."

Looking around, the receptionist whispered, "From what I hear, it's not good. But I'm sure with your prayers, and help from our doctors, she'll pull through."

"Of course. I will pray for answers to 'all' our prayers. God be with you." Smiling, he turned his back to leave.

"You too, father." Returning to work, she suddenly remembered, "Oh, Father, was there something...?" Looking around, she found the corridors empty. Without a second thought, she went back to work.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Once outside the hospital, the stately-looking man turned the corner and walked to a waiting car. His hand went to his neck, pulling at the white collar that circled his throat; with an angry tug, he snatched it off. "Damn it to hell!" he cursed.

Opening the door, he slid into the front passenger side, throwing the collar into the back seat with an angry motion. He glared at the driver. "Well, we fucked that up," he snapped at the driver. "She's still alive." <end scene seven>

<Scene eight>

Peter hadn't noticed how long he had been walking or where his absentminded meandering had led him. He was so lost in his painful thoughts and visions, the voice that called to him went unnoticed.

"Pete!"

Having been calling to the ex-cop for half a block, Donnie was not surprised when he didn't receive an answer. He traveled a wide circle, and the news of Peter's mother's unfortunate accident had not gone unreported.

With a final burst of energy, his short legs eventually caught up with the lost young priest. "I was always lead to believe, and correct me if I'm wrong here, Pete, but I thought a Shaolin's antenni was to become sharper, not become duller."

As if waking up, Peter turned to the voice and seemed to see Donnie for the first time. "Sorry. What did you say?"

Donnie realized how devastated the priest was and waved his hand. "It is not important, Pete. At this tragic time, it was an insensitive joke at a friends expense. I'm sorry."

Peter was still confused as he shrugged. "Whatever you say, Donnie. Look, uh...I really need to be alone at the moment. Understand?"

"And usually, I would not be one to intrude on a friend at a moment like this...but as a friend, it is my duty to keep my ears open...should any information on this cowardly attack come to my attention. If you get my drift."

Peter, whose only thoughts had been to escape to somewhere where he could be alone in his misery, suddenly looked at Donnie more intently. "You've heard something?"

Donnie didn't want to get his friend's hopes up. "My ears have never been as finely tuned as they are now, Pete, but the flow of information is but a trickle."

Trying to keep himself from voicing his aggravation at Donnie's colorful speech pattern, Peter attempted to wait out his friend's word dance. "A trickle? But you have heard something?" He face was now only inches from Donnie.

<scene nine>

Everything had happened too fast. Visions swamped Paul's every thought, drowning him in slow motion replays of his last moments of happiness with Annie. He couldn't think past his next breath, and even then he had to force himself to inhale.

After giving up second guessing his son's flight from the hospital, Paul had collapsed in the chair, tired and defeated. This was just too difficult. He had all but forgotten that he was not alone, when a voice jarred him.

"Paul? You need anything?"

Forcing himself to make the effort to look up, he saw Kermit's concerned eyes looking down at him. "Do I need anything?" Paul repeated. His voice starting to rise as his weariness broke, giving way to the rage that had been waiting for release. "I NEED my wife. I NEED to know why this is happening to us." Jumping up from his chair, he stared down the hallway toward the doors where he had last seen Annie. "I NEED to have the bastard that put her here, in my hands." His voice fell away to a whisper. "Can you give me that Kermit?"

Kermit agreed with the sentiment, though he didn't voice that thought. The detective knew it was going to take all the control they had not to go mercenary on this one. By attacking Annie, they attacked his family. He just prayed he got to the asshole before anyone else and wondered how hard it would be to prove self defense with a dismembered body laying at his feet.

"No, I can't, my friend. I can only tell you that all of us will do our best to find who did this. Whoever did this will pay, I promise you." He wanted to join his friend, raging at the heavens, but for now his pain wasn't important.

Though grateful for the thought, Paul remembered what Frank had said earlier.

<I'm sorry, Paul. Whoever it was knew what he was doing. The area is cleaner than when the bastard got there.>

Paul forced half a smile in appreciation of Kermit's efforts. "I know Kermit, I know you will try."

Looking up, Paul and was suddenly reminded of Caine's presence. He was standing to the side of the corridor, doing his best to stay out of the way.

"I'm sorry, Caine," he apologized, stepping over to the priest.

Caine recognized the pain that haunted the grief- stricken husband's face. For a brief moment, he was transported back to another time, but the same pain. To say goodbye to woman you loved was a cruelty beyond measure and he would not wish it on his son's father.

"Please, I understand."

Paul nodded, he knew of all people, Caine did understand. "How did you stand it, Caine?" Paul's voice choked. "How did you bear Laura leaving you? I'm sorry, I shouldn't be..."

A deep breath escaped Caine's body. "No, I will tell you. Saying goodbye to my Laura was...a pain that scarred my heart. I fought...she fought...to stay. We lost, but with every breath I take she still lives within me. Your Annie still lives. And you will both fight and you will win. Some battles are not meant to be lost."

Closing his eyes for a moment, he prayed. "I hope you're right, Caine. I hope you're right." Rubbing his forehead, Paul tried to concentrate on something else for a moment. "Caine, I'm worried about Peter. There is something he's not saying...something more than his mother's accident. We could always talk, even after he became a priest, but lately he has been evading me."

Caine nodded and shrugged at the same time. "Yes, I too have felt the distance; but as to what it is, I do not know. His mother's agony has just added to that pain."

"But Peter's a priest now; he's closer to you than he has ever been. Surely you can tell me something."

Caine admitted only to himself he missed those days when he could read Peter, when he could feel the exact pain that coursed through his son. Now there was nothing he could do about it, unless Peter willingly opened his heart to him. He wanted to give Peter's other father something, but he was helpless as Paul.

"I am sorry, we must wait until our son is ready to talk. That is all we can do."

"And hope he doesn't crash and burn in the meantime," Paul said sadly.

<Scene Ten>

The seedy hotel room door slammed open, shaking the paper-thin plaster as the door met the wall.

"Christ! Braxton, she's alive!" The slightly balding man snarled, throwing his coat on one of the unmade beds.

Miles Braxton, about five years younger at thirty-five and a lot less prone to temper tantrums, strolled in, closing the door behind him. "Yes, so I have heard, all the way back from the hospital. Don't panic. If she's not dead by now, she will most likely be a vegetable for the rest of her life. Our job's done either way." He made his way casually over to grab a beer from the loudly vibrating fridge.

That calmness was why Masters picked Braxton for this job. The kid was cool under pressure...he didn't even flinch when the woman went down. Cool as ice..that, and he could shoot the eye out of a needle. If something hadn't distracted the woman, causing her to move, their job would be done. "That is where you are wrong, my young friend. The Blaisdell bitch dies and we get paid, or she breathes and we cease to exist. I don't know about you, but I have sort of gotten fond of breathing."

Braxton had never seen his friend this worried on any job they had done together. "Why did you take this job, if losing comes at such a high cost?"

"Because winning pays a whole lot more. You know what your cut is on this...there is a lot of money behind this contract. A lot of money, which usually means a whole lot of hate."

Opening the bottom drawer of a battered tall boy, Masters lifted an old blanket and pulled out a state-of-the- art laptop computer. After setting the computer up and connecting to the e-mail, he waited to hear if the news had filtered through.

{YOU HAVE MAIL}

With a deep breath Masters clicked on the waiting message.

{ Money held. Now COD. Will not pay for damaged goods. Delivery imperative for sale, or new supplier will be found... and added supplies will be ordered.}

Closing the computer down, Masters knew what the message meant; cash on death. Not brain dead...dead. He was warned when he took this job that the money was high because the risks were high. The money man played by his own rules. He wanted payback against this Blaisdell family. For what, Masters didn't care; as long as he got paid.

"Well," he said, turning to Braxton, "I think we'd better think of how we are going to get past ten thousand cops and finish this job before someone is getting an e-mail on us." <end scene ten>

<Scene Eleven>

The hospital moved loudly around the three men who paced, sat, and stood respectively. Each man was lost in his own thoughts. Their silence was completely drowned in the rattle of medicine trolleys and constant ebb and flow of hospital life.

To Paul, it was like the world moved in slow motion. Time seemed to have stood still, though everything still moved inside it. >From the pit of his stomach, he craved to see the sight of his Annie; to see life still breathing in that precious body. A tear escaped as he prayed again, pleading for his God to take him instead.

The turn of Caine's head toward the end of the corridor sparked attention, as both Paul and Kermit followed his gaze.

Peter turned the corridor to face the three men, who he knew would demand answers he was not ready to give.

Paul was relieved to see his son back. Both he and Kermit watched as the two priests looked at each other and then turned to look at the doors at the end of the corridor. The distressed husband started to move toward the two men, his heart beginning to beat so fast it threatened to explode. <No. God, please don't take her. I need her. I love her. Please don't>

As they all watched, the door opened and the doctor stepped through. Meeting eye contact with the waiting group, exhaustion caused his shoulders to sag a little. Pulling the scrub hat from his head, he ran his free hand through his hair as he walked over to share Mrs. Blaisdell's condition.

Paul couldn't help but search Peter and Caine's faces, knowing that if something had happened, they would know. When he saw normal concerned emotions playing on their faces, part of him couldn't help be relieved as he tried to slow his rapidly thumping pulse rate.

"Mr. Blaisdell, I can't make you any promises, but she is one tough lady. She fought a hard battle. She has slipped in to a coma." Seeing the husband face pale, he tried calm his fears. "That was to be expected, Mr. Blaisdell. We have placed her on a ventilator, to give her body time to recuperate without the added stress of trying to breathe for itself."

"So, she will be all right then? When can we see her?" Paul asked impatiently, needing to see for himself that she was still with him.

"It's a wait and see situation, but I do have high hopes. For now, I suggest you go home and get some rest. You won't be able to see your wife for at least an hour, and you won't do her any good by standing here in the hallway pacing."

"But I need..."

Kermit laid a comforting hand on Paul's shoulder. "We know what you need, my friend, but the doctor is right. Annie's not going anywhere." Looking back toward Peter who stood as far away from them as he could, he asked the young priest, "Are you coming?"

"No," Peter answered too quickly. Shuffling his feet nervously he avoided looking into the curious faces. "I...I have some things to do. "

"This has gone too far Peter. You must talk to us, son," Paul urged.

Peter looked as though it had been struck. "Son! Oh yeah, great son I am. I knew about this, you know. I knew months ago... I saw it in a dream. I screwed up the way only Peter Caine can, and now Mom's paying for it."

Looking over at his father he continued, "Peter, the pretend priest playing cop." Then, turning back to Paul, the words kept flowing, "and Peter, the pretend cop playing priest. I don't know who the hell I am anymore."

"Jesus, Kid! When are you going to learn not to take responsibility for everything? The only person responsible for this is the man who pulled the trigger." Kermit defended his friend.

"I'm responsible! DO YOU EVER HEAR ME... I KNEW...damn it. I knew!" His voice faded as he struggled to hold back the tears.

Paul knew there had been something bothering his son, but this... That Peter felt responsible for his mother's condition was so wrong; but for Peter it held some logic. "You were a good cop Peter, and I'm sure your father would agree you have succeeded just as well as a priest. You can't protect everyone."

"Maybe not," he said as he began to walk away, "but I can try. As I said, I have some things to do. I'll be back to see Mom in an hour."

Caine started to follow his son, but was stopped by Kermit. "This is what I do best. I'll get an officer to take you and Paul home..." Looking at the stricken man, he whispered, "You look after him and I'll look after your son."

<Scene Twelve>

As Peter sat on the bench beside the lake waiting for his meet with Donnie, the young priest couldn't help but feel the loss of his secret place. It no longer felt peaceful, as its silence now became a weapon against him. The vacuum had allowed every thought and question that had been plaguing Peter over the last few months to assail him with no pity.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes in an attempt to center himself. Attempting to draw on the last remnant of priestly calm he could find, he started to meditate. Peter's breathing was deep and slow, somewhat calm as he allowed his mind to drift into a light meditation.

~Dream scene~

He was being smothered. His mouth and nose were blocked as his lungs screamed to breathe. Peter woke, bolting up in his bed, gasping for air as he clawed at his neck and face. His hands were met with an adhesive web-like substance that clung to his fingers as he tried to peel it from his skin. Freeing himself at last from his sticky prison, he sat breathless as his eyes focused on his surroundings.

He was no longer in his room. He found himself standing in the middle of blackness. <Not again...please not again>

"Who are you?" A voice called through the dark.

Peter tried to peer through the nothingness. "I'm Peter Caine. Who are you?" he asked back.

"Who are you?" the voice called again.

"I told you who I am," Peter shouted. "I'm Peter Caine."

"No! I asked, who you are?"

"And I answered you. What do you want from me?" Peter screamed at the top of his lungs as he began turning circles, looking for his tormentor.

"I want to know who you are."

"I told you," Peter said weakly, "I'm..."

Suddenly the mirror appeared, just like last time, but this time it was emerging figures of Kelly and Carolyn that appeared. "You're our brother, Peter." they said in unison as they disappeared.

"Kell...Carolyn?" Peter's fingers tentatively touched the glass.

"Answer me. Who are you?"

Peter pulled his fingers from the mirror as if they had been burnt; the figure of his mother taking his sisters' place. "You are my child."

"Mom? No! This isn't happening. Please leave me alone...Damn it! What do you want from me?" he screamed as he fell to his knees.

"Just an answer to my question. Who are you?"

One by one figures appeared, Annie first. "You are my light."

"Oh Mom," he cried, his arm reaching out to her form before she disappeared too.

"Who are you?"

"You are my son," Paul's figure said as he too faded from view.

"Who are you?"

"I don't know what you want," Peter pleaded. Looking to the mirror he found himself staring at the face of his father...he would know the truth. "Father, help me. He wants to know who I am.... Father? Who am I?"

"You are the master," Caine replied.

Peter shook his head, denying his father's words. "I'm your son. You're my father."

The figure of Caine bowed. "My son, you are the master now. I will be sitting at your feet."

Peter became angry, screaming at the mirror, "No! I am your son." He jumped up from the floor, and leapt at the mirror. Tears fell as he slammed his fists against the glass. "I am your son, damn it . Why can't I ever just be your son? Why did I have to change? I was something I understood before... now everything is questions with no answers... Explain to me Father... Tell me who I am."

"Who are you?" the voice called, more distant this time.

Peter slowly slid to the floor, his fingers trailing down the glass. "I don't know... who I am," he cried into the darkness. Turning his back to the glass, Peter brought his knees up to his chest and as his arms encircled them, his wounded soul cried, "Who am I?"

~end of dream scene~

"Pete! Pete! Wake up!"

Peter followed the voice back, opening his eyes to find Donnie's concerned face staring back at him.

"Jeez, Donnie," Peter jumped, startled at the close proximity of his friend's face. "What are you trying to do to me?"

"Well, I was attempting to save a friend from a great deal of embarrassment. You were, shall we say, becoming somewhat agitated in your sleep-like state. I did not want our local priest to become the afternoon entertainment. I do apologize if I interrupted a moment of existentialism." He took a seat beside the still visibly upset priest. "I hope this disturbance is not a sign of bad tidings on behalf of your dear mother?"

A faint smile passed over Peter's face as he touched Donnie's shoulder reassuringly. "Thank you and no, my mother is ... well, she is still with us." With a slight shake of his head to clear his thoughts, the young priest's face clouded over. "Please, tell me you found something?"

Donnie paused, seeming to ponder his answer. "If I was to have, say, come across certain information, I am wondering whether it is prudent to give this so-called information to a heart-wounded son? I also contemplate, would it not be best to give it too the proper authorities? I have heard these are dangerous men. I would be very upset to lose someone who's friendship means a lot to me."

Leaning toward Donnie, Peter's eye's seemed to glaze over. "If you don't tell me... that friendship will be on shaky ground anyway. It's a lose, lose situation," he threatened.

With a resigned sigh, Donnie gave in. "Okay, Pete. I will release the information you seek, but please, do not do anything you will be regretful for."

As Donnie watched Peter leave, armed with the information, he prayed for the tormented friend. "And don't end up dead."

Part 3

<Scene Thirteen>

Kermit had been surprised when his young friend made no sign of sensing his presence. He was well hidden, but Peter's Shaolin teachings had given him a second sight that should have given the ex- mercenary away long ago. Instead, Peter seemed to sag in a boneless heap onto the park bench, only to move indecisively from one position to another.

Kermit hadn't been surprised that his tailing the young priest had led him to the park. He knew that it was where Peter would go to seek peace from his demons, but he could see by the look of his tormented body movements that peace was not going to be found here today.

What did surprise the older man was Donnie Double D's visitation. The affable snitch was well off his usual beat. "Well, well, playing cop this time? I knew you couldn't leave your otherself behind for too long. So what are you up to, kid?"

Watching the two men, Kermit could see the concern on Donnie's face. From the detective's distance, the words between the two men were lost on him, but with Peter's descriptive face words were not really needed.

Noting Peter's departure, Kermit moved out of cover and headed toward Donnie.

"What did you tell him, Donnie?"

Startled, Donnie turned to find Kermit standing behind him.

"Detective Griffin, you have scared ten years life out of this fragile body, but I am most relieved to see you. I believe a mutual friend of ours may not be in the right frame of mind, thus putting his life in great danger."

Kermit could never understand why Peter's snitch had to talk like a game of Scrabble. "Donnie, we haven't got time for this. What did you talk about?"

"I begrudgingly told him what he was hell-bent on finding out ... the whereabouts of two men who may or may not be the men you are looking for in regards to his mother's unfortunate accident."

The shock of the news registered on Kermit's face. "You know Peter Caine, and you told him who shot his mother? Listen here, you little shit," Kermit snarled as he grabbed Donnie's by his each side of his shirt. "I don't care if Peter has a soft spot for you. If anything happens to him because of what you have told him, I will personally come back and use your body parts to make a jigsaw puzzle. You understand me?"

Donnie was indignant as he pushed from Kermit's grasp and straightened his clothing. "First of all, Mr. Griffin, I do not know if these are indeed the men you are looking for. Second, I was on my way to the precinct to relate to you the same information. And thirdly, while you stand here arguing the pros and cons of Pete's or my decision, our friend gets closer to his target."

Kermit realized that Donnie was right. "Tell me." he ordered. <And you better be wrong.>

<Scene Fourteen A>

Peter made his way up the rickety old stairwell, the banister moving slightly under his touch. He could see the reason for hiding out in this part of town. A person could easily stay invisible in a place that no one cares about. It had been simple to slip past the unkept hotel manager whose face was buried between the pages of an out-of-date issue of Playboy. Not that Peter could blame him, any escape was better than nothing, even a old and over-used magazine.

Peter stopped and waited outside room eight, the lopsided number hung tarnished and broken from a bent nail. He closed his eyes and tried to put himself in the room, feeling for any indication of the occupants being home. Nothing.

After rubbing his hands lightly together without touching, he circled his fingertips over the lock. Within a second, he heard the unmistakable click of the lock opening.

Slowly pushing the door open, he double-checked by sight what his mind's eye had already told him. Scanning the room, he could see the attempted murderers didn't carry much in the way of personal effects. It was empty except for the bed and dresser. There was a closet across the room.

Opening the closet, Peter was not surprised to find not much in the way of clothes. He was just about to check what little was there, when he felt it. Moving quietly to the side of the door way, he waited.

<Scene Fourteen B>

"What do you think?" Braxton asked. They watched from a safe distance as the young man entered their hotel.

Masters knew that Peter Caine was no longer a police officer, and in fact had become a priest. Unsure of the reasons for such a drastic change in professions, Masters only pondered with a fleeting interest. Watching the street, he smiled. He was not at all surprised to see the green Covair pull up and the ex-mercenary Griffin leave the car and enter the building. "I think we will wait and add two more to our employers wish list."

"What are you up to?" Braxton had seen that look before, and watched as Masters reached in to his pocket and pulled out an electronic remote.

<scene Fourteen C>

The doorknob moved with the subtlest of movement, but enough for Peter to pick up on it.

"Before you kick me so that I may never sire offspring, it's me." a voice called from the other side.

Cursing under his breath, Peter yanked the door open to see Kermit standing there, casually holstering his weapon.

"How...? Donnie! I'm going to kill that little blabbing thesaurus when I get my hands on him." Ignoring Kermit, Peter went back to what he was doing.

"Find anything?" Kermit asked, as he scanned the room for himself.

When no answer was forthcoming from the priest, Kermit continued to look around. "You know, I'm the cop here. You're the breaking and entering priest. You're going to need my help, whether you want it or not, you know."

Again, Kermit was meet with silence, "Okay, I can talk. Must admit it makes a nice change not to have you talking my ears off.. Did I ever tell you how much you talked? Always wondered where you're got that diarrhea of the mouth from. I mean your father talks in bare syllables, Paul has always been the strong silent type ... it just must be a personal Peter Caine quirk." Having checked under the bed, he kept his commentary up as he checked the drawers of the dresser. "So, what do you think, kid? Do you think it's... Well, I think all our Christmas' just came at once. Look what Santa left us."

The excitement that Peter picked up in Kermit's voice was enough to get him to stop ignoring his friend and wander over to see what he had found.

Kermit was about to open up the laptop he had discovered when Peter's hand touched Kermit's shoulder. "Kermit! Move!"

<Scene Fifteen A>

"What am I up to? Getting something right, that's what I'm up to." Masters stared at the window of his rented room and smiled. "I hope all priests and dogs go to heaven."

Masters' finger pressed lightly on the button.

The ensuing explosion blew not only the pane, but the whole window frame, from its nailed moorings as glass and wood rained on the street below.

"Jesus, Masters! What the hell...?" The power of the explosion forced Braxton to step backwards.

"Hell had everything to do with it." Masters laughed as he watched the room burn.

Braxton wasn't so happy. "Damn you, Masters. The computer was in there... the only link to our money, if you remember?"

"How long we been working together Braxton? Man, you must be getting dimwitted if you think that I have only one way to do everything. Hey, just relax and watch the fireworks." [end scene fifteen a]

<Scene Fifteen B>

Peter had felt it, as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Listening to his inner voice, he knew he had to move; to get his friend out of the room. "Kermit, move!"

Kermit didn't need any second warning from the priest and with his arms wrapped around the computer, protecting their find, he allowed himself to be pushed out of the room.

About to turn and make sure Peter was following him, Kermit felt a sudden shove in the middle of his back as his world exploded in an all too familiar blast of noise and flame.

<Scene Fifteen C>

"Peter!" Caine jumped up from his meditation on the Blaisdell's living room floor. The danger had struck at him, sending his heart to the pit of his stomach. "We must go."

The priest's uncontrolled outburst startled Paul, who had been unsuccessfully trying to sleep on the couch nearby. In his panic, the surprised man nearly fell off the couch. "What? Peter? What happened? Where is he?" <Not Peter! God, not him too> With a heartbeat, he was in front of Caine demanding answers.

"We must go," the priest repeated more urgently.

Grabbing his coat, Paul was only half a step behind.

<Scene Fifteen D>

Kermit struggled back to awareness, unable to see anything through the veil of smoke and dust that still fell from above him. "Hey, kid. Thank God for that seventh sense of yours." Greeted with only the ringing in his ears, the noise of outside traffic and silence, Kermit's call got more frantic. "Peter, you had better not be still giving me the silent treatment. Your chance to really get back at me was to leave me in that room." Still meeting silence, Kermit called again as he searched for the younger man. "Peter? Damn it, answer me!"

Pushing to stand, Kermit realized he had something digging into his chest. Looking down, he saw the laptop seemingly unscathed. With the pressure on his back, he hoped his body had done the same. Trying to wrestle the heaviness off him, he called again. "Talk to me Peter! Damn it to hell," he shouted at the wood, "Get the fuck off me!" He pushed up with as much strength as he could manage.

"Kid? You'd better...be alive...or ...I'm going ...to kick... your ass... priest... or no ...damn priest." Kermit gasped as he eventually dislodged the beam that fallen across his back. Once sitting upright, he stopped to catch his breath; his now bare eyes scanning the decimated hallway. With the smoke starting to thicken, he knew he was running out of time. "Come on Peter. Scream, grunt, moan, call me a bastard. Anything, just tell me where you are."

As if an answer, Kermit heard a faint moan calling through the smoke. "Sometimes you do listen. Thank you." He glanced heavenward.

Blindly crawling through the smoke, Kermit followed the sound until his coughing caused him to stop to catch his breath. The heat from the decimated room began to grow in intensity as it took strength from the old rotted building.

"Ker..." the name was lost in a spasm of coughing.

"Hold on. I'll have you out in a minute," Kermit said hopefully. With renewed effort, he cleared the debris off his friend. "Where are you hurt?"

When his question was met with a moan, he shouted as loudly as his smoked-choked lungs would let him. "Kid, come on, I need your help here."

A spluttering cough was followed but a whisper, as Peter started to move. "You...always...need ... my...h-help." His forced a smile, baring white teeth through his soot- covered face.

"Yeah, yeah, so you say, Kid. Come on, let's get out of here before we become crispy critters." They both groaned in unison as Kermit pulled Peter to a standing position.

"Still all right?" Kermit asked, as he tried to balance Peter against him.

"I'm...fine...move it will ya?"

Kermit put his arm around Peter's waist as his friend threatened to slip out of the detective's arms. The curse that passed the young man's clenched teeth did not go unnoticed.

"Anybody up there?" a muffled voice called through the smoke.

"You bet. Hurry, there are two of us," Kermit called to their would-be rescuers.

As the smoke parted, Kermit was pleased to see two fire fighters making their way toward them. "Either of you hurt?"

"No... we ...are ...fine," Peter spoke up. "Just ...get...

us out... of here... please."

<Liar> Kermit pushed one of the fireman away, refusing his aid while passing Peter to the other man. "Help my friend, I'm right with you."

"Sir, no buts. This place is going up and I don't intend being part of it," the fireman shouted through his helmet.

Spotting the laptop through the haze, Kermit grasped it just as the fireman took hold of him and led him toward the stairway.

<Scene Sixteen A>

As the smoke billowed and the flames escaped the cracks to lick the outside of the building, they watched. Braxton had been pushing for Masters to leave the scene, but the other man would not be dissuaded from staying.

"This is not what we are getting paid for." Braxton pulled at Masters' shirt. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Masters grabbed Braxton's wrist with one hand while the other pulled a gun from his pocket and pressed it against his cohort's head. "If you want to join that priest and his friend ... put your hands on me again. The money will go a lot further divided by nothing," he threatened.

Taking his hands away, Braxton placed them in the air in surrender. He tried to lean his head away from the gun's pressure on his temple, but his enraged partner's grip wouldn't give. "Jesus, Masters. We're both the bad guys here. Look...the fire department is here already... the cops won't be far behind. I don't feel like spending the rest of my life in jail."

"More like life on the beaches of Rio, huh?" Masters smiled. After tapping the gun against the side of Braxton's head, Masters holstered the weapon back into his belt. "Just remember who's calling the shots here. Okay Mr. I'm- Scared-We're -Going - To - Get - Caught, we'll leave. Anyway, after sending Blaisdell's kid to his just reward and making sure that bitch of his breathes her last, we may even get a bonus."

"As long as I get what I'm owed when it is over, I don't give a shit! So can we go now?" Braxton asked impatiently, as he began to walk away.

"Oh, for fucksake! Go!" Masters caved in. Taking one more look at the his handiwork, he followed Braxton.

***************

Neither man was there to see the firemen leading the two coughing survivors through the smoking entrance.

<Scene Sixteen B>

The police car seemed incredibly slow as the uniformed officer followed the directions spoken softly by the priest in the back seat.

Paul didn't know how much more he could stand of this balancing act of uncertainty. His heart was being stretched to the limit with the open questions of his family's welfare. First Annie, now Peter. <If something has happened to my son as well...how could I tell Annie when she wakes that Peter...Oh God, if she wakes? No...stop it! When she wakes> His thoughts were broken when the disembodied voice of the car radio came to life.

When the dispatch announced the fire, Paul looked to his son's father. "Peter?"

Caine shrugged. "Our son, yes."

"Damn that kid! What's it take to keep him out of trouble? A transfer to a temple in the Himalayas?" Leaning forward, he touched the young officer's shoulder. "Tom, can you head over to that fire address for us?"

The young officer looked through the rear view mirror at his passenger. "That was the route Mr. Caine's directions were taking us anyway, Sir."

"Of course it was." A smile faintly touched his face, as Paul leaned back into the seat. The smile suddenly faded. "Caine, how is it you could tell Peter was in trouble, but you can't tell what is going on that stubborn head of his for the last few weeks?" The question sounded churlish and he didn't mean it too, but his patience was a little worn. "Sorry...but the question still stands, "he apologized.

Caine seemed to pause, as if trying to find the right words. "As Shaolin, we are connected, my son and I. Yes, I sense, but I am not a God. I feel...people...even my son... see me as more than I am. I have no miracles... or as Peter used to call them, tricks." Pausing Caine looked intently at Paul. "I have faith ... I have knowledge." Sighing, he closed his eyes. "And yes... I can sense my son's distress, ...but no, I cannot force myself on his mind." He paused again, as if trying to find the right description. "Think on it this way... when Peter was growing up and would have a ... problem. You, as his father... would have to wait for him to come to you and... voice that problem. It is no different for me...I must wait for Peter to voice his fears... his pain, before I can offer words that may help him." His voice dropped to a whisper. "But even then, I do not have all the answers."

"But when Peter took the brands, didn't that bring you closer?

Caine sighed. "Yes and no. In a way, we became more as one than ever before ... but it also gave him the ability to hide his pain. Our son is still not whole ... his soul cries out for justice, every time he sees injustice. He carries the burden of a past he cannot let go of; and with all the good he has done this world, he still believes that he could have done more or better."

"Nothing has really changed then. Peter is still Peter." Paul allowed himself a broader smile.

<Scene Sixteen C>

Peter and his rescuer were the first to clear the smoke of the smoldering building. Only half aware of the fact he was walking, he clawed at the fireman's arm as he tried to wrestle from the man's grasp. "K-kermit!" he managed to choke before a coughing spasm wracked his body, bringing the pain in his back to life.

Trying to keep the man from falling, the fireman tightened his grip. "Kermit? Oh, if you mean your friend, he's coming. Let's get you looked at first, all right?"

"I-I'm all- right," Peter wheezed as he clenched his eyes shut to the pain.

"Sure you are, but I think I will have one of the paramedics look at you and get a second opinion, if you don't mind." He noted the paramedics coming to his aid towing a stretcher and multiple treatment tools. "This one says he's fine," he said to one of the paramedics as he wrestled the struggling priest down. "Thought you might want to disagree with his prognosis." Giving the patient a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder, the fireman went back to work.

"Where's... Kermit?" Peter called, his arm reaching out as he attempted to stand.

The two paramedics fought again to keep the young man quiet. "He's coming, calm down. Jesus, John! Look at this, would ya?" one paramedic gasped as he saw the burned images on Peter's arm.

"Shit!" John joined in. "Sherman, he has one on this arm too. Damn, what some people will do to themselves."

"Show some damn respect..." Kermit coughed as he pushed away from his rescuer to stand at Peter's side. "He's a priest for Christ's sake." Glaring at the two men, he then turning a concerned look back to his friend. "So, how ya feeling, kid?" the blackened detective asked.

Peter tried not to laugh at how funny Kermit had sounded. "As I... was telling these ... gentlemen," a cough racked him again. "I'm fine, and you? Good to see your ugly face and I see... you still have our... friend." Peter weakly gestured to the computer Kermit held to his chest.

"Oh, yeah," he said tapping the case. "Where I go, this baby goes. As for my health, I'm naked and lightly singed, thanks to your early warning system. Thanks, kid."

Peter smiled. "I'll buy you a new pair of glasses Kermit. I ...oh shit!" he groaned.

"What? What is it, kid?" Kermit looked at John. "Don't just stand there, help him," he ordered.

Peter sat up, waving off the offered oxygen mask. "No... behind you," Peter nodded, coughing.

Turning to see what had caused Peter's reaction, the mercenary closed his eyes, then wished for the safety of those promised glasses. "Oh, shit! Move over kid." Kermit sat down beside his young friend as they watched Paul and Caine striding toward them.

The two fathers came to a stop beside the stretcher. Both were relieved to see nothing seriously wrong, on the outside at least, with the two soot-covered men.

"I heard you at the hospital. So this is how you look after our son?" Paul admonished Kermit.

"Dad it..."

"Your turn's coming." He glared at his son as he watched Caine step forward to look at Peter's injuries.

"I'm all right Pop ...Dad ..."

"Be quiet Peter, and let your father check you over while I find out what the hell happened here," Paul ordered, as he turned his attention back to Kermit. "Okay, my old friend. What the hell are doing in this burning flea trap? Why does it look like a bomb went off... and are you all right?" his voice softened.

As Kermit began his explanation to Paul, Peter's attention swung from his father's administrations to the conversation he was being left out of.

A particularly tender spot on his back brought his attention to center on his father with a vengeance. His face paled as he sucked in his breath.

"Your must allow yourself to be seen by a doctor, Peter."

"For the hundredth ... time, I'm fine," Peter snapped. Wincing, he took a deep breath and turned back to his father to see the pain he was feeling reflected in the older man's eyes. "I'm sorry Pop." His hand moved to touch Caine's cheek, but something stopped him and his arm fell back to his side. "Okay, I'll go to the hospital." Coughing to clear his throat, Peter dropped his voice a little as he watched Paul out of the corner of his eye. "How is Mom? With everything...I'm finding ...it a bit hard to..."

Caine followed through with the caress that Peter wouldn't allow himself, and touched his son's cheek. "She is the same...that is not a bad thing."

Nodding, Peter silently allowed himself to be positioned back on the stretcher as he and Kermit were moved to the ambulance.

The two fathers stood side by side watching the ambulance drive away. "You know someone tried to kill them," Paul spoke quietly without taking his eyes from the disappearing vehicle.

Caine just nodded.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Paul felt a thousand years old. "Let's go," he sighed. "I'm sure one of us is going to have sit on that son of ours."

Again Caine could do nothing but agree.

<Scene Seventeen>

"I'm all right, damn it!"

"You are a priest now Peter, can you at least try and behave like one?" the exasperated doctor chided his patient.

"Sorry Doctor," Peter apologized as finished buttoning his shirt in an attempt to cover up some of the bruises that had already started to form. "It's just...you said I was all right."

The forty-something doctor nodded, agreeing with Peter's statement up to a point. "Yes, I did, but I still want to run some more tests. For Godsake Peter, you were just caught in the middle of bomb blast. I wouldn't be earning my wages if I didn't suggest you get the works."

Gingerly slipping off the table, Peter patted the doctor's arm. "Okay you have suggested. Now, how's Detective Griffin?" he asked changing the subject.

Giving up on the young man agreeing to anymore tests, Doctor Jacobs could only shake his head. "Ahh, Detective Griffin. I believe he is just about as stubborn as you are. You two men must be the most... Two orderlies were nearly decapitated trying to get that damn laptop off him."

"But they didn't." Peter chuckled softly.

"Like you, he thinks he is invincible. Peter, just promise me...if you feel something's not right, you'll come back and see me?" the doctor urged his reluctant patient.

"Doctor?" a female voice called from the doorway. "I have a Mr. Caine here. He would like to know how his son is."

"It's all right, Nurse Chandler, you can send him in now. I believe my patient is just about to leave... against his doctors orders." He shot a telling look at Peter. Moving to leave, the doctor stopped when Caine entered.

"Caine," he acknowledged. "Maybe you can talk your son into staying for a full check up." He looked back at Peter. "By the way, let me know if you win the argument and then tell me how you did it... for next time."

"Thank you doctor." Caine bowed slightly, turning his attention back to his son. He stood silently watching, as Peter moved slowly to tuck his shirt into his jeans.

"What?" Peter snapped.

"You are in pain. Why do you refuse help?" the concerned father asked.

"I got bounced around a little bit. It's a twinge, that's all. Leave it alone." Peter answered a bit harsher than he had intended.

Ignoring Peter's brusque tone, Caine moved closer, trying to reach in through the wall his son had built around himself. "I must take your word for that, but I was also talking about here." His hand reached to touch the area of Peter's heart.

Dodging his father's touch with accomplished experience that had been learnt over the last few months, Peter's hand absentmindedly rubbed the dragon on his arm. "I need to see Mom."

"Please Peter, do not shut me out. Do not shut your family out. Talk to us please."

"I can't..." he said softly, wincing as he moved too quickly from the room. "You can't help me, not this time," Peter whispered to himself, walking down the hallway to where Annie was fighting for her life.

Caine sighed. "I will always be here to help, my son. All you have to do is ask."

Part 4

<Scene Eighteen>

Paul was tired as he sat watching the motion of technology. Holding Annie's hand between his, he caressed her warm skin, his fingers lightly brushing the underside of her wrist. Closing his eyes, he savored the beating vibration. It wasn't much of a sign of life, but it was life. It was hope.

This had not been one of his best days. Peter and Kermit's close call was the last straw. If anything had happened to their son, Annie would never have forgiven him. "Jesus Annie. This is all too hard." Tears welled in his eyes. "I can't be me without you, baby. I need you. Please come back to me."

Peter had stopped in the hallway, nodding to the police officer at Annie's door. Sagging against the door frame, he listened through the half-opened door to Paul's heart bleed. <It is all too hard Dad. We've been through so much over the last few months. We've all changed, in one way or the other. Be honest, Peter, at least with yourself. You've changed.>

The rustle of clothing.

A kiss.

Paul was leaving Annie's room, <I need to think.> Shaking his head and putting his finger to his lips, Peter quickly retreated in the next room and waited for Paul to pass.

The guard was more than a little amused in the former cop's behavior. "What was that all about Pete?" he asked as the young priest emerged from hiding.

"You know me, always got someone wanting to chew my tail for something." Noting Craig's raised eyebrows, Peter shrugged. "Long story. When you have a month to spare, ask me about it. Thanks for looking after Mom for us."

"Hey it's my job," Craig said. "Don't you miss being a cop, Pete?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

<You don't know the half of it.> Aloud, Peter answered, "You do what you have to," then entered the room, being sure to close the door securely behind him.

The silence of the room, except for the continual beat of the life support machines startled him. Annie seemed so tiny, dwarfed by the expensive array of equipment that told her to breathe.

In, out.

In, out.

A mesmerizing sight of pain and hope.

"Hi Mom." A smile quickly faded as he made his way to her side. Kissing her forehead, Peter paced the side of the bed, continuing his one-sided conversation. Running a hand through his hair, he looked back down at her still, beautiful face. "I should have stopped this from happening... I'm so sorry. I need you to understand..." A sudden thought struck, a way to make up for his failure.

Bringing the chair closer to the bed, Peter sat, taking Annie's hand in his. Closing his eyes, he began breathe himself into a meditative state.

~~~Annie's Mind~~~

Awareness returned and Peter found himself in the middle of apparent emptiness. Grey shadows seemed to be sliding in and out of sight, some seemingly human in shape, while others were strangely warped. Reaching out to touch one of the phantom forms, his hand passed through it, leaving him with only the touch of air. It was then he noticed his hands; he had no color himself, he was as much a specter as those who melted into the darkness.

Perplexed by this surreal world he found himself in, Peter tried to ignore the passing silhouettes; to search again for his mother's presence. His eyes stopped at the murky blackness in front of him. No longer solid, it seemed to waver and shimmer. He watched transfixed as it appeared to release a transparent form that melded into a familiar figure.

"Mom?"

Annie looked confused as her eyes seemed to study her surroundings, then as they scanned across to Peter. "Peter." She stared at him for the longest time. "You're just like I pictured you."

Peter was taken aback by the eyes that looked at him. "Y-you can see me?"

Annie stepped forward to take her son's face in her hands. "Shadows of light, but I can see you...I can see my son." A smile appeared as a tear slid down her cheek. "Did you do this for me Peter?"

"I had to see you," Peter said as he looked away. "All this is my fault. I saw what was going to happen, but I was too late."

Gently touching her fingers to Peter's chin, Annie lifted his head, so that he had to look at her. She had listened to his facial expressions of guilt since he was a child, now they had a face; a deep, soulful face. "Now stop that right now. If this is why you came here, I won't listen to you," she chastised. "Whatever happened to me, whether the Shaolin in you saw it or not...you 're human. You're not God, Peter. I taught you better than to think you are."

A slight smile creased Peter's face as he took his mother in his arms. "I've missed you so much."

"I know," Annie hugged back. "And only a mother can set her son straight when he acts like an idiot." She chuckled. "Okay, time to 'fess it all."

Pulling away, he tried his 'what?' look.

"That look didn't work when I was blind Peter, it certainly won't work now that I can see," Annie said sternly.

Peter finally gave voice to self doubt and questions. Sighing, he began to unburden himself. "I don't know who I am anymore...how's that for a start?"

"Oh, Peter," she said, shaking him. "You have been so busy trying to be everything you think everyone wants you to be, that you have forgotten to be what you want to be. It doesn't matter whether Paul wants you to be a cop. It makes no never-mind that Caine believes you're meant to be a priest. Listen to your heart. What does Peter Caine want?"

Annie watched as Peter rolled back his sleeves, revealing his brands to her. She had seen them with her fingers, but now she really saw them. "They're beautiful, Peter."

He ran a fingers lovingly over the dragon. "They are, aren't they? I don't regret them," his said, his words sincere as he looked deep in his mother's eyes. "Not for a second. They gave me my father's life back and showed me how wonderful it is to be Shaolin. I am destined to be a priest, I know that."

"But?"

"Yeah, but. I need to finish my other life first. I can't go forward if I keep looking back."

Annie smiled, kissing Peter on the cheek. "My son, the Shaolin cop. You have your answer, Peter."

"But Pop...what do I tell him? How do I tell him?"

"You tell him what's in your heart and he will be as proud of you as he has always been."

Peter took Annie in his arms. "Why is everything so simple when I talk to you?"

"Because men make things far more complicated than they have to be." She laughed, then pulled away from Peter when she realized this couldn't last. Exhaling a sobbing breath she tried to imprint her son's face in her mind. "I suppose..."

"No, not yet." He didn't know if this would work, but he was going to give a try. Reaching into his back pocket, he was relieved to feel his wallet still there. Pulling it out, he opened it and retrieved the picture he always carried with him, holding it so Annie could see it.

Annie let out an audible gasp. "Oh my God. Paul, you, and the girls," she cried, as she gazed at the family that only fingers had ever seen. "My beautiful family." Annie wiped the tears away her emotions overwhelmed her. "Oh, thank you Peter, thank you. No matter what else happens, nothing can take this moment away from me."

Replacing the picture and his wallet, Peter decided to do something. He knew it should not be attempted alone, but for his mother, he had the risk trying. "Take my hands."

"What are you doing, Peter?" Annie asked, as she looked at the offered hands.

"Trust me."

<Scene Nineteen>

Paul walked the corridor with a heavy heart. Annie was showing no sign of improvement, though he was grateful she was no worse. His son and friend were nearly blown into a million pieces, <Heaven knows what you two had been thinking. Peter, you're a goddamn priest, you're supposed to be past giving me heart failure.> Lost in the silent conversation with himself, he didn't notice Caine's approach until Peter's father spoke his name.

"Paul?"

Startled for a second, the occupied man regained his composure as he ran his hand through his hair. "Caine! Sorry, world of my own. I was just on my way to check on Peter. I take it he's still as impatient as always to get out of here?"

Caine looked puzzled, believing that as his son had left to visit his mother. Surely Paul would have already seen him? "Did he not come to see Annie?"

Looking up and down the corridor, Paul frowned as he wondered how he could of missed him. "Peter left his hospital room?" Looking back toward his wife's room, Paul was confused. "Are you sure? I just left Annie and I didn't see him. Damn it! What the hell is that kid up to now?"

"I do not know, but I would like to check Annie's room." Caine had an ominous feeling, one he couldn't shake.

"But I was just with...okay." Paul sighed, resigning himself to playing catch up as Caine made his way to Annie's room.

Even though Paul was no longer part of the force, he still commanded a lot of respect. The young officer straightened his stance as he saw the former Captain heading toward him.

"Has anyone been in to see my wife?" Paul asked the young man.

"Only your son, sir. I am under strict orders not to let anyone without proper authourization through," the officer stated.

Paul waved him off, "I know and you are doing a good job, thank you. My son, he hasn't left yet?"

"No sir. Is there anything wrong, sir?" the young man asked.

"No, no, it's fine," Paul answered abruptly as he opened the door to Annie's room.

At first Paul could see nothing amiss. Peter seemed to be sitting quietly, lost in thought as he held his mother's hands in his. It was not until he heard Caine's sharp intake of breath and saw the priest's sudden rush to their son's side that Peter's pale features registered.

Small beads of sweat slid down Peter's ashen face as Caine quickly stepped to his side.

"Please, help me," Caine pleaded as he gently pried his son's hand from Annie's grip. With the contact lost, Peter seemed to collapse. The only thing stopping him falling was his father's concerned embrace.

Moving in tandem, the two fathers gently moved Peter from the chair and laid him carefully on floor.

"He did it again, didn't he?" Paul frowned as he watched Caine work on Peter. He knew what his son had been trying to do and he couldn't help the anger rising at the risk Peter had taken. "The stupid..." He couldn't help note the similarity between the stillness of mother and son, causing a shiver to run up his spine. "He is all right, isn't he?" Anxiety overrode irritation.

Caine let out an exasperated sigh. "Yes, he will be; but he might not have been had we not arrived in time."

Peter slowly opened his eyes to see the worried but stern faces of his fathers staring down at him. Shakily pushing himself up from the floor, he tried to distance himself from the lecture he could hear waiting to draw breath. Wincing as his back gripped him in pain, he struggled to stay standing. As the room spun a few degrees, he realized he might have done too much.

Waving off his fathers attempts to help, Peter leaned on Annie's bed for support as he looked down at her seemingly peaceful sleep. A transient smile passed over his face as he remembered the conversation he had with her and her joy at his gift of a whisper of sight; even if it was only for a moment. Then the whole conversation came back to him and he realized that he had made a decision. A decision he could not put to voice.

"Peter, what were you thinking? " Paul had tried to keep the anger out of his voice, but he lost the fight. The thought of what Peter had done, even with the best of intentions, was too much for his now-fragile temperament to take. "Why would you risk yourself like this?"

"I just wanted to see her..help her, that's all."

Caine looked again at his son's shaking body and the sudden realization of what his son had done. "Peter, you did not visit with your mother in her Bardo...and also try to strengthen her chi? " His son's silence was his answer.

"I did what I had to." Struggling to fight the wave of dizziness that threatened to fell him, Peter couldn't meet his father's gaze and so made his way gingerly from the room.

Paul cursed as he watched their son's retreat. "Damn it, Caine, we can't just let him go."

"We have no choice. That is exactly what we must do," Caine replied sadly.

<Scene Twenty>

Peter cursed himself as he slowly walked the corridor in search of Kermit. <Damn it! You're an idiot! What are you trying to do to them?> "Why didn't you just tell them the truth?" he chastised himself out loud. A wave of dizziness passed over him, forcing him to falter and stop to rest against the corridor wall.

"Come anywhere near ANY body part of mine with that needle, and it will be painfully protruding out of one particular part of YOURS, understand?" a voice boomed threateningly from one of the rooms.

A small smile curved at Peter's mouth as he pushed himself away from the wall and followed the sound of the voice.

Standing at the doorway of Kermit's room, Peter shook his head in amazement. There was his friend perched on top of the hospital bed, his fingers tapping away at the opened lap top with a male nurse losing his patience as he attempted to take hold of his patients arm.

"Mr. Griffin," the nurse snapped in exasperation. "I have had a long day and you are making it longer still. Now do what I say."

"What-did-I-say?" Kermit spoke menacingly, his eyes never leaving the computer screen.

Smiling, Peter moved into the room, keeping the wall close for support. "You said... 'I know you're just doing your job. Please finish what you have to do and thank you'."

Kermit never looked up as he clenched his jaw and shoved his right arm out at the source of his irritation.

Relieved to have that battle won, even if it did take reinforcements, the nurse finished what he had to do as quickly as possible. Gathering his equipment with a silent appreciative nod to his helper, he made a swift and grateful exit.

"That was really beneath you Kermit. You had that poor man scared to death."

Looking up from the keyboard for the first time since Peter came in, Kermit noted the young priest's appearance. "This is coming from the winner of the ward's worst patient award. Speaking of death, Kid, have you looked in the mirror lately? You look like its poster boy."

"You're no oil painting yourself," Peter retorted, referring to the growing black bruise over Kermit's eye.

Waving his injuries off, Kermit was more concerned with why Peter needed a wall of plaster for a crutch. "I've had worse. You know Kid, you can't take that wall with you when you leave."

"Are you sure? I've grown quite attached to it. You know, it would look nice in my living room. The glossy smoothness... Yep. I think it would go well with my curtains," Peter retorted a little too sarcastically.

"Cut the mouth. Get your ass over here and sit down before you fall down," Kermit ordered, watching as his friend reluctantly obeyed and pushed himself away from the wall.

Peter was not surprised at his weakness as he made his way across the room. He knew he had broken all the rules by visiting his mother's bardo without help. To then try and strengthen her chi on top it...the anger and concern from both his fathers was not surprising. The pain in his back had gotten worse and he no longer had the strength to ease it. Flinching as he took the seat beside Kermit, his only comfort was that he might have helped his mother in some small way.

Watching Peter's struggle to get comfortable finally wore Kermit's patience out. "So how long you going to keep this crap up, Kid?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Peter answered a little too quickly.

"Of course you don't. You've been twisting in the wind for weeks now, cloistering yourself from people who care. What is it that makes you think you have to suffer through your problems on your own?"

"This is coming from you? I have to just about launch a military operation to get inside your head."

Kermit's glare forced Peter to look away as he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. "How did you get that thing running anyway?" Peter asked, changing the subject as he nodded toward the laptop.

It was a pathetic attempt to change the subject and one that at any other time the older man would have taken the kid to task over. As it was, Kermit ignored it, and his fingers returned to hitting away at the keys as they searched for an email security code. "You forget who you're talking to Kid?"

Kermit's face suddenly lit up. Slapping his hands together, he congratulated himself. "Was there any doubt?"

In his eagerness to see what Kermit had found, Peter moved too quickly, hissing as he wretched his back again. Biting back a curse, he stood up to look over Kermit's shoulder. "What have you found?" he asked through clenched teeth.

Reminding himself to give this martyr a lecture when this was all over, Kermit explained what the computer had found. "An e-mail thoughtlessly discarded, but not deleted...tsk, tsk...bit unprofessional of our yellow-bellied sludge crawler."

A frown crossed Peter's face, and this time it wasn't from the pain. "Why would they be stupid enough to leave such an..."

"Obvious clue?" Kermit filled in. "They had no idea we were this close."

"But the bomb?"

"Remote control. My guess is that the bomb was a contingency in case of exposure. I would put our scumbag outside watching us. Bad timing on our part. Or good, which ever way you want to look at it."

"So they know we have this?" Peter nodded to the laptop.

Kermit shrugged. "Hell if I know. If I were them, I wouldn't have stuck around after the bomb went off. We work on the assumption they didn't."

Peering at the open email address...lmasters@aol.com, Peter's face darkened as he concentrated on the screen. "Masters." He spat the name as he continued to read.

{ Money held. Now COD. Will not pay for damaged goods. Delivery imperative for sale, or new supplier will be found... and added supplies will be ordered.}

Peter's insides raged at the simplicity of the note; it spoke of murder in such a casual business-like manner. His fingers curled into the fist at thought of getting his hands on the man who had ordered the hit on his mother.

"DAMAGED GOODS!! That's all she is to these bastards!"

"Don't sweat it kid. They won't get a second chance," Kermit promised.

<Scene Twenty One>

The two orderlies nodded to the officer as they passed him standing guard at the ICU doorway. Stopping further down the corridor, they dropped some coins in to a drink dispenser and seemed to begin to a casual banter over a couple of opened sodas.

One stopped in mid-sentence as he watched two men appear from the depths of the ICU room. A small smile creased Masters' face.

The younger of the two orderlies frowned, shaking his head as he took hold of the older man's elbow.

Disengaging himself from the younger man's grip, the older man's smile widened as he walked toward the two men who now stood in conversation.

Catching part of the conversation, the orderly was not happy at what he overheard. Stepping closer he noticed, the young officer's hand moving to his weapon as he eyed orderly's approach. "Excuse me. I'm sorry to interrupt," the orderly apologized as he stopped the ongoing conversation.

The one he recognized as Paul Blaisdell stopped talking, his face pale and troubled. The orderly noted the twitch of unease in Blaisdell's stance. The second man, the orderly could not read so easily. The face was calm...serene even. <Ahh, the priest's other father.> "Mr. Blaisdell, I just wanted to tell how upset we all are about you wife's accident. We see a lot of things here, but the attempted murder of such an innocent woman is so very tragic. I know I shouldn't be doing this, but I just felt you should know that we are all pulling for her recovery."

The orderly watched as Blaisdell's shoulder's slumped slightly. His mistrust of the stranger seemingly eased with the apparent heartfelt concern. "Thank you," Paul acknowledged.

"Well, I really didn't mean to intrude, and I suppose I'd best get back to work. Again, I hope everything works out the way it should." He nodded to the other man as he walked back to his waiting friend.

"You stupid bastard Masters," Braxton hissed as they walked away. "What were trying to fuckin' prove?"

The self-satisfied smirk fell as he glared back at his young partner. "It -proved- you dumbass prick, that they don't know who we are."

"You call me a dumbass! I didn't just walk up to cops and shove my face in their noses, did I?" Braxton's hushed tone spat back.

After making it through the hospital without incident, and having cleared any onlookers, Masters grabbed at Braxton and spun him around to look at him. "What did you see in there?" His voice demanded an answer.

"I saw an asshole who likes to play games with my fucking life."

"No, you blind little shit." Masters poked his finger painfully into Braxton chest to push his point in. "You saw two fathers who should be grieving for their dear departed son, talking about how their son just left his mother's room."

The realization hit. "Shit!"

"Oh, that's one word for it all right." Masters snarled.

<Scene Twenty Two>

<They won't get another chance.>

His friend's words were like a blow to his stomach as the guilt refused to release its grip on him. "Shouldn't have got a first," Peter harshly chastised himself. He knew no one was at fault, but his own heart blamed himself for his mother's 'accident'. No excuse he could give himself would lift the weight or remove the pain of his inaction.

"Damn it, Kid. Sometimes I'd like to knock some sense in that stubborn head of yours. Life is cruel and damn unfair at times." Pausing, Kermit's own guilt betrayed him as he remembered his part in not being there for his brother David. He knew exactly how the young priest felt. <This isn't helping, idiot!> Hoping Peter hadn't noticed the chink in his armor, he continued. "Sometimes fate plays its hand without us. Tell me, have you stopped to think how Paul feels?"

"Of course I have!" Peter snapped. "He is my father."

"Have you? Have you really?" Kermit asked, as he stared down Peter's glare. "Then tell me, how did Paul feel as his wife was gunned down in front of him? How did he feel as she was left bleeding on their bedroom floor while he was just mere steps away from her? Tell me how he felt holding her, not knowing if she would live or die. How helpless do you think he felt, not being able to protect her in his own home? Tell me. Just what makes your guilt more important then his?"

<God, how stupid am I?> Peter's mouth opened, but the words stalled in his chest as he realized how selfish he had been all this time. All he had succeeded in doing was adding to Paul's pain, not to mention closing both his fathers out of his life completely. Kermit was right, he had walked around wallowing in his own self pity when he should of been there for his family.

Kermit watched his words work their way around Peter's mind and began to think he had gotten through to his young friend. Instead, he was left standing, stunned, as he watched the young priest start to leave the room. "Where the hell do you think you're going? Didn't anything I say mean anything to you?"

Peter stopped at the doorway and turned back to Kermit, a smile actually taking form on his face. "Yes, it did and I'm going to fix things right now." Then the smile faded, but Kermit was relieved to see a less guilt-ridden face take its place. "You, on the other hand, are going to earn your detective pay and find the out who's behind all this and catch this...Masters, before he tries to collect his blood money."

"Don't get me wrong, Kid," Kermit started to pack up the computer. "I'm glad to see the change, but I have to admit, I am surprised."

"What, that I listened?" The smile returned.

"No. Well, yes," he said picking up the laptop and making his way to Peter's side. "But I am curious. You don't want in on it?"

"I have some things to make right. Besides, you're the cop, remember?"

Kermit looked deeply into the young priest's face, his eyebrows raised at this new sense he felt in Peter. "And you?"

Peter winked as he touched Kermit's shoulder. "Good luck and be careful," he answered mysteriously, as he walked down the corridor toward Annie's room.

Part 5

<Scene Twenty Three>

"Detective Griffin?"

Kermit finished dotting the eye to the signature on the discharge papers. Ignoring the voice, he slid the forms across the counter to the waiting clerk.

<Okay let's try this again; maybe he didn't hear me. I knew I should have been the one to go to the airport.> "Detective Griffin, I was just on my way to see you. You're leaving I see." Dakota's polite conversation seemed to be having a hard to time getting through to the ex-mercenary

"It seems that way detective, doesn't it?" Kermit voice was indifferent as he stooped to pick up the laptop.

"Can I take that for you?" Dakota offered, reaching to take the computer from Kermit's hand.

Renewing his death-like grip on the handle of the laptop, Kermit glared at the younger man as he moved it away from Dakota's grasp. "Broken fingers any clue?"

"Fine with me." Withdrawing his offer with a wave of his hands, Dakota took the hint as fell into step with the moving detective. "Look," he said, becoming exasperated with the older man's behaviour. " I'm just here to get a statement about what happened today. The Captain figured that seeing as you were with Peter Caine at the time, this bombing has something to do with the attempt on his mother. Is there something you aren't telling us that might help our investigation?"

"What has this got to do with you?" Kermit realized with everything having happened so fast, he hadn't kept up with everything at the station.

"Detective Skalany and I have been assigned the case. Do you have a problem with that?" Dakota had felt he had to prove himself since he transferred to the 101st. Not because of his Indian heritage; which did make for a nice change, but because he had the audacity to take Peter Caine's place at the precinct.<Like I had any choice in the matter.>

"Not if you do a good job. So, if Skalany's your partner where is she?" Kermit asked as he searched the corridor.

"I told her I could handle you on my own," Dakota joked. Noting the glare from the hardened detective, he got back to business at hand. "She's gone to the airport. Mr. Blaisdell daughters called to say the were arriving home early; when no one answered their calls, they got worried and called the precinct to find out if anything was wrong. It seemed they still hadn't heard."

"Damn!" Kermit cursed under his breath as he began to storm down the hall way toward the exit. <The girls! This was no way for them to find out.>

"Hang on, where the hell do you think you're going? You still haven't answered my questions!" Dakota demanded as he chased after the storming detective.

"I have things to do that don't concern you," Kermit snarled as he kept walking.

Grabbing Kermit's sleeve, Dakota nearly crashed into him as the fleeing man came to an abrupt stop.

"You got a death wish or what?" Kermit scowled as he stared at Dakota's hand still holding his coat material.

Releasing Kermit's sleeve, Dakota's shoulders sagged. "Look, I'm not the bad guy here. I want to catch these guys as much as you do."

"No you don't."

"Okay, I'm not a member of this select Griffin group, and it's not my fault I'm not Peter Caine, but I AM a damn good cop and if you give me a chance I think you may find that out." Suddenly remembering, Dakota reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of green shaded glasses. "Oh, by the way, the Captain asked me to give you these, she thought you might be needing a spare."

Taking the glasses from the young man and assuming his usual position behind his shield, he studied Dakota for a moment. "No, you're not Peter Caine." He stared at Dakota with an intensity that glared through the glasses. "But if you are as good as you say you are, well, this is your chance to prove it. Whoever hit An...Mrs. Blaisdell is here on this computer. Take me back to the precinct and help me find the sonofabitch."

"That's what I trained for and what I'm good at it. I know these people are your friends...we'll get whoever did this." Relief that the battle was over echoed in Dakota's voice.

Kermit touched the glasses down to reveal his eyes. "Rule number one, not friends. Family. And don't you forget that."

<Scene Twenty Four>

A cloud of smoke hovered over Masters as he exhaled and used his boot to ground another half-finished cigarette into the bare floorboards. With an exasperated sigh, he leaned back in his chair, silently watching Braxton continue his non-stop pacing of their new lodgings. Since they had found out that Blaisdell's kid had survived the blast, the younger man had seemed more on edge than usual and it was beginning to get on older man's nerves.

"I say this is an end to it." The younger man continued to rant. "I did my job. I shot the woman. Her brain is soup, man! She is a drooling veg, and that is as good as dead in my book."

"Not in mine, son," Masters moved from his chair to casually walk over to his young partner. Appearing to reach for another cigarette, he leaned in close, whispering into Braxton's ear. "I have never left a contract incomplete." Stepping behind him, he suddenly clasped his hand over the startled man's mouth.

Masters pulled the straining man back against him. "And I don't intend to start now," he promised as he plunged the knife he had pulled from his pocket into the struggling man's back. Closing his eyes, he continued to feel the dying man's pitiful endeavor to live as Braxton's hands feebly tried to dislodge the reason for his agony from his back.

Holding the weakened man with little difficulty, Masters' smiled as he pushed the knife in to the hilt, giving it one more twist. Feeling Braxton go limp under his hands, Masters, heard the man make a last gasp at life. "Sorry about that, friend. You should have got it right the first time." With a look of indifference, Masters dropped the still-breathing body to the floor as he took out a cigarette.

Taking a seat, he lit his cigarette and watched as Braxton's eyes fluttered closed, his body rattling it's last breath.

<Scene Twenty Five>

The start of a new peace was settling over Peter as he made his way to Annie's room. It was a hard-won peace and there were still adjustments and truths to be made and voiced, but, at least to a tired heart, it was start.

Having relieved Craig, the new officer moved to bar the doorway to Annie's room, stopping the unknown man in his tracks. "Excuse me sir. You can't go in there."

"I'm Peter Caine. Annie Blaisdell is my mother," Peter tried to explain to the officer. "Look on your list," he suggested as he pulled out his ID. "You're new. How long you been at the 101st?"

Checking his notebook and then perusing the ID, the cop looked embarrassed as waved Peter in. "I was transferred to the 101st going on three months ago now." Sudden recognition hit. "Oh, you're that Peter Caine. I've heard a lot about you."

"I'll bet there were a lot of expletives involved?" Peter chuckled. "Oh, by the way, do you know if my fathers are in there?"

"Your fathers?" The officer's eyebrows raised. Shrugging, he looked at the list again. "There is a Mr. Blaisdell and a Kwai Chang ...Caine. Your fathers?"

"Yep, that's my dads. Thanks." Taking a deep breath, Peter pushed open the door.

Peter could see the relief on both of his fathers' faces as he entered, and he was sure they were holding themselves back, as to not send him fleeing from the room again.

Looking over to his mother, Peter broke the uncomfortable silence first. "How is she?"

Gently laying Annie's hand back down on the bed, Paul stood to face his wayward son. "They seem to think that she's improving. Your father tells me I have you to thank for that."

Peter shrugged off the trace of praise, grateful for whatever reason that his mother wasn't getting any worse. "I don't know about that. What I do know is that Pop was right; I was wrong to enter Mom's Bardo on my own, and strengthening Mom's chi on top of it was...well, I'm sorry." Shrugging, he looked to both men. "Not if it helped, but if I caused you both to worry about me."

Paul wanted go to Peter, to tell him it was all right, that there was nothing to forgive; but there were two fathers in the room and only one son.

"We only worry about you because we love you son. You scared us. Not that that is unusual in itself," Paul found himself chuckling before his face fell serious again. "Whatever problem you had, we could have helped you."

Peter looked over to his father, who hadn't moved since his son's entrance. "Yeah, you could have done that, but then it would have been your decision, not mine."

For the first time since Peter had entered, his father moved, watching his son's face intently. "So, you have found the answers you have been seeking?"

Peter straightened himself and looked into his father's eyes. "Yes, Pop. I have, and I need to speak to you about it. Pop, I...."

"Dad!"

Peter was stopped as Carolyn and Kelly burst into the room.

<Scene Twenty Six>

The yellow police tape flapped in the breeze that was slowly building into a light summer storm. The turning weather hadn't stopped the gawkers from coming close to obtaining whiplash as they tried to peer past the policeman barring their view of the murder scene.

"Back, people. Back," the police called, waving his arms at the small throng that clambered for a better look.

"You heard the officer," a voice roared from behind. "Move it back, now!" Parting the crowd not unlike Moses and the Red Sea, Kermit and Dakota forced their way through.

"I can never understand this mentality," Dakota remarked as he pushed past. "The dead always deserve respect."

Kermit's whipped around to face the young detective, his voice both subdued and menacing. "If this is our shooter, he deserves to rot in the garbage where he's been found. Understand me, Detective, he's lucky someone else got to him before I did."

Dakota tried to read the man under the glasses, but as usual found only a impenetrable wall that let no one but family past. "You don't mean that?"

Kermit looked away, "Rule number two, I never, NEVER say anything I don't mean. Remember that and we will get on just fine," he advised Dakota as he moved under the tape and entered the alley where the body lay.

Whoever had placed the body in the alley had made no attempt to hide it. Laying in the midst of the garbage of the throw-away society, it was visible to anyone who could stand the smell enough to look.

<You're lucky, you sonofabitch>

Kermit ignored the stench, the gaping mouth that gaped grotesquely at him; after all he'd seen worse. Bending over for a closer inspection, the gun did not go unnoticed. Laying beside the dead man's out stretched hand, it was revealed to be the same caliber of weapon that they were searching for. It was no coincidence, and the ex-mercenary knew it.

"Paybacks a bitch," he thought out-loud.

"I-s-ssn't it-though, e-especially when you d-don't see it c-coming."

Recognizing the stuttering voice, Kermit stood and turned to face the coroner, who stood looking over his shoulder.

"Nicky. Tell me some good news. Tell me he died a nice and painful death; make my day."

Nicky shrugged, as he nervously slipped his hands into his pants pockets. He always felt intimated by people, and Kermit was one of the worst. His reputation preceded the ex-mercenary like a whirlwind and his overpowering presence only backed up the extraordinary life the man must have led.

"I h-heard a-about P-pete's mother. You t-think this g-guy was r-responsible?" he stuttered nervously.

Kermit could never understand why he unnerved the young coroner; he quite liked the man. "I'm betting on it. Any ID with the body?" he asked. Eyes hidden behind his glasses and protected from outside observance; he watched as Dakota applied his own prelim over the body.

"N-nothing so far. I-I'll let you know the s-second I know something. For Pete, anything," Nicky pledged.

<Scene Twenty Seven>

After spending time with their unconscious mother Kelly and Carolyn, their eyes red with tears, were lead to the cafeteria. It was time to take a break; to talk and answer any questions the girls still might have.

Seeing their mother had eased the sisters minds up to a point. It had always been unspoken between the Blaisdell women; their fears for their father and brother, how an attack was always expected. It seemed to come with the territory of police officer. But they realized now how totally unequipped they had been for this; for their mother to be a target. Finding a table in the corner of the room, the sisters were guided to a seat.

Skalany declined the seat that Caine offered her, instead deciding to make herself scarce for the moment. "I'll go and get some coffee for us all. Be right back."

"You will be needing some help, Mary Margaret. Please, allow me," Caine volunteered, offering a bow of departure to the table.

Peter allowed himself a smile as he watched Skalany and his father walk away. "Subtle, aren't they?"

"You say Mom's looking better?" Kelly's eyes were begging to be lied to if the news wasn't what she wanted to hear.

Wrapping his arm around his daughter, Paul tenderly wiped at Kelly's tears. "Oh, honey, much better. You know your mother; she is too tenacious to give up. She loves us all too much to leave us."

"Is it true Peter, what I overheard Dad talking about, that you helped Mom?" Carolyn asked, as she reached out to comfort Kelly with a touch of her hand.

Peter shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking for a way out from under his sister's questioning. "I didn't do anything, Sis. Good doctors and Mom did it all."

"That's not what I heard. You really are your father's son, aren't you big brother? We're all very proud of you." Carolyn spoke lovingly as she moved closer to kiss her brother's cheek.

<We're all very proud of you. You really are your father's son. We're all very proud of you.>

Carolyn's innocent words struck at the young priest and he had to get some air. "Are you going to be all right?...I have to..."

Paul could see his son's sudden panic and knew something had been stirred up in Peter again. "It's okay son. We understand, go."

Stooping to kiss the top of his sisters' heads, Peter looked up to his father turn from Skalany and meet his eyes.

<It's okay Pop, I just need some air. I'll be right back.>

<I am here if you need me, my son.>

<I know.>

Caine watched Peter leave. He noted that his son's strides were not so heavy and seemed less burdened; but he also knew there was still something Peter had yet to face.

<Scene Twenty Eight>

"Griffin!" Dakota called after the fleeing detective. "Hold up!" Taller than Kermit with a longer stride, the young detective still struggled to keep up the ex-mercenary who had cleared the last rung of the precinct steps and was making his way across the police parking lot.

Biting back the urge to say something he knew his body would regret later, Dakota chased the older man across the lined asphalt, stopping breathless at the passenger side of what was unmistakably Kermit's green car.

"And where the hell do you think you're going?" Kermit demanded, as he stopped unlocking his car to peer across the roof at the young man.

Standing his ground, Dakota stared back. "If you remember, Detective Griffin, I am one the detectives assigned to this case, you are not," he defended himself. "Seeing as you do not feel free to share information you pulled off the computer with me, where you go, I go. Or should I call the captain and explain my problem to her?"

Kermit stopped to ponder the young man's threat. An angry Karen was not something he wanted to face; she was already slightly perturbed at the bomb incident. Slipping his glasses down the bridge of his nose. "Rule number three, hurt my car and ..."

"Yeah, I know, and die. Griffin, can I break any of your rules with out risking a death sentence?" Dakota asked with a shake of his head.

"No." Climbing into the car, Kermit wondered when he became so damn predictable.

"So, is there some unwritten mercenary code of silence that says that you can't tell me where we're going?" Dakota asked, making it into the car just as the silent driver started it and accelerated out of the parking lot. With the wind whistling through the open car door, the startled detective pulled the door closed and hurried to clip his seat belt.

"Damn it! Griffin. I thought we were past this crap. Just talk to me," the young detective demanded.

"It's on the computer back at the precinct." Kermit offered, never taking his eyes of the road as he zigzagged through traffic.

"Well, we're not there are we?" Dakota contemptuously shot back.

"You would be if you didn't jump uninvited into other people's cars," Kermit parried back.

"Again, what was on the computer back at the precinct?" Dakota pushed as he held on tight to the handle of the car door at a particular severe turn.

Realizing the young man wasn't about to give up, Kermit couldn't help being reminded of another young detective with the mind of stubborn bulldog. "I traced the e-mail to a barely known suspected hitman named Dawson Masters. The one and only time he was incarcerated was for a B and E. His roomy was the late toe tag Miles Braxton."

Dakota was dumbfounded and getting angrier by the second. "And you weren't going to share this information with Skalany? Or was it just me that was going to be me frozen out of this Griffin loop?"

Beeping the horn to warn a startled pedestrian, Kermit acknowledged his unfairness, without taking his eyes from the road. "It's not you Dakota. It's never really been you. This is important to me. There is another killer out there; a killer that wants his money."

"He has to be gone. I mean, surely killing his friend was an indication he cut his losses? He wouldn't be stupid..."

"Enough to try again? If he wants his money, he will."

<Scene Twenty Nine>

It constantly amazed him how easily he could slip by unnoticed. The cloth of God gave him entry to so many places; no one questioned the innocent priest who made the sign of the cross in blessing as he passed by. Each floor he cleared fueled his brashness; each step brought him closer to his target.

As the elevator doors opened and the false priest stepped out, he scanned left and right and was pleased with the lack of action that brought silence to the corridors. Moving quickly, the apparent man of God walked toward the ICU where the young officer that stood guard.

In the boring silence of guard duty the officer was alerted by the noise of the elevator, but relaxed when he noted the white collar of the priest. His shoulders sagged a little and his body composed itself to the non-threatening target.

Returning the priest's smile, the young man apologized. "I'm sorry, father. If you have come to see Mrs. Blaisdell, she is not allowed any unauthorized visitors. I am sorry."

The minister moved in closer to the young officer, checking the corridors with quick side glimpses. "Please, I do understand. You cannot be too careful when a life is so perilously close to its Maker. Are you a religious boy, son?"

The young man smiled and nodded. "Yes, Father, I am. My parents brought me up on God's teachings."

Moving only inches away, the smiling minister gently clasped a hand around the nape of the young man's neck. "Then you are always prepared to meet your God?"

The younger officer's eyebrows arched in curiosity for only a moment in time. The fingers on his neck tightened.

"Say hello to Him for me." the priest sneered and with one quick spinning movement, the officer's neck was snapped. With another quick check of the hallway, the body was dragged out of sight into Annie's room.

<Scene thirty>

<We're all very proud of you. You really are your father's son. We're all very proud of you.>

As Peter absentmindedly walked through the corridors of the hospital, the words continued to cut him, making him bleed all over again. The decision had been made; he had made it. It had been hard and painful, but he knew it was the right thing to do. So, why did these words of praise continue to tear him apart? Deep down, he knew why. Because decision or not, he had yet to face up honestly to his chosen path. Until he opened his heart and revealed himself to the men whose respect, guidance and love meant the world to him, he would never be free of the pain and guilt.

<Something is wrong.>

Peter's heart suddenly began to beat faster as its echo thumped in his ears. A flash of pain in the neck and the void of darkness pulsed the blood through his veins.

The young priest's steps became strides and the strides became a flow of panic. A wave of terror washed over him as he began to run through the corridors. Apologies were lost as he crashed and collided with passing personnel. Death was running beside him and Peter pushed his legs to greater speed as he tried to outrun the demon before it could take another life.

<Scene Thirty One>

It was the fear that hit Caine first. A terror so consuming to his son's heart that it crushed his own within its grip.

<Peter!>

Caine felt his son's blind panic. The fear he held for his mother's safety was overriding all other thoughts, and wave after wave of emotional surges buffeted at the older priest as Peter's mind was laid bare to him.

Moving without conscious thought or spoken word, the priest followed his son's outcry of fear.

Skalany was in mid-sentence and was left open- mouthed when without a word, Caine turned and rushed from the cafeteria. About to follow her first impulse and run after him, she caught sight of Paul's distressed state. His eyes hadn't left the doorway where he watched his son's father take flight.

"Oh, God, Peter." Paul concluded as he jumped from his seat.

"We're coming with you, " Carolyn and Kelly spoke in unison as they stood up to leave with their father.

"If there is something wrong with Peter or Mom, we want to be there," Carolyn continued.

Paul's eyes silently beseeched Mary Margaret, who nodded her reluctant agreement to watch Carolyn and Kelly until he came back.

Showing his father face, Paul gently shook his head as he sat his daughters down. Kissing them both, he smiled reassuringly. "If there is something wrong with your mother or Peter, I'll send for you. I promise. Otherwise... please, just stay here. It might be nothing."

"With Peter, it's never nothing," Carolyn argued. "Dad, please," she begged.

"No, both of you stay here. I'll send for you as soon as I can," he ordered as he fled the room.

"How much more are we suppose to take? " Kelly sobbed as Carolyn and Skalany's arms folded around her.

Part 6

<Scene Thirty Two>

The young policeman's face would have seemed peaceful if it weren't for unseeing eyes, frozen open at the moment of death. The uniformed body had been dropped to the floor with little regard as Masters, in his priestly guise, used his foot to push the nuisance further from his sight.

Moving toward the bed, Masters followed the hum of machinery and pondered on the wasted effort all this science was when the woman soon would be dead. Taking his first look at his target's face, he was startled to see her eyes open and questioning her whereabouts with unseeing eyes.

"You are either very lucky, Mrs. Blaisdell, or unlucky; whichever way you want to look at it,"

Annie tried to move, speak, anything to acknowledge her confusion and panic, but her body refused to obey her commands. Fighting against the air that was being pumped into her lungs, she was startled by a sudden noise that broke into a steady stream of mechanical beeps.

"Now, don't do that." The voice spoke with calm assurance. "You could hurt yourself. I mean, you were nearly killed. If you hadn't moved at the last minute, you'd be a long time dead by now."

The words were soft, but the tone was suddenly hard and cold; the effect sent a shiver down Annie's spine.

Masters listened for approaching footsteps. Knowing his time was running short, he quickly scanned the machine and pressed the conveniently placed the 'alarm silence' button, stopping any hopes of a last minute rescue.

"As it is Annie," he continued after the machine continued its routine sounds. "I can call you Annie can't I? I'm only finishing something that has already been started. I know it's not fair from your point of view, but what can I do? It's nothing personal, you understand."

<PAUL! PETER! HELP ME! WHAT'S HAPPENING? HELP ME!>

Annie's silent scream was choked back by the intruder in her throat that still stubbornly refused to let her breathe on her own.

As if answering her prayers, or adding to her nightmare, Annie heard a crash and felt a jarring impact against her bed. All she could do was lie there and wait for whatever was going to happen to happen.

His mother's cry had reached Peter's mind at the same time he turned the corner to see the unguarded entrance. Running down the corridor, he impacted with the door and barreled through to see a stranger standing at his mother's bedside.

"My son?" the priest smiled as he turned and made the sign of the cross at the meddler.

Caught off guard by the collar, Peter hesitated until he caught a glimpse of the body of the young policeman discarded on the floor.

The smile turned into a sneer as Peter charged the man who threatened his mother. Colliding with the make-believe priest, Peter's momentum knocked both men against Annie's bed.

"That's no way for one priest to treat another." Masters grimaced as he grabbed the younger man by the shirt and used his own weight to slam Peter against the wall.

Peter was taken by surprise at the strength of his attacker and as their bodies impacted with the wall, pain shot down his spine. "Murdering bastard!" Peter swore through clenched teeth. In a blink of an eye, Peter grabbed the collar, whipping it off as he backhanded the now decloaked minister.

Wiping the blood that trickled from the side of his mouth, Masters spun around, returning the favour with a punch to Peter's face.

Momentarily stunned, Peter was pulled from the wall and didn't see the kick that connected with his stomach, but felt it as it booted the air from his lungs. The force of the blow knocked the young priest to the ground, sending him sliding painfully backward across the slippery hospital room floor. He came to a stop against the body of the abandoned police officer.

Spitting out a mouthful of blood, Masters reached inside his jacket and pulled out a gun and silencer. "Enough playtime, I have a job to do." With practiced efficiency he promptly put the pieces together.

Unfocused and gasping from the pain radiating from his back, Peter was unsure who the first target of the assassin was to be. Reacting with instinct., he closed his eyes and used his mind's eye to search. Finding his objective and taking a deep breath, Peter turned and rolled as his fingers homed in on their target; the dead police officer's gun.

It happened in a split second. Masters clicked the silencer into to place and turned toward the most obvious threat. As the muscles in his finger retracted and the trigger was pulled back, his target rolled out of his line of sight. Quickly re-sighting his prey, Masters' fired.

Clasping the familiar weapon in his hand and with one more effort, Peter rolled. With his eyes still closed, he watched the assassin's finger increase it's pressure on the trigger; with no choice he fired.

<Scene Thirty Three>

Clasping the familiar weapon in his hand and with one more effort, Peter rolled. With his eyes half-closed, he watched the assassin's finger increase its pressure on the trigger. With no choice he fired.

@@@@@@@@@@

The sudden realization of what had occurred sucked all the air from the room. Peter sagged, finally giving in to the pain emanating from his spine. The young priest's eyes moved from the prone body of the killer to the gun that had brought the man down. Staring at the weapon of death that he still held in his hand, Peter didn't hear Caine move quickly but silently through the doorway.

"Peter."

The voice was soft. It carried no judgment, just concern as it called to him.

"Peter? Are you all right?" Caine, though worried for his son's wellbeing, couldn't help but look past Peter, noting with sadness the body of the young officer motionless on the floor behind his son.

The voice reluctantly drew Peter's attention away from the gun. His grip relaxed on the weapon, letting it slip from his grasp and fall to the floor. Unable to meet his father's eyes, Peter attempted to stand, suddenly turning his attention to his mother. "Pop! Mom? What about Mom?"

Caine gently ran his hand over his son's head, taking a second to breathe in his son's existence before gliding the palm of his hand across his son's cheek. Glancing over to Annie's bed, his gaze returned to his son. "I will see to your mother. You are hurt and will stay seated," he gently but firmly instructed Peter.

In no position to argue as the pain in his back flared again, Peter's eyes followed his father over to his mother's bed. "Pop, is she all right?" Becoming more agitated when his father didn't reply, Peter watched as Caine continued his fluid arm movements over Annie's body. Squirming impatiently on the floor, Peter implored his father. "Pop, please?"

Caine turned, allowing a small smile to touch his face. "Yes, Peter, your mother will be all right, but she is worried about you."

"Oh God!" a voice cried from the doorway.

Paul had only guessed where Caine had been running to, and the sound of gunfire confirmed he had been right to go on that instinct. His stomach had dropped at the sight of Annie's unguarded doorway and all his prayers were repeated in a silent mantra as his mind pushed his feet to faster motion.

Paused in the doorway, Paul saw the motionless body of an assassin now seemingly lost to the world of life. Glancing away, his sight fell on his son; the relief to see Peter alive was overwhelming. Mutely thanking God for one miracle, he prayed for another as he moved quickly to his wife's bedside. "Caine..." Whatever he was going to say was lost when he saw Annie's struggles to dislodge the respirator tube from her throat.

"Honey," Paul pleaded, as he held her hand trying to calm her agitation. "It's all right. Annie, honey, it's all right. Just lay still."

"What the hell is going on here?" a voice demanded.

All eyes turned to the doorway as the doctor, followed by stunned medical personnel, entered the room.

The doctor shook his head as he motioned to the bodies that littered the floor. "Check these three men out STAT!" he ordered as he rushed to his patient's bedside.

Caine quickly stepped out of the doctor's path, heading back to Peter's side.

"Are you sure she'll be all right?" Peter asked his father, as a nurse began to check him over.

Kneeling beside his son, Caine shrugged, brushing a stray hair from Peter's forehead. "I cannot be sure of anything, my son, but I do know that her Chi is very strong; strong like her son's."

"I'm not that strong, Pop. I wasn't strong enough to tell you the truth." Turning to the nurse, Peter touched her arm. "Can you leave us for a minute?"

The nurse, seeing no urgency for treatment, nodded as she stood up and stepped back.

Taking a deep breath, Peter stared into his father's face, seeing nothing but patience and love looking back at him. "I know I should have told you before this, and with all that's happened," he said, looking at the now-covered body of the man he had killed, "this isn't the right time. I know that, but I have to tell you..."

"You have found your path," Caine said knowingly.

Peter wasn't surprised that his father had seen what was in his heart. "You could say that. Pop, I've come full circle. I need to finish being Peter Caine before I can follow any other path. I'm not sorry I became a priest or took the brands." Holding out his arms, Peter continued, "These are part of who I am. Please don't think that I regret anything about them, but I NEED to complete the journey of Peter Caine the cop."

"And you think that would displease me? How could it, when I have walked that same road?" Seeing Peter's lack of understanding, Caine smiled and answered his son's unvoiced question. "I walked a lonely road for fifteen years in search of MY true path. So if yours should take fifteen, or fifty, that is what you must do."

"But I killed a man tonight," Peter whispered. "And if I go back to what I was, I may have to kill again."

"You can never be what you were before. You are much more than that now. Yes, you did take a life, but you saved one too. That is much more important."

"Yin and yang, huh, Pop?"

Flinching, Caine shrugged. "Something like that. So, my son, now that you are a ... Shaolin cop, do you think you can follow some rules and stop calling me ... Pop?"

Peter seemed to think on it for a minute and then smiled as he put his arm around his father's shoulders and kissed the top of Caine's head. "I'll try, but I make no promises, Po...Father."

Barging into the room, Kermit quickly assessed that everything was under control. Re-holstering his unneeded weapon, he walked over to the two priests. "So, how ya doing, kid?"

"Other than feeling like my back has been hit with a sledgehammer, I'm perfect. Thanks for asking."

"And Annie?" Kermit nodded toward the activity around the hospital bed.

"My mom's stronger than we give her credit for. She's going to be fine," Peter assured his friend.

"Never doubted it for a minute, kid, not for a second. Be right back." Stepping over to the body, Kermit lifted the sheet and looked at the killer's face. Motioning to Dakota, who waited at the entrance of the doorway, he called him in. "Get this guy out of here. I don't care how he goes; by garbage truck would be preferable. Just make sure he's not loaded in the same wagon as the dead officer, understand? As you said, Detective Dakota, the dead deserve respect. Well this dead," Kermit pointed to the officer's body, "deserves more than that heap of trash."

"For once, Detective Griffin, I agree with you. Don't worry, I'll get right on it." Dakota nodded and left.

Moving closer to Annie's bed, Kermit touched Paul's coat sleeve. "Paul?"

Paul had observed the doctors as they removed the tube from Annie. He now watched, his heart racing, as his reason to live started to breathe unaided.

"Paul?" Kermit said again.

Distracted by the voice that called for his attention, he turned to see Kermit. "Kermit? Can't it wait?"

Not wanting to keep his old friend any longer than necessary, Kermit shook his head. "Just need a minute."

The doctor looked up, thankful for some space to work. "Please Mr. Blaisdell, I need a few minutes with your wife anyway."

Giving in, but not taking his eyes off Annie, Paul moved a few steps away so that he and Kermit could talk. "Okay, what is it that couldn't wait?" Paul asked.

Keeping his voice low, Kermit moved closer to Paul. "I found out who ordered the hit on Annie."

Paul's shoulders went back, Kermit having captured his full and undivided attention. "Who? Who did this to her and where is the sonofabitch?" His eyes were oozing pure hatred.

"I said I know who; as to where he is...well that's something else. As I said, we know who he is. He left you a message," Kermit said, as he reached into his pocket.

"A message? What sort of damn message?" Paul snapped.

Pulling a piece of paper from his pocket, Kermit handed it to Paul. "He left this and disappeared. We haven't been able to track him down. I'm sure he was doing most of this from out of the country."

Finished reading the paper, Paul screwed the note up in his fist. "BENSON! Mitchell Benson! Blames me for Kendal's death, even though his brother kidnapped me when I first arrived back in town. Kendal made his choice and he paid for it."

"As Mitchell said, Paul, an eye for an eye, or so he sees it anyway. Don't worry, I'll find him. And when I do, you'll be the first to know about it," Kermit promised his friend.

Looking back at Annie, Paul allowed himself a smile. "Right now, I have my wife back, and my son seems to have found some peace within himself. At the moment that is all that matters to me. Mitchell Benson can wait for another day."

The End