By Wendy Shywalker

Copyright Theresa.A. Spencer(tas) All rights reserved

They had been driving for an hour now. The road before them had gone from a busy highway to dusty dirt; the city had disappeared over half an hour ago. Caine said little as he sat with his eyes closed, concentrating on a place that they hadn't found yet. Kermit sat beside him. He didn't ask where they were going. He didn't need to; Caine knew where they were going. Kermit kept his eyes hidden behind his glasses, focused on driving somewhere ahead. He didn't know where. All he knew was that Peter needed them, and if it took driving into Hades itself, then that's what he would do.

Caine sat with his eyes closed, his head moving slightly to the side, as though he were listening to an unknown sound. Suddenly, his eyes flew open. "Hurry, Kermit," he said urgently. "Turn here," he said, pointing.

Kermit looked where Caine had directed. "Er, Caine, there isn't any road there." Kermit shook his head. "Sorry, forgot who I was talking to. To the left we go," he said as he veered to the right, crossing the laneand nearly causing an accident.

After fifteen minutes of driving, following Caine's directions, Kermit began to think this time maybe Caine was wrong. Maybe the worry over Peter being missing for so long, maybe even thinking he was dead again, might have screwed up his Shaolin antenna.But the determination on Caine's face renewed Kermit's faith; he knew Caine would find Peter. He just knew it.

Suddenly Caine's door flew open. Kermit reacted quickly, and the Kermitmobile came to a screeching, dust-tossing stop. "Caine! What the hell do..." His words were cut off as he watched Caine jump from the car and begin running.

Kermit searched past the running figure to try and see Caine's target. "Oh, Christ," Kermit swore as he saw what had caught Caine's attention.

Caine ran for his son's life. The sun was beating down and he didn't know how long Peter had been lying out in it. As his feet neared their target, anger began to rise. Anger against the people who had done this to his son. Caine had tried everything tocontact Peter while he was missing, but Peter's mind had been full of confusion, a jigsaw puzzle of pain, anger and fear. As Caine ran, he realized that the anger he was feeling would not help his son, so he let it go and focused on Peter.

Caine reached his son's fallen body. Peter's face lay down in the dirt. Kermit thought for a moment that Peter was dead, but was relieved to see Peter's chest move ever so slightly, with a rattling breath. Caine gently turned Peter over. Both men were taken aback by the damage that had been inflicted on Peter. He had been badly beaten. His face was swollen, and his nose looked broken again, but the worst was the heat generating from a bullet wound to his thigh.

Intent on running his hands up and down Peter's body, Caine tried to find the damage. The list of injuries grew as he searched: a couple of broken ribs and a badly bruised kidney. Without taking one second of his concentration off what he was doing, Caine said to Kermit, "He is in great danger. We must get him to the hospital as soon as possible." Kermit knew his cue and broke into a run for the car.

After Kermit had driven the car over to where Peter lay, they carefully moved Peter to the car. Peter made no sound as he was laid in the back seat. The only movement was the flick of his dark eyelashes. He never made a sign of recognition of his father, who held him close, or Kermit, who gunned the car into gear.

"Hold on, Pete. Damn it, hold on," Kermit prayed under his breath, his voice breaking with his plea.

The trip seemed to take forever. Caine tried to tend to Peter's wounds as best he could. He felt the pain of Peter's broken ribs, and held his hand to his son's thigh where the bullet had struck. Caine had slowed the bleeding, but the movement from getting his son into the car and the ride itself caused the bleeding to continue. But more than Peter's physical injuries worried Caine. Peter's mind was lost to him. The jigsaw puzzle that he had felt throughout his son's absence was still fractured.

The hospital had been alerted by Kermit's radio; doctors and nurses were prepared for their arrival. After a quick but thorough exam, Peter was rushed to surgery.

Caine found space on the floor and sat, crossing his legs, and waited.

The pacing began after Captain Simms and the others arrived. Each one had questions. Where did they find him? Where had he been for the two weeks he had been missing? Had he said anything? Did he know who had done this to him?

Kermit and Caine had no answers for them. "You know as much as we do," Kermit said with a shrug.

The doctor came into the waiting room two hours later with the news that Peter would be, with time and exercise, fine.He had two broken ribs and would be on crutches for awhile. "He took a beating," the doctor explained. "But, though he lost a lot of blood, his injuries shouldn't cause any permanent damage."

Everyone seemed relieved but Caine, something that did not go unnoticed by Kermit. "What is it? There is more to this, isn't there?" he asked Caine.

Caine gave a small shrug. "I do not know, but I feel Peter is still in danger." That was all Kermit needed. As he started to leave, Kermit stated, "Then I will personally guard Peter."

He was interrupted by Caine's hand on his shoulder. "More than Peter's physical body is in danger."

Kermit checked his weapon and moved his glasses down a little, so Caine could just see his eyes as he said, "Well, I will take the physical. The rest I'll leave up to you. I'll watch your back; you just look after the kid."

Caine bowed to his son's friend. Kermit didn't give himself easily, but when he did, he was a friend to the death. Caine made himself comfortable on the bed beside his son. He held Peter's hand, trying to wade through the mire of conflicting emotions and pain that filled his head. Tears fell down Caine's cheek as some of the pain his son had endured assaulted him and, at that one moment, Caine felt he could get great pleasure in killing the men who had done this thing to his son.

Peter's eyes began to flicker, and a glimmer of hope sparked in Caine. "Peter? It is all right. You are safe," he said gently.

Peter's eyes suddenly flew open and he pulled his hand from Caine's grasp, shrinking back into the bed as far as he could go, as though he hoped it would swallow him. The terror on his face pulled at Caine's heart. "Peter? It is me, your father." But no recognition registered on Peter's face, only fear.

Suddenly, before even Caine could react, Peter leaped from the bed, ripping the IV out of his arm hand as he went. "Peter," Caine called quietly to his son, but Peter could see only his nightmare as he made a run for the door.

Kermit, hearing the commotion, ran in with his gun in his hand. "What the hell..?" His question was never finished. Kermit saw the look of pure terror on Peter's face as his eyes were transfixed to the gun he carried.

Peter began to shake and began to back away, his eyes never leaving Kermit's gun hand.

Caine, realizing what was scaring his son, said softly, "Kermit, please...put the weapon away."

Kermit looked at Peter and then at his gun. "Caine, what have they done to him?"

Peter had worked his way into the corner of the room, sweat running down his face to mix with silent tears. Caine and Kermit watched as Peter's eyes darted around the room like a frightened animal's.

Caine started to move slowly toward Peter, trying not to scare him any more than he already was. "Peter...it is all right...You are safe now...No one will hurt you," Caine said, trying to reassure his son of his safety.

But it seemed only to make Peter worse. He slowly slid down the wall to a sitting fetal position, covering his ears with his hands as though trying to block a noise that only he could hear. Kermit watched as he then began to rock back and forth, his eyes closed and his lips silently mouthing words that never came. With his eyes closed, Peter didn't see Caine come up behind him, but turned around just as Caine touched his neck; then there was nothing.

Caine reached down, catching his son's sleeping body. With Kermit's help, Caine got Peter back onto the bed. They called the nurse to repair any damage that Peter might have done to himself.

Caine watched as Peter was attended to, while Kermit stared out the window, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Peter, who carried and used a gun as though he were born with it in his hand, trembling and afraid at the sight of one, afraid of his own shadow. He had never done anything to deserve this, except maybe be a good and honest cop.

The Circus was behind Kermit now, but this was personal. When he found the guys who did this, it would be mercenary rules, all gloves off.Kermit took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. Apart from his sister and Paul, Peter was the closest thing he had left to family, and it tore up his insides to see what some bastard had done to him. Regaining his composure, he replaced his glasses and went to stand near Caine. He asked, "What are we going to do? Peter doesn't recognise us. He's so afraid...I have never seen him like this...so scared."

The nurses finished and left the room. Caine moved over to his son and ran his fingers through his Peter's hair. "You are safe, my son...rest...I will not leave you." Then he turned back to Kermit and answered, "Everyone is scared of something...Even you, Kermit...We have to identify the fear that has been placed in his mind...Peter must face it...As soon as he is physically well...I will take him home...and try to mend his broken spirit."

Kermit looked worried. "What do you mean 'try?' He will get better?" he asked, apprehension creeping into his voice.

Caine shrugged. "I do not know...My son has been tortured beyond endurance...He has taken sanctuary away from the pain...He...may not wish to return." -----

It had been six days. The physical injuries were healing, but mentally nothing had changed for Peter. When anyone came to visit, he reacted as he had before. Caine would calm him, but Peter still would not speak. Soon Caine had to ask that Mary Margaret and the others, for now, not visit him.

It came time for Peter to be released. The doctor suggested that Peter might be better served spending time in the psychiatric ward, just for the time being, but Caine refused, telling him he would take his son home and tend to him himself. Caine thanked the doctor for everything the hospital had done for Peter, and went to prepare his son for the trip home to Caine's rooms.

Caine watched silently from the doorway. Peter sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes darting quickly around the room. He held his arm to his ribs as he moved from the bed. Peter limped gingerly to the window. There was no real recognition of anything, but fear, fear had become the mask Peter wore.

Caine tried to make some noise so as not to frighten Peter. "My son, are you ready?" he asked. Peter automatically made a step backward, bumping into the wall as he did so.Caine pushed away the unknowing rejection and concentrated on easing his son's fears, preparing him for the journey home.

The trip to Caine's quarters was eventful. First, Peter looked at Kermit, eying the belt where Kermit usually carried his gun. Peter's shoulders seemed to relax when he saw that the gun was not there. That was not to say that Kermit wasn't still armed; but he didn't want to scare Peter, so he carried it hidden from sight.

The next step was the car. Kermit had pulled the Kermitmobile around to the front of the hospital. Peter wasn't keen on getting into it, but Caine eventually won that battle.

In all this, Peter still hadn't spoken a word. It was a quiet ride. Usually Peter wouldn't shut up, but he hadn't spoken now for over a week. It was unnerving. Peter sat quietly, looking out the window of the car, watching the world pass by. Nothing had changed, yet everything had.

Caine could feel the fear. But he also picked up on a small part of Peter that was beginning to change, and Caine didn't like what was happening.

Then, as though Peter realized that his father was reading his emotions, Peter turned and glared at his father. By the time they got up the stairs to Caine's quarters, Peter was sweating and exhausted. Caine could see him holding his side and realised his wounds must be hurting. Peter wouldn't take any help, even with the crutches.

"Peter...You must rest," Caine said as he moved toward him. Peter scuttled backward, his eyes dancing from Caine while keeping his eyes also on Kermit. Caine backed up and gestured for Kermit to do the same. As they moved away, Peter's body seemed to relax. He slowly looked around, taking in his surroundings, his face never revealing anything but confusion and fear. He reminded Kermit of a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, that knew that if the car didn't kill him, the hunter inside with the gun would.

Mary Margaret picked this time to make her appearance. At the sound of her entrance, Peter darted over to the corner and cowered down into his usual position. The sight of Peter trying to disappear into the wall stabbed at their hearts, especially for Mary Margaret, knowing that she was the cause for Peter's position. "Caine, I am so sorry...I never..." Caine put up his arm for her and gently led her from the room to the balcony.

"Caine..." Mary Margaret tried to speak, but her voice caught. "What did they do to him? Why?" she asked, as the tears threatened to fall. Caine held her; for her sake or his, he didn't know.

Mary Margaret composed herself as Kermit came out to join them, shaking his head. "He hasn't moved." Turning to Mary Margaret, he asked, "Have you found anything yet?"

Mary Margaret explained they had just the found Peter's Stealth at an abandoned warehouse. "That's why I'm here, Kermit. I thought you would like to come with us when we check it out."

Kermit looked back toward Peter. He didn't want to leave, but he had to know what had happened. He had to find out who had done this and stop them from trying it again.

Caine saw the indecision and put his hand on Kermit's arm to reassure him."Do not worry, Kermit. Peter will be safe."

Kermit thought, <I'm supposed to be making Caine feel better, not the other way around>. But he said out loud, "All right, but I'll be back. I'm going to take some time off and stay here. If that is all right with you, Caine?" he asked, still watching Peter from the corner of his eye.

Caine bowed in respect for what Kermit was offering. "There is no need. I am here. But you are quite welcome, Kermit," he answered.

Kermit's face never changed emotion. "Then you WILL see me later," he stated. "Come on, Doll Face. Let's see what we can see."

Peter eventually fell asleep against the wall. Caine took this chance to move Peter to the bed.Caine watched as his son slept. Even in slumber, Peter's fears danced under his eyelids.

Caine moved a stray lock of Peter's hair from his sweating face. Anger turned to rage as he thought of the men who had done this to his son.

"These thoughts will not help your son. The rage will only cause him more pain. Your son is Shaolin. He will feel what you feel. Revenge has no place in his healing."

Lo Si's words brought Caine back from the angry place he had gone. Taking a deep breath, he bowed to the Ancient. "You are right, of course, Master. My son is what is important.Will you help me heal him?" Caine asked, looking at Lo Si and then back to Peter.

The Ancient clasped his hands together and bowed. "I love him as you do. I will do all I can for him.""Okay, I am waiting," the man demanded as he paced the room. "And I will not ask twice." The underlying threat didn't need to be spoken.

The six men that stood in front of him knew that one of them was in deep trouble. As they looked at each other, they wondered which one it was, though someone there knew the truth.

"I have called this meeting here," he said, gesturing to the room they all stood in, "because this is where an incident seems to have occurred this morning. Now, this incident that I speak of, is something that I asked not, I repeat, NOT to happen. But someone here doesn't listen very well." Suddenly, his eyes darkened. "Peter Caine is missing!" he shouted. "My prisoner is gone, and someone here helped him. But, not only that. Someone shot him!" he shouted, pointing to the blood on the floor. "I said that he was not to be seriously damaged in any way. Didn't I say that? Didn't I?! He is no good to me dead!" His shouting was causing the veins in his neck to stand out.

No one moved. The silence reverberated through the room. "Well, someone here didn't listen. Who?" he asked.

One man at the back of the room, who sported a slightly swollen cheek, stepped forward and spoke quietly, "It was me, Mr. Burroughs, sir. I shot him. But I am sure he's not dead," he said, trying to reassure his boss that all was not lost. "I aimed low. He walked away."

Burroughs stepped closer to the shaking man. "So, you are sure of that, are you, Michaels? You saw him walk away?" he asked, as his face pressed close to the frightened man's.

Michaels knew that his life depended on his answers to the next few questions. "Well, no. I...someone...something hit me. And I was knocked out," he answered nervously.

Burroughs looked thoughtful for a moment. "So, you are saying that he had help getting away?" he asked.

Michaels was starting to feel the responsibility being lifted from his shoulders and started to relax a little bit. His confidence building, he replied,"Yes, sir, exactly. Someone hit me. It wasn't Caine, so he had to have some help," he said, looking around the room for another scapegoat to throw to the lion.

Burroughs moved away for a moment, not saying anything. Then he reached into his pocket. The room went quiet, broken only by a sudden intake of breath by those assembled when Burroughs pulled out a remote control. Turning to the men, who were standing still, waiting for an end to the drama that was playing in front of them, he said, "Just as well I put my trust in nobody." And he pressed a button.

A television screen flickered and came to life. Suddenly, one of the men broke ranks, his hand going to the inside of his coat. But Burroughs didn't get where he was by being slow, and he proved it.He was second in speed and accuracy to only one man, and this man wasn't it. "I wouldn't, if I were you," Burroughs warned as he aimed his weapon at the man. Burroughs moved down to stand in front of him. "So it was you, Lee. Why?" he demanded.

Lee looked at Burroughs, not flinching once. "I owed Caine a favour, no more, no less."

Burroughs smiled as he looked around at the others. They watched with barely a twitch of breath. "A favour. And what favour would that be?" Burroughs asked.

Lee shook his head. " Doesn't matter now," he answered, not backing down.

Burroughs swung around with his arms held wide. "Oh, but it does matter. It matters very much!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the empty halls.

"Peter Caine and his father saved my father's life once. I owed them a great debt. My family pays its debts," Lee explained, knowing he was most likely signing his death warrant.

Burroughs laughed. "Now I have seen everything: a thug with morals," he said as he moved back to his former position in front of monitor. "Well, there is no room here for morals, no room for a heart. I am sorry, Lee. There is no room for..."

Lee knew what was coming and started for the door.The fleeing man was dead before he had time to draw his weapon, and he fell to the floor.

As the screen still flickered with the images of Peter's escape, Burroughs gestured to Michaels to come closer. Feeling the danger had passed him by, he did as he was asked. Burroughs put his hand onto Michaels' shoulder, leaning in close to him, and asked very gently, "Now, where exactly did you shoot him? Show me?"

An alarm was stirring in Michaels, but had not fully come to life. Michaels laid his hand on his own thigh area. "About here, sir. It wasn't a bad wound," he said nervously.

Burroughs patted Michaels in a friendly gesture. "Oh, I am sure it wasn't, but that is not what I told you to do, was it? Hmmm? I told you not to hurt him..." His grip tightened on Michaels' shoulder, so much Michaels couldn't move. "I told you that, didn't I? You see, we all had jobs. Mine was to get the information I needed from my old friend Peter Caine. Yours was to follow my orders exactly. Now, I know it wasn't your fault that Caine received help. I am not blaming you for that at all.Be assured of that," he said, with a smile spreading across his face. Suddenly, the face changed. The eyes darkened again and his smile disappeared into a sneer. "But one must learn...to do as I say." Putting his gun to Michaels' leg where moments before Michaels had pointed, he blasted a hole through his thigh.

Falling to the floor, Michaels writhed in agony, as Burroughs knelt down beside him and whispered in his ear, "Now you know how my friend felt. Now get up, and let's see if you can walk away. Get up and walk away and you live," he said as his smile returned.

Michaels knew this was it. He either got up and walked away, or he was dead. As he pulled himself up, the pain shot through him like fire; but it was preferable to death, so he ignored it and started to walk.

Michaels had limped to the doorway when Burroughs called out, "Michaels, it would seem you were right. Caine did walk away. Congrats. Well, you can go."

Michaels turned to walk away, but Burroughs called to him again. "Michaels." He smiled and shrugged. "I lied." A bullet slammed Michaels between the eyes and sent him spiraling to eternity.

Turning to two of his men, Burroughs waved his gun toward the two dead bodies. "Clean this up. I just hate a mess," he ordered, as he turned back to the television screen. Taking out the remote, he pushed the pause button and stood there staring at the freeze frame of Peter Caine.

Memories moved around in his mind. Disjointed pieces of a friendship that never lasted through the rookie year. Peter Perfect. Everything Peter did was better. Better at shooting. In fact, he was the best at the academy. Peter was faster, tuned to everything he did. It was uncanny. Caine had a knack of being able to beat Burroughs at everything they did. Every test, every exam, Peter's scores were higher or the highest.

Everyone said Peter Caine had a hard life, with his father being murdered and his mother dead. What did he know of hard? At least he had a family, even if it was secondhand. <It was better than nothing, and nothing was what I had.>

He smiled as he remembered the enjoyment he got from causing Peter Perfect pain. From making him scream until his voice came in whispers. But, as usual, Peter made that hard to win. It had taken over a week of drugs and pain to see Peter's silver armor start to shatter. Had it broken? Burroughs didn't know. He had been close, but the escape had put paid to finding out.

The men he worked for were not patient and they were hard taskmasters, but the payout would be worth it, if he could get the information they needed.

Blaisdell had been the first target, but he was so far under no one had been able to find him. Burroughs had thought all was lost, but then the memories of Blaisdell and his son, the academy and the visit of the mysterious stranger, came flooding back, bringing with them the agonies of the defeated, the loser, and he knew this time he could win the war, if not the battle.

Lo Si and Caine were mixing herbs for Peter when a scream shattered the peace of the apartment.

"Peter," Caine called as he ran to his son.Peter was sitting up on the bed, his knees drawn up, arms holding them close to his chest as he rocked back and forth in a slow, rhythmic motion.

Caine quietly moved towards Peter.This time he surprised Caine, and didn't try to get away.Peter turned to Caine and, with tear-stained eyes pleading for help, spoke for the first time. "Help...me.Take the...pain away...please? Please, make it go away," his hoarse voice begged."Pop, I can't take the rain any more."

At the sound of that familiar phrase that Peter had used since he was a child, when the pain of life got too much for him, Caine didn't know whether to cry or rejoice.

Peter had asked for his help. He had asked for him by name. His son was returning.He was on the way back.

Before Peter had a chance to retreat back to the void of darkness, Caine scooped his son into his arms and held him tight."My son...I am here...the rain cannot touch you anymore. I love you" he said, as the tears flowed down both their cheeks.

That was how Kermit found them when he arrived back at Caine's apartment. Peter jumped when Kermit entered, but again didn't move away. The fear still hadn't left his eyes, but there was also a slight trace of trust there.

Kermit noticed the slight change in Peter and wondered if he would be able to ask Peter some questions without upsetting him too much. "Caine, can I speak to you for a moment?" Kermit asked, as walked to the kitchen to wait.

Caine arrived seconds later."No," Caine said, without Kermit having said a word.

Kermit straightened his glasses."How do you and Peter do that?" he asked, shaking his head.

Caine shrugged. "Do what?" he asked.

"Answer questions before you have a chance to be asked." Kermit asked, without expecting an answer. He was not offended when his only answer was a shrug from the Shaolin priest. "Caine, why not? Peter's car and the warehouse gave us nothing. It's up to Peter to help us."

Caine shook his head and said, "It is too...soon. Peter is not ready."

"Caine, they could be getting away." Kermit began to pace as he continued, his voice sounding more agitated. "After all they did to him..." he said, pointing to where Peter lay. "We can't let them get away with it."

Caine moved closer to Kermit. "They will not...but Peter is all...that concerns me now.The...others can wait," Caine answered quietly.

Kermit's shoulders squared and he was about to answer Caine, when a voice interrupted. "K..K...Kermit's right, Pop," Peter stuttered, as he leaned on the door for support.

Caine quickly went to Peter's side, taking hold of Peter's arm to support him."Peter, you should not be up. You are pushing yourself...it is too soon."

Peter put up his hand to silence his father. "No. Pop, I...want these guys...I WANT..." His voice was full of hate. "Burroughs...I want his...head pinned...to my wall," he said, as his breathing became harsh.

Caine was taken back by the hate coming from his son; though he could understand it, he couldn't condone it. "Peter!" he said, shocked. "It serves no purpose. Hate..."

Peter shook off his father's arm and interrupted. "It serves...a purpose...for me, Pop! He's made it my purpose..." he said, as his legs began to buckle.

"Peter!" Caine called, as he grabbed for Peter, with Kermit running to help catch.

Kermit sat beside Peter's bed as Caine gave Peter a cup of herbal tea. Ignoring the look Caine gave him, Kermit asked, "Peter, you mentioned a name...Peter?"

But as suddenly as he had begun to talk, Peter went back into his shell. Caine sat back and looked at his son's face. Peter's fear had been partially replaced by an anger that was festering into a rage that Caine was afraid could destroy his son.

The herbs began to work, and Peter drifted off to a fitful sleep. Kermit looked at Caine apologetically. "I am sorry, Caine. I have to find who did this. I don't know who we'll end up protecting, Pete or the guy who did this to him."

As the night settled in, Peter began to dream.He was taken back to the place where this nightmare had started, where a promise had been made. A promise made to a man who had saved him from himself.A promise made to a father.

***

"Peter, I would like you to meet an old friend of mine,David Curry. David, this is my son, Peter."

Peter shook David's hand. "Mr. Curry, it's..."

David waved his hand. "None of this 'mister' stuff, Peter.The name is David."

"David, then. It is a pleasure to meet a friend of my dad's. I don't get to meet a lot of his old friends.Where do you know him from?" Peter asked, trying to get some information about his foster father's past from this new acquaintance.

David smiled at Paul. "He'll make a good detective, Paul." And turning back to Peter, "Nice try, Kid.For that information, you'll have to ask your dad."

Peter sheepishly looked at Paul. "Sorry, Dad. I had to try." He smiled.

Paul smiled back. "You always do, Peter. You always do."

David excused himself for a moment.

Peter could see something was on Paul's mind. "OK, Dad. Out with it."

Paul shook his head. Peter always knew when something was on Paul's mind. It was sort of unnerving. "How do you do that?" he asked.

Peter laughed. "I'm your son. It's the same thing you do to me. What is it, Paul?"

Paul looked over to David, who was talking to Burroughs. "David is, as I said, a good friend. But, he is in trouble."

Peter looked over to David. "What sort of trouble are we talking about?"

"Bad enough," Paul answered.

Peter wondered why Paul had brought David here.

"The thing is," Paul continued, "there are a few people I trust in this world. My family is among them, and you are a part of that family. Ergo, I trust you. I need you to do something for me."

Peter smiled.He loved the fact that Paul trusted him. It gave him a nice feeling inside, a feeling he thought he had lost a long time ago. A lifetime ago. Peter shook his head slightly to shake the memories loose. "What is it? You know I would do anything for you," Peter said.

Paul touched Peter's shoulder. "I know that, Son. The thing is, David is going to have to go away. There will be only two people who know where he is. I will be one and...you'll be the other," Paul said, as he waited to see what Peter would say.

Peter looked at Paul, stunned. "Why me?" he asked.

Paul answered, "As I have said, Peter, I trust few people in this world. Who else would I trust but my son? I have to leave at times; you know that. If Davie needs help, I need to know that someone I trust is there for him."

Peter was proud that his foster father put so much faith in him, but... "I'll do it, Dad. You know that. You didn't have to even ask. But I don't understand: why me? I will be a cop, but that's all I'll be. How can I help David in the kind of trouble you say he will be expecting?" Peter asked.

With a smile touching his face, Paul answered, "You will be a cop and a good one."He touched Peter's face.

Peter closed his eyes for a moment, as the touch brought back memories of another hand and another place.

Paul's voice brought him back to the present. "David is going so far under, he should be safe for a long time. But just in case, I need to know there is someone who can carry out the instructions I will leave in here," he said, pointing to Peter's head."The threat, if it ever comes, will come from people who will believe that I have left some of my old cohorts in the open. Not my son." Then Paul's face clouded over. "Peter, I would never put you in any danger I didn't think you could handle.You're a man and you will be a damn good cop, but more than that, I trust you to know the right thing to do if the situation ever arises, OK?" He smiled.

Peter was bursting that he was trusted enough, not just loved enough, to do this secret mission for Paul. "OK, Dad, anything. I promise."

David, as if sensing the conversation was over, rejoined them, as Burroughs watched with interest, ever the opportunist. Peter's visitor had been very interesting, and the discussion between father and son seemed to be of an intense nature. He would be keeping an eye on Peter Caine.

***

Kermit left Caine to look after the sleeping form of Peter. He went to the station to dig up any information on the name he thought Peter had said. As he entered the bullpen, he was suddenly the center of attention, as everyone wanted to know the news on Peter's condition. After filling them in and suggesting they ask Caine before visiting, he went to his office, closing the door behind him. Turning on his computer, he typed in the name BURROUGHS, then leaned back in his chair and waited to see what the computer held on this man.

NAME: Burroughs, Nathanial

DOB:5/6/1964

PARENTS: Martha and James Burroughs

ADDRESS: unknown

LAST KNOWN ADDRESS:1103 Maple Ave., Apt. 5cEchuca, OH. 67678

POLICE ACADEMY RECORD:2nd in class, graduated 1986.

EMPLOYMENT RECORD: 31st Precinct, Sloanville PD, 4 years.

DISCHARGED: Discharged due to charges brought forward: Unlawful arrest. Unnecessary use of force. Breaking and entering. *All these charges attributed to a number of cases:

Case: 1029

Case: 2568

Case: 2581

Case: 3694

Case: 8521

Kermit found it interesting, and more than coincidence, that Burroughs and Peter had been at the police academy at the same time.

Then the computer screen started to flash ACCESS DENIED.

Kermit straightened up in his seat, adjusted his glasses, and began to click away on the keyboard. "Very interesting," Kermit said to himself. "Well, my friend, let's see what you have been doing that is so important that my old friends have to try and hide you from me." This was the bit he liked; his fingers danced across the keys. Every wall he hit, Kermit bounced to another, with a smile spreading on his face. "That's not going to stop me." With one more press of his fingers... "Oh, yeah." He smiled.

The screened beeped and information filled the screen. As Kermit read the data, he shook his head. "You HAVE been a busy little boy, haven't you?"

Hitting the print button, he picked up the pages, and went and knocked on Captain Simms' door. "Come in," she called from her desk.

Kermit walked in, closing the door behind himself. The Captain looked up from her work. Seeing Kermit, she knew. "You have something."

Kermit was uneasy that someone was starting to know him so well, but if it had to be anyone, he was glad it was the Captain. "I think I have him, yes. Now, why they took Peter? That is another question, and only Peter knows the answer to it," he said, putting the papers on her desk.

Slipping off her reading glasses, she looked up at Kermit. "How is he? Really?" she asked.

Kermit sat down on a chair, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes, then replaced them, hiding his emotions once again. "I don't know. This time he might have just...broken. I don't like what is going on in his head. We'd better find this guy before he finds Peter...or Peter..." He hesitated.

The Captain finished for him. "Finds him?"

Kermit nodded, got up, and left the room.

Peter's sleep didn't last long. Hearing the voices, he went to the kitchen to join the conversation. " Kerm...it, haven't you got a job to go to?" he asked, as he sat down on a nearby chair, rubbing his leg. The walking had done him no favours.

Kermit turned to Peter. "Kid, you are my job...and it's turning out to be a fulltime profession. Now, Peter..." he said, coming to stand near him. "We need answers. These guys want you pretty bad...Why? What do they want from you, Kid?"

Peter looked at the floor. He looked at his father. He looked at everything but Kermit. He shrugged and shook his head.

Kermit slammed the file he was carrying onto a table, making some jars of herbs rattle. "Don't give me that, Kid...What about Burroughs?" he asked, his voice beginning to rise.

Peter again shook his head. "Don't know anyone by the name." He still couldn't look Kermit in the eye.

Kermit was getting frustrated, and he got angry when he was frustrated. He began to pace the room to vent some of it. "So, you didn't remember saying the name earlier today. You are saying that you don't know Nathanial Burroughs, the Nathanial Burroughs that you went to the academy with?"

Peter again shrugged, still not looking into Kermit's face. "I went to the academy with lots of people, Kermit. I can't be expected to remember all their names."

Kermit opened the file and showed Peter. "He was in your class, Pete. Still don't remember him?"

Peter shook his head again.

"Mmm...I suppose it's easy to forget...easy to forget..." and he moved closer, 'til they were face to face, "...the man that drugged you, systematically beat and tortured you. " Kermit shrugged and continued, "I'd forget him. I wouldn't remember his face. I would forget every line, every hair on his head," Kermit said, emphasizing every word.

Peter started to get mad, and tried to look away from Kermit.

But Kermit wasn't having any bullshit, not anymore, and his face followed Peter's. "I would forget his laughter as he hit me, his eyes as he enjoyed hurting me. I would forget. What About You?"

Peter shot up from the seat.

"ARE YOU MAD YET, KID?" Kermit emphasised each word.

Caine started to move towards them when Kermit gestured for him to stay back, for now.

Peter's chest felt as though it was going to explode, as his heart pumped his raging blood through his veins. He so wanted to hit something. He wanted to hit Kermit. But he still said nothing.

"Are you mad enough to tell me the truth?" Kermit asked.

Peter wanted it all to stop--the pain, the fear, the anger--but a promise was made, a promise <he will not die because of me> he would keep.

Kermit watched as Peter's eyes went glassy. He hadn't wanted to do it, but the kid wasn't leaving him much choice. "Pete? Help me. What does Burroughs want from you?" he pleaded.

Peter stood up and, ignoring Kermit, he looked at his father. "I am going to take a shower, Pop, if that is all right?"

Caine nodded and bowed slightly. "Call if you need anything...my son...I will rebandage your wounds when...you are ready."

Peter nodded and, with a sideward glance at Kermit, he limped from the room.

Kermit watched him hobble away. "I'm sorry, Caine. I wanted to shake him. Make him tell us the truth. He is lying, you know that?"

Caine went back to his work. "Yes...I do."

Kermit turned and leaned his back on the table. "He never was a good liar, even as a kid. We could always tell when he was trying to pull something."

Caine went back to his mixing. "He always has...He always will."

Kermit turned to face Caine. "These men want something off Peter, and they're not going to stop until they get it. Caine, can't you talk to him?"

Caine shrugged.

Kermit grimaced. "Oh, I forgot...We're dealing with Peter."

The shower hadn't done its job, to wash it all away. As he looked into the mirror, he saw the bruises and...the face. His image stared back at him, mocking him with its pale comparison to what he had been before. He stared into its eyes; they radiated fear, a fear that burned into his soul, destroying him from within. The anger began to rise again. The mirror acted as a TV screen, as everything he had gone through was replayed in his mind. Burroughs' sneering face laughed as he inflicted pain. Peter watched as his body was attacked again and again, each blow causing his anger to rise higher. "Are you scared yet, Peter? You should be." The voiced laughed, then softened. "Just tell us what we want to know and it will be all over. There'll be no more pain, no more drugs...it will all just go away. There is no one to help you, Peter. You're all alone. Where's Paul? Your father left you alone to suffer...for what? A friend is more important than his own son? Are you scared yet, Peter? Are you scared yet?"

Peter couldn't stand anymore. "Shut up," he growled, as his fist slammed into the mirror, shattering it, so his true image was reflected, an image fractured into hundreds of pieces.

Kermit and Caine heard Peter yell from the bathroom and both came running, Kermit with his gun drawn. When he saw the broken mirror and Peter's bloody hand, he closed his eyes behind the glasses and, without a word, he walked away. He wondered if he had pushed Peter too far. Was Peter so far away that there was no way back? Were his anger and fear going to keep him from ever becoming Peter again?

"Peter?" Caine said as he looked at Peter's hand and then at the mirror. "Oh...Peter," he said as he took his son's hand and checked out the damage. Peter was lucky: he hadn't hurt himself very badly, superficial cuts only.

Peter closed his eyes. He knew his father had felt and seen everything. He had known Kermit's eyes behind the glasses and he was ashamed. "Sorry about the mirror...Pop," he said as a tear ran down his cheek.

Caine reached up to Peter with his free hand and gently touched his cheek. "You are what...is important...to me," he said as his thumb rubbed the tear away.

The look in his father's eyes was too much for Peter and the walls went up again. He pulled his hand from his father's grasp. "It's fine, Pop...I have to finish getting dressed. I'll replace the mirror."

Caine knew it was no use to argue, so he left Peter to finish dressing.

After Peter had dressed and Caine had bandaged his old and new wounds, Peter followed his father into the kitchen, where Kermit sat, having used his time to bring his laptop up from the car. Peter subconsciously tried to hide his bandaged hand from Kermit. He was ashamed he had lost his temper like he had; he was ashamed and angry, with himself and Kermit. <Why won't he let it go? Because he's your friend, Peter, and he knows that Burroughs is coming back, and you know it.> Peter absentmindedly fingered the file that Kermit had thrown on the table. Looking around the room, he saw Caine working again on his herbs, and Kermit's fingers dancing across the keys as he watched the screen. Peter picked up the file and limped from the room, his head hanging.

Kermit watched Peter from behind his dark glasses. He felt for the kid; he really did. But he had to face this, and they had to get this guy before he tried again--and before he succeeded this time.

Peter went out to the balcony, sat down, and stared at the closed file in front of him. He tooka deep breath and turned the cover. He breathed an audible gasp as he stared at the face of his tormenter. He closed his eyes for a moment and then braved the file again. After reading the file he slammed it shut. He wanted to throw something, hit something. "Anger will not help...it only leaves broken mirrors." Peter squeezed his eyes shut. <Sometimes you just have to hit something> he thought, knowing his father would hear. And he did.

"And your problem is still there when you have exhausted yourself with rage, and so is the rage..."

Peter swung around to see his father standing there, just waiting. "Pop. I know you are only trying to help, but I have too many voices inside my head as it is. Please stay out...for now, anyway," he asked.

Caine bowed. "As you wish...but it does not mean...I will stop listening for you..."

Peter smiled and put his arm around his father. " Wouldn't expect you to...not ever."

Burroughs took up his position across from Caine's apartment, and waited. This time it had to work.

A voice quietly called at the door of Caine's quarters, "Master Caine, areyou here?"

Caine came in from the balcony at the same time Kermit came from the kitchen, his hand tucked in behind his back. Caine gestured to Kermit that it was all right, as he met Tommy Sung at the door. Caine and Sung bowed to each other.

"Master Caine, I am so sorry to bother you, but my mother is ill again and she is asking for you. I hate to interrupt, but she is in a great deal of pain," Sung asked with respect.Caine turned to Peter; he didn't want to be leaving him, not so soon.

"Pop, I'm fine," he said, putting up his hands. "I remember you telling me how sick she was before I...before I went away. She needs you, Pop. Anyway, I have Kermit here. He'll protect me. Won't you, Kermit?"

Kermit patted his back. "If I don't kill you first."

Caine collected his bag of herbs and followed Tommy Sung to his mother's. <Take care, my son.>

Upstairs, Peter shook his head and actually smiled. <Couldn't help yourself, could ya, Pop?>

Kermit watched Peter smile. It was good to see it again. But as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. If only for a moment, it was like having the old Peter back.

Burroughs watched from the roof as Tommy and Caine left the building and made their way down the street. "One down," he sneered.

One of his men leaned over. "What of the other one?"

Burroughs started to load Peter's gun. "I think we can take care of one ex-merc and an injured cop, or would you like to join our retired colleagues?" he said, alluding to the recently departed Michaels and friend. When no one answered, he smirked. "I thought not." He looked to make sure Caine was long gone. "Then let's go."

Kermit had made himself comfortable back at the computer, trying to track down any place that might offer a lead to where Peter was held for the two weeks he was missing. He was running a search of titles around the area where they found Peter, which tended to take time, so he left the computer searching, made himself a cup of coffee, and went to join Peter.

Kermit watched Peter a moment from inside the apartment as he sat out on the balcony, absentmindedly rubbing the hand he had put through the mirror. He wondered what terrors he was remembering. <We all have them. Some of us were meant to carry demons, to fight them 'til the day we stop breathing. This was unfair; it wasn't fair for the kid to have to suffer like this.> Kermit broke from his thoughts as he joined Peter, coffee in hand.

"Where did you get that? I know Pop doesn't have any coffee here," Peter said absently, without looking at Kermit.

Kermit smiled. "Don't tell me you Shaolin have heightened sense of smell, as well?" Kermit thought he noticed a small chuckle.

"That, and you have a coffee addiction, my friend," Peter said, a slight touch of lightheartedness coming to his voice.

Kermit looked offended. "Addiction. That's a strong word for a fondness for the brown bean..."

Peter suddenly turned deathly white as he turned and looked towards the entryway. Kermit very slowly put down the cup, as his hand went to the back of his jacket.

"Kermit," Peter warned, his breathing becoming laboured as panic began to set in.

Kermit already had his gun out, which made Peter flinch. "How many?" he asked Peter.

Peter tried to his focus on the numbers, but his fear and confusion were screwing with his head, and he looked at Kermit, defeated.

Kermit put his hand on Peter's shoulder to reassure him. "Don't sweat it, Kid. I survived wars without your Shaolin antenna. I think I'll survive a skirmish." He pulled another gun from its hidden holster and held it out to Peter. "You want it?"

Peter reached for the gun with a shaking hand. "I don't know if I can use it, Kermit...I'm sorry. God...I hate being like this..." he said, ashamed that his fear had such control. Peter looked at the gun in his shaking hand, trying to override the fear that was threatening to engulf him.

Kermit tried to reassure him. "It's okay, Kid...Just do your best," he said quietly as he disappeared back into the apartment.

Peter kept staring at the gun in his trembling hand and then in the direction Kermit had gone. <Nobody dies because of me.> He held the gun with a renewed grip. There was a sudden commotion, and the sound of gunfire. <No...Kermit!> he broke into a hobbling quick step.

The center room of Caine's apartment was empty and quiet as Peter limped his way to the doorway, the only way Kermit could have gone. Sweat was beginning to bead his face. He didn't know whether it was the pain from his injuries or the fear that was causing it; all he knew was that his hand was shaking and his throat felt like something had it in a choke hold. Peter wiped the sweat away from his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. <Get a grip, Peter.> He was breathing so fast he thought he was going to pass out, but he continued to move along the wall. He made it to the doorway. He took a deep breath to slow the panic. He was about to turn into the entryway when a familiar voice called to him.

"Caine, I know you're there. I have something you may want back."

Peter knew from the victory in Burroughs' voice that he had Kermit, but whether he was alive or not, that was the question. The thought of facing Burroughs again made him sick to his stomach. <Nobody dies because of me.> Peter closed his eyes and took another deep breath; letting it out, he put his hands up in the air and turned the corner.

Kermit was on his knees with one of Burroughs' men's arms around his neck, his own gun pressed against his head. "Pete, no!" Kermit called out. Another man brought his pistol down on Kermit's head.

Peter watched as his fear kept him frozen still, as Kermit fell, stunned, to the floor. Peter saw, for the first time, blood coming from a wound in Kermit's shoulder; it didn't look bad but he couldn't tell for sure. Peter made a move to go to him. "Leave him alone. He's not part of this; it's me you want," he murmured, his voice barely rising above a whisper. The gun was pressed harder to Kermit's head; Peter saw the warning and stayed where he was.

"Uh-uh." Burroughs waved his finger. "You left without saying goodbye. Now, is that the thanks I get for giving you such a good time?" he said, with the sound of triumph lilting in his voice. He stepped forward and took the gun from Peter's hand.

Peter's skin crawled at the sound of Burroughs' voice, but he stood his ground.

Burroughs looked at the gun he had just taken, and then brought up Peter's Beretta, pointing it at his captive. "I like this one better. Very comfortable. You have a nice choice in weapons, Caine, but sadly, a poor choice in mercenaries." Burroughs moved in closer to his old friend and put his arm around his shoulder, the gun now resting against Peter's cheek.

Peter let go an involuntary shiver.

<So Peter's last captivity worked. He's beginning to weaken.> A smile of satisfaction crossed Burroughs' face. "Your friend here isn't just a mercenary, is he? He's your friend. It must be nice to have friends...but then again, they do tend to become liabilities in situations like this, don't you find?"

Burroughs gestured to his men, who brought Kermit up to his knees. Kermit tried to stand, but was roughly pushed back down.Burroughs left Peter's side and went to stand beside Kermit. Clicking the safety off Peter's gun, he pressed the gun directly against Kermit's head. "And this was the very thing I was talking about. That's why I don't have any myself," he said, with a smile playing across his face. He loved this part of his business. He loved the power he had over Peter. He was enjoying every second of pain he was inflicting on him.

Peter looked at Kermit. <This is all my fault.> He tried to win back some of his courage. "You don't have any because nobody likes you. They never did," he said dryly.

Kermit smiled. <That's it, Pete. Don't let the bastard win, no matter what.>

Burroughs pushed not so gently at Kermit's head.

Peter realized he would have to try and hold his tongue.

"Well?" Burroughs asked impatiently.

Peter looked at Kermit sadly and shook his head. <I'm sorry, Kermit.>

Kermit understood and nodded. "Don't worry, Kid."

Peter turned away from Kermit's face to look at Burroughs. "No deal. You see, I would be inclined to tell you if you left Kermit alive, but I know you. You will kill us both as soon you get what you want. So here's my deal: Kermit stays breathing and when we get away from here..." Peter shivered at the thought and took a deep breath. "...I'll tell you, and you can do what you want with me...you will, anyway," he said, sounding braver than he was feeling.

Kermit wasn't having it. "No deals, Kid. No way you are leaving with this sack of shit."

Burroughs whipped up Peter's gun and smashed it down on Kermit's head. Kermit's glasses went flying across the room as he fell to the floor, and this time he wouldn't be getting up for a while.

Peter saw red. He had watched his friend hurt because of him. His hands were shaking as they rolled into fists, but his fear held him still.

Burroughs turned to Peter and saw the fear that wouldn't allow him to move, even for a friend. Shaking his head, a look of malice spread on his face. He swung his arm around and took aim; a smile appeared just as he fired the gun. Peter fell to the floor, screaming in agony.Burroughs slowly walked over to the wounded man. The smile was even broader now, as he knelt beside him. "Good shot, even if I do say so myself. I have gotten better since our time at the academy, Peter, don't you think? I might even be better than you now." He smirked as he poked at the leg wound. "Ohhh, that's right near the old one, isn't it? Damn, that's gotta hurt."

Peter tried to answer him, but nothing would come out; the agony had cut off all his ability to speak.

Burroughs looked serious. "Look, Caine, I don't give a shit about your friend there. He lives, dies, doesn't worry me. But you do." Turning to his men, he barked, "Leave his friend there...alive." Turning back to Peter, he smiled. "So, you ready for your trip now? It's turning out to be one hell of an adventure." He laughed.

Two of Burroughs' men grabbed Peter and began to carry him down the stairs. Peter took one more look at Kermit, wondering if it would be the last time he would see his friend again.

As he was being carried away, he saw one of the men talking to Burroughs.

"Want me to finish his friend off?" he asked zealously, pulling out Kermit's gun and running his hand over it. "Be ironic, don't you think?"

Peter struggled against his captors. "No! Burroughs! You said you'd leave him. Please don't," he begged, but he only succeeded in aggravating his injuries. The man carrying his legs stopped and dropped them, sending more pain through him. But it still didn't stop him trying to fight. "Kermit!" he called out to his friend, but the only answer he received was a fist in his face, and then the curtain of darkness descended.

Burroughs looked at the unconscious ex-mercenary. "Take care of him after we have gone. I don't care how; just get rid of him."

Caine had been at Mrs. Sung's house for only a short time when he felt the fear and anger of his son. He wanted to go to his aid, but Mrs. Sung's pain was great. She had to be seen to.

Fifteen minutes, later when her pain had eased some, Caine made up some more mixture and left instructions on its use for Tommy. He made his apologies to Tommy, explaining his urgency that required he leave immediately. Tommy was grateful for all Caine had done for his mother, and asked if there was anything he could do to help. Caine thanked him, but told him his place was by his mother, as his own was to find his son.

Caine was only streets away from his apartment when he felt Peter's pain, and then the darkness that fell into oblivion. <Peter!> Caine reached out with his mind as he broke into a run, but Peter never answered.

Kermit awoke to Caine leaning over him. He tried to sit up, but Caine's hands restrained him. "Caine?" He scanned the room quickly, then closed his eyes, which were now naked; his glasses lay smashed on the floor. He lay there trying to remember how it had all gone so wrong. How could he have allowed himself to be overpowered? Worse, the person he had promised to protect was now obviously gone, and it was his fault. "They got him?" he said, his voice cracking.

Caine nodded as he continued to minister to Kermit's wound.

"What happened? I don't think I am supposed to be alive," Kermit asked.

"No, you are not. I arrived as this man..."Caine gestured in the direction of a man who lay unconscious on the floor. "...Meant to do you harm."

Kermit stared at his attacker. "What about Peter? Why are you here with me?" he asked, concerned.

Caine's face took on a look of great sadness. "My son...at that moment...was already gone...I could do nothing for him...but I could help you...Peter would expect no less," he explained.

Kermit tried to get up, but Caine knew why and stopped him. "That will not help Peter." Shrugging, he said, "The man is unconscious; for the moment, we must wait.I will see to your injuries. Please, Kermit, keep still. You fidget like Peter." At the mention of his son's name, Caine stopped for moment and closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he continued tending to Kermit.

Kermit looked at Caine. "Is he all right?" Kermit asked.

Caine stopped and looked at Kermit sadly. "I do not know...He was full of fear, and had been injured again."

Kermit nodded. "Caine, I saw that fear in his eyes..." he said morosely.

Caine shook his head. "His fear was not only for himself, but for you. Before I lost touch with him, he held great fears for you."

Kermit rubbed his eyes with his good hand. "Why are your glasses always broken when you get something in your eyes?" He hung his head, his voice breaking with emotion.

As Peter started to come around, the pain returned. His leg felt like it was on fire. He tried to grab at it, but his arms wouldn't work. He then felt the familiar pressure of the wrist straps. Sweat began to run down his face as the fear began to intensify, his heart pumping at twice its speed. He began to strain at the straps with a ferocity spurred by terror. Forcing his eyes to open, he found himself back in the position of his last nightmare. He was strapped to the familiar chair. He moved and a pain shot through him. He looked down at his leg; it had been crudely bandaged, but blood still seeped through. Then, he remembered. "Kermit!" he whispered sadly.

Across from him, with that same moronic grin, sat Burroughs. "Oh, your friend. Sorry, he didn't make it. You see, you knew I was going to kill him and I knew you wouldn't tell me willingly what I needed to know, so there was no point. He wasn't much of a loss, anyway," he said offhandedly.

Peter's rage surpassed any terror at what his future held, and without thinking, he tried to leap from the seat. He leg screamed in protest at the sudden movement, but he didn't care. "Burroughs, you bastard, I am going to kill you, if it's the last thing I do in this world," he seethed as he strained at the straps.

Burroughs laughed out loud. "Yeah, you've said something like that before, many times. You are becoming very repetitive, Caine. Though I have to say, Pete, you got a bit more gumption than you had before. Daddy give you a couple lessons in guts? Because you sure needed them. I mean, I hardly recognise you from that babbling,drooling zombie that had to be helped out of here. "

Peter glared at Burroughs, but said nothing as the fury inside him grew.

"I know, fear tends to do that. You sit there, with nothing to do but wonder what I am going to do next. Well, I hate to keep people waiting. It's rude, don't you think?" Burroughs continued, as he stood up, walked over, and took Peter's chin in hand. "So let's cut to the chase. If you don't tell me what I need to know, I willmake it so that not even your fathers will recognise this pretty little face of yours."

Peter jerked his head from Burroughs' grasp. "Go to hell!" he snapped.

Burroughs brought his arm up and backhanded him. Peter's head was thrown back with the force of the attack, but he said nothing as he spat blood from his mouth.

"I already have. It's not half as much fun as being here with you." He grinned. Grabbing Peter by the hair, he jerked back his head. "We are going to have some more fun now, Petey Boy, ya ready?" Burroughs laughed as he continued, "You might even remember some of it. You must remember Carter here? He missed you so much; he was devastated when you left." He smirked as he tossed Peter's head down and nodded to a man who had been standing over against the wall.

Memories were flooding back to Peter from his last confinement. <God, I can't go through this again, the pain, the fear> he cried in his mind, as he sucked his breath in, waiting for what came next.

Without a word, Carter walked over to the tray and, picking up one of the vials, began to fill a syringe.

Peter closed his eyes for a moment and reached out to focus. <Damn it, Peter, this can't happen again. Concentrate!> he told himself as he tried to find his center. His fear was trying to override his concentration; he pushed it down and kept breathing. With movement barely detectable by the eye, Peter began to flex the muscles in his arms and wrists.

Burroughs watched as Carter moved toward Peter. Carter was about to take Peter's arm in his grip, when Peter's good leg swung out, connecting with the hand holding the syringe. The syringe went flying through the air as Peter pulled his arms free, and his fist then connected with the surprised man's stomach, and Carter fell to the floor, winded.

Burroughs came out of his dazed stupor, but too late.

Peter was surprisingly quick, even with his injury; within a couple of strides, Peter reached Burroughs and, with a quick palm punch, Burroughs fell to the floor holding a broken nose.

Taking his chances, Peter started for the door. His hand was about to turn thehandle when there was the sound of a shot, accompanied by a burning sensation on his arm. Peter turned to see Burroughs standing, one hand holding his bloody nose, the other pointing his Beretta at him.

"Fuck! You're going to pay for this one, Caine."

Peter froze, his hand still holding the handle to his freedom. It wasn't the pain, but the terror, that had stilled his escape.

It was enough time for Burroughs and Carter to grab him and drag him back toward the chair. Peter slipped as his leg gave way, and he fell to the floor. That was all Carter needed, and his foot smashed into Peter's ribs. The ribs still hadn't healed from the last attack. Peter tried to protect his ribs from further harm by rolling away from the new assault, but as he did, a kick missed its intended target and collected Peter's head, instead.Darkness was slowly becoming Peter's ally, and he didn't fight as it enveloped him again.

Whenhe awoke, he wished he hadn't. He now had new pains to add to the list, and he noticed his legs were bound now, as well. He couldn't figure what hurt most; he then decided that everything hurt. He was beginning to wish Burroughs would just kill him and get it over and done with. <I am so tired, Pop. Where are you?> he pleaded.

Burroughs was pacing the room, his nose twice the size it was before, and he could see Peter was weakening. "I can keep going. You remember your first visit. We can go through that all again, if we have to, or I can shoot you limb by limb until there is nothing that isn't bleeding, and you still wouldn't be dead," he spat as he dabbed at the small blood trickle from his nose.

Peter tried to gather some courage. <You're not dead yet, Peter. For godsake, try.> "I...I like your new look; I really think it suits...you. I'm just sorry I didn't punch your nose to the other side of your face." Peter smiled weakly when he saw the growing storm on Burroughs face.

Burroughs reached for something from the table that looked like a taser. "Fuck you, Caine," he fumed as he pressed it against Peter's chest.

<Oh, shit> was all Peter had time to think as the taser struck. The pain was unbearable. He pleaded for unconsciousness, but it never came. He'd never felt so alone. <Pop, help me. I don't want to die alone> he cried in despair, as a tear fell down his cheek.

Caine stood on the balcony alone as he was subjected to all the torments his son was enduring, and would have to continue to endure until they could reach him. Peter's attempts to block out his tortures and fear had caused all Caine's attempts to communicate with him to fail. His fist unconsciously opened and closed in reflex to the fury that was burning any thoughts of forgiveness to ashes. <My son, please, hear me. Concentrate. Open yourself to the pain. You will find my strength and you will find me there. Please, I beg of you, do not give up.>

The police had been called when Peter was seen being carried from the apartment. It was a small world, Chinatown; nothing went unseen, especially when it came to Caine. Jody, Mary Margaret, and even Chief Strenlich had turned up, with more uniformed officers positioned downstairs.

"Kermit, are you sure you are all right?" the Chief asked, concerned for his officer.

Kermit nearly jumped from his seat. "You heard the paramedics, Frank. They said it was a scratch. You will have to kill me yourself to keep me from this," he threatened.

Mary Margaret broke the tension as she entered. "Kermit, no one is trying to keep you from anything," she said gently, as she handed him his spare pair of glasses. "If they said you are all right then you're all right, right, Chief?" Mary Margaret asked as she looked at Frank.

Frank nodded. "No one listens to me, anyway," he said gruffly.

Suddenly there was a noise from the corner. Jody, who had been sitting on a chair guarding the prisoner, turned to the others. "I think our guest is waking up. Who won the short straw?" Turning back to the now fully aware man, as the others came over to join her, she leaned forward towards him and said, "Your boss has one of our friends. You have, of course, already met his father." She smiled innocently; then the smile faded. "Mr. Caine is a man of peace. The rest of us are NOT. You also attempted to murder our friend over there. None of these things have endeared you to us, or the officers waiting downstairs. Now you have two minutes to decide: tell us where to find Peter Caine or..."

Jody's threat could not be misinterpreted. It didn't take the full two minutes; he gave Burroughs away in one. Caine grabbed his herbs, and a convoy of cars and an ambulance sped through the streets of Sloanville, hoping they wouldn't be too late.

Peter had only just recovered from the taser attack when Burroughs spoke from the corner of the room. "Caine, one more time, shall we? Are you going to tell me where Curry is?"

Peter just glared at him, saying nothing.

"No? Okay, Carter, you heard the man," he said in exasperation as he moved over to Peter.

Carter picked up the vial and syringe, finishing what he had started earlier. He was going to enjoy this, he thought, as he grabbed Peter's arm roughly. Carter jabbed the needle into Peter's arm as hard as he could, making it as painful as possible.

Peter unconsciously winced, which brought a smile to Carter's face. Leaning down, he whispered in Peter's ear, "This is very dangerous stuff, Caine. Personally, I say, fuck the money; I hope this shit kills ya," he said as he walked away laughing.

Peter tried to ignore his surroundings as he concentrated on surviving. <Pop...I don't want to go away again> Peter pleaded to Caine. Peter could feel the drugs working. The fear was rising and the battle had begun for his reason.

Caine was lost in his son's pleas for help. A tear began to fall as Peter's torment and confusion attacked his soul.Each cry was like an individual stab to his heart. <You will survive. If you believe anything, believe me. Nothing will take you from me, ever again; I promise.>

Burroughs turned to see Peter hopelessly trying to move his arms. "I wouldn't bother. You don't think I am going to give you a second chance?" he said as he absently touched his nose. "Jesus, Caine, I have really had a gut full of this bullshit," he shouted at Peter.

Burroughs pulled Peter's head back by his hair and glared into his eyes. "I am not playing fucking games anymore. The information you are carrying in that thick skull of yours..." He emphasized the last statement by striking his fist across the top of Peter's head. "...Is worth a lot of money to me. More than I have seen in a long time, and I am not going to let anybody, especially a stubborn shit like you, stand in my way. Do you want me to take you back to that place in your mind? I will, and this time you might not come back."

Peter reached for any awareness of self the drugs might have left him. "Do...you will anyway. Don't you...I know..." He tried to speak, to make sense, but his sentence came out disjointed and lost. Taking a deep breath, Peter focused all his energy into the sentence. " You will...kill me...no matter..." And taking another breath, he said more forcefully, "Go...to..." He didn't get to finish the sentence.

"Hell...we're already there, Caine. You're becoming confused again. Maybe this will help." Burroughs threw a punch that connected with Peter's jaw, sending him and the chair flying to the floor.

<I...irritate him...more than...I do...you...Pop.> Peter smiled weakly, receiving a kick to his body for his reward.

The door opened and one of Burroughs' men poked his head through. "Mr. Burroughs, sir, sorry to interrupt; I can see you're rather busy," he said, smiling as he looked down at the now gasping for breath prisoner. "That certain party is on the line. He wants to speak to you."

Without taking a second glance at Peter, Burroughs started to walk from the room. Stopping at the messenger, he snarled, "Pick that shit up."

The silence was deafening as they drove, the only sounds the siren and their heartbeats.Kermit gave a small groan from the back seat as he tried to stretch his shoulder.

"Your shoulder bothers you?" Caine asked, turning to look from the front seat.

Kermit shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I have had pain before. This is nothing; anyway, it's not important now," he said, pushing away the subject.

"Everyone's pain is important," Caine whispered; then suddenly his hands contracted into fists.

As he closed his eyes, it didn't go unnoticed by Mary Margaret, who sat beside him driving. "Caine, are you all right? Caine, what is it? Damn it, speak to me," she appealed to him, as she took his hand.

Caine was lost in the escalating pain and drug-induced fevers that had begun to violate his son's being. "Why do they do these terrible things to my son? How can they be so cruel to another human being?" he lamented. His voice came in a whisper, but its undertone was rage.

Kermit reached over and put his hand on Mary Margaret's shoulder; whether it was to calm and reassure her, or to reassure himself, he didn't know.

Peter was praying for oblivion. It would be peaceful and painless in that darkness. But it wouldn't come close enough take him; it was always just beyond his reach. Peter's agony was getting worse by the minute. His skin prickled and welts started to appear as his breath became laboured. It was as though someone had hold of his lungs and was trying to squeeze out all the air. He suddenly bent over, straining at the straps, as the cramp gripped at his stomach like a vise. <How much am I supposed to stand?> he begged.

The phone call had not gone well. They no longer wanted to deal, and worse still, they had warned him that it would be better, after this fiasco, if he made himself scarce. "Caine, you bastard" he roared as he slammed the mobile phone on the table; then, picking up the phone, he threw it against the wall. "Caine, I am going to rip your fucking heart out!" he bellowed, a roar that echoed through the empty rooms.

The help Peter had begged for so many times had arrived. As car doors opened and shut, it looked as though the entire precinct had arrived. They all had pulled up a short distance from the air strip, so as not to be seen, or so they hoped. The strip had been abandoned many years ago and had been forgotten through the passages of time. Itsfive buildings were old and dilapidated with disuse, a perfect place to become invisible; the kind ofplace you could scream and no one would hear you.

Frank looked through the binoculars as he surveyed the area. There wasn't much cover. The buildings seemed to jut from the bare ground, their only company the weeds that had forced their way through the cracks in the neglected runway. Turning to the waiting officers, he set out the plan of attack.

Kermit was growing impatient. All this standing around was not helping Peter. They were so close. "Chief, we don't have the time for a discussion on games plans or votes," he said brusquely.

Frank knew how Kermit felt, but things had to be done right or they could risk losing Peter. "Hold it in, Kermit. We are all worried about Detective Caine," the Chief shot back.

Peter leaned back in the chair, trying to straighten his chest, trying to get his lungs to do their job, but every breath was agony; all it succeeded in doing was making him cough, which caused the pain in his chest to increase. His suffering was becoming unendurable. Life was breath, and Peter could feel them both leaving him. With all the concentration he could muster, and with the little strength he had left, he called <Pop, I'm sorry. I tried; I really did. I am just so tired.> Peter's breathing,which had been harsh before, now was turning shallow. His eyes gradually closed as his head slumped forward, as he slipped into unconsciousness.

With weapons checked and a rough plan in place, Kermit wasn't waiting any longer. Turning to Caine, he said, "Caine, let's..."But he was speaking to thin air.

Caine had already gone. He knew his son's body was giving in to all the tortures that had been inflicted on it over the last three weeks. Peter had begun to give in to the call of death, and Caine was not going to allow him to answer.

"Shit! Caine, damn it. So, now I know where Peter gets it from," Kermit growled, as he broke into a run.

Frank saw Kermit taking off. Looking around, he too noticed that Peter's father was missing. Pulling his weapon, he called, " Where's Caine? Kermit! Damn it, why doesn't anyone ever listen to me. Everyone else, stick to the plan," he ordered as he turned to the others. "No one shoot Kermit or Peter's father,"he said, and then added under his breath, "That will be my job. Why doesn't anyone ever listen to me?" he mumbled, as he pulled his weapon and went to join the others.

Carter had gone to check on Peter. His face lit up when he saw his condition. "Oh, there is a God." He smiled as he lifted Peter's head and felt his neck for a pulse.

That was where Burroughs found Carter as he stormed into the room. "Tell me the bastard's dead," Burroughs asked vindictively.

Carter shook his head. "Sorry to say it, but no. But he hasn't got long, though, I'd say," he said as he let Peter's head drop.

Burroughs pulled Peter's gun out of his belt. "Go get everything together. We are getting out of here. I've had enough of this place, and enough of this bastard," he said as he unlocked the safety.

Carter took one more look at Peter and left the room, smiling.

"I just wish you were awake for this, Caine. I would like to see the look in your eyes as I pull the trigger," Burroughs said as he aimed the gun at Peter's head.

"I do not think so."

Suddenly his gun hand was pulled from behind. The gun was forced from his hand and went sliding across the floor. Burroughs turned to see Peter's father, his eyes burning with rage.

"You will not hurt my son again," Caine warned.

Burroughs didn't miss a beat and threw a punch at him.

Caine sidestepped the swing and, bringing up his leg, he used his foot to gut-kick Burroughs towards the doorway.

Burroughs slowly picked himself up. Holding his stomach, he smiled. "I don't have to hurt him, Caine. Your son is dead, or near enough to it." He started for the door. "Payback? Or save him? The decision is yours."

Caine looked at Peter and knew the decision was already made. He gently cupped Peter's head in his arms, as Burroughs disappeared through the doorway. Caine looked at the welts that covered Peter's face. "My son, what have they done to you?" he cried as he released the straps from Peter's wrists and legs. Caine caught Peter as he began to fall forward, and gently laid him on the floor. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out some of the herb Echinacea and slipped it between Peter's lips. "Please, Peter, do not give up on me. I cannot live without you again," he begged as he gently touched his son's cheek and ran his fingers through Peter's now damp hair.

Kermit had lost track of Caine as he made his way through the abandoned hallways, when he heard what sounded like the sound of... "Plane, damn it," he swore as he ran toward the hanger. Kermit broke through the doors just as the plane disappeared through the hanger doors. A bullet whistled past Kermit's ear, as he turned and saw Carter running toward the now accelerating plane. Kermit took aim at the man's fleeing back and was about to fire when he thought of Peter, and lowering his aim, he fired.

Carter was clutching his leg as Kermit stood over him, his gun aimed at his heart. Kermit swore under his breath as he watched the plane become airborne. He just knew Burroughs was in there and now out of their reach.

Carter had been dealt with. Not in the way Kermit would have preferred, but he didn't have time for what he really wanted to do to the scum. Anyway, Carter was the last thing on his mind as he began searching room by room for Peter and Caine.

As Kermit rounded a passageway corner, he found himself facing the business end of a gun. "Jeez, Kermit, I thought we had missed one. Have you found Peter and Caine yet?" Jody asked, getting more worried than she was before, if that was possible.

Mary Margaret and Frank came up from behind. " Well, they're not back there. That's where we just came from," Mary Margaret said as she gave Jody a quick hug.

"They have to be here somewhere," Frank said anxiously, as he began to open another door. The search continued.

Kermit was starting to panic. <Peter wouldn't have been on the plane. Shit, he couldn't have been, could he? Maybe he's not even...> But he stopped in mid-sentence as he opened the next door. "Oh, hell, Frank, call the paramedics. Tell them to get their arses over here on the double," he called as he ran to Peter's side.

Jody, Mary Margaret, and Frank, who was still barking orders on his radio, weren't far behind.

Jody made an audible gasp as she saw Peter's condition. The welts covered most of his exposed skin now, and his breathing was barely noticeable.

"Caine, he's all right, isn't he?" Mary Margaret asked the question no one wanted to ask.

Kermit didn't want to look. This was all his fault. Peter's pain and injuries were all his fault. He had promised to keep Peter safe this time, and he had failed.

Caine never looked up as he continued to run his hands over his son. "My son is in a great deal of pain," he said sadly as he continued to work.

"Coming through!" the paramedics called as they entered the room, pulling the gurney between them.

Mary Margaret gently moved Jody to the side to let them through. Frank and Kermit stood back as they went to work, everybody lost in their own thoughts for the their friend.

Caine stood back to let them work on his son. Every fibre in him wanted to hold his son, make all this pain go away.

" What's wrong with him?" Jody asked the paramedic, as she tried to move out of Mary Margaret's grasp.

"Ma'am, he is having an allergic reaction, a very severe one. Does anyone know what he has taken or been given?" the paramedic asked as he placed an oxygen tube under Peter's nose.

Kermit moved forward. "This man has been systematically tortured and drugged over the last three weeks. NO, we don't know what the bastards gave him. Just do something," he said angrily.

Frank moved towards him and put a settling hand on his shoulder. "No, we don't know what they gave him. Sorry," he said, as he apologised for lack of information and for Kermit.

"We understand. John, get me 50 mg of epinephrine," the paramedic said urgently. He injected Peter as they ran an inventory of his other injuries. "I have a list as long as your arm here, Tom. He has what looks like a thigh wound, plus what seems to be a fresh one beside that," the paramedic said, shaking his head. The other was checking his vitals and his chest area. "Looks like we have some damaged ribs here, as well as a bullet graze on the arm. You guys weren't kidding, were you? We have to transport as soon as possible," he said as they prepared the gurney.

Caine stood still and quiet. All his concentration was focused on Peter. <Do not give up, Peter. Please. I need you.> A solitary tear fell down his cheek.

Mary Margaret passed Jody to Frank. As they followed Peter out to the ambulance, she walked over to Caine. "Are you all right?" she asked as she took his hand.

Caine gently squeezed Mary Margaret's hand and bowed slightly. "I am well, thank you, Mary Margaret. I must be with my son," he said urgently.

"Come with me. I'll get to the hospital before even Peter gets there." Mary Margaret smiled.

Mary Margaret was true to her word. She gunned the Kermitmobile and they arrived seconds before the ambulance got there.

Peter was rushed straight to emergency as the rest waited, for the second time within two weeks, for news on his medical condition.

Twenty minutes later the doctor emerged. " Caine, sorry to see you again so soon," he said as he shook Caine's hand.

Caine bowed as he asked, "How is my son?"

"Well, Caine, I don't know how your son does it. It was touch and go for a minute there. He had a very severe allergic reaction to whatever drugs he was given, but he is one hell of a fighter. We will be taking him to surgery in a moment to repair the damage from the bullet wounds. God willing, he should be as good as new in a few weeks. He is asking for you, you can see him for a few minutes. Be warned: he is floating in and out. By the way, he seems stressed about something called Kermit? A pet or...? "

Kermit stepped forward. "He is asking for me, doctor," Kermit said as he stormed past the doctor, following Caine into the room.

Kermit stood over near the wall, not wanting to intrude father and son, should have their time. He watched as Caine walked over to his son's bed.

Bending down, Caine kissed Peter's forehead. "My son, can you hear me? You are safe now. I love you, Peter," he crooned, as he ran the tips of his fingers down the side of Peter's face.

"Pop?" his son called to him weakly, as he struggled to keep his eyes open. "I tried...but..." His eyes began to close as his voice petered off. "I...failed...Kerm...dead..." and he was out again.

At the mention of his name, Kermit came forward. "Dead? What does he mean...?" Kermit asked, confused. Then he realised. "Damn it, Caine, Peter doesn't know that I'm alive."

The orderlies came and took Peter to surgery, as Kermit paced up and down his room. "I can't believe it. They told him I was dead, as if he hasn't been through enough," he seethed. "I tell you, Caine, if I ever get my hands on Burroughs, I will..."

"You will not do Peter any honour by dwelling on hatred, on what you cannot change," Caine said quietly.

Kermit paced himself to the window and stared out into space. "How do you do it?" he questioned.

Caine shrugged. "How do I do...?" he asked softly.

Kermit swung back to face Caine and asked gravely, "How do you forgive someone for this, for torturing your son?"

Caine clasped his hands together tightly, so tightly his knuckles were white, as he seemed to search for the words. "I would not say I forgive. I face what was done; I know it cannot be undone. It is my job now, as Peter's father, to help him learn to live with this terrible harm that has been inflicted on him. What happens to my son now, is all that is important to me. I will not lose who he is, to one man's hatred," he said determinedly.

Peter slowly woke up to find his father's face looking down at him. <Where else would he be?> he thought, and then it all came flooding back, the pain <Kermit>, as tears fell down the side of his face.

Caine realised Peter had just come around, but his mind needed healing just like his body, and it was inflamed with the agony of Kermit's loss. Caine smiled and wiped away his tears. "Peter, there is someone here who would like to see you," he said.

Peter shook his head softly. "Pop, no, I'm tired, I don't want..."

Caine stepped back and let his visitor have Peter's full attention.

Peter turned to see Kermit come into his line of sight. "Hi, Kid," he said with a smile. Kermit took off his glasses and bent down so that Peter could get a good look at him. He touched Peter's hand. "That's right, I'm here, Kid; it's me. I'm just fine."

Tears welled up in Peter's eyes as his chin quivered. "Kermit? I thought...He told me." Peter couldn't finish as his voice gave way.

Slipping his glasses back on, Kermit explained, "They breed us ex-mercenaries pretty tough; you know that. Anyway, when you have a Shaolin priest as your guardian angel, you have nothing to worry about." He leaned closer and said quietly, "You did good, Kid. That bastard didn't win." He lifted his glasses and winked with a smile, and he left the room.Once outside, he took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. "You did real good, Kid. Paul would be proud." Putting his glasses back on, "Oh, yeah," he said out loud, as he straightened his hard, non-emotional shell back into place and sauntered down the hall.

A month passed. Peter had been out of hospital for two weeks and had been staying at his father's apartment, trying to find his way back from the fear and rage. It had been hard at first, especially when he was told that Burroughs had gotten away. The nightmares returned. The rage would erupt at the slightest provocation, until he realised the only people he was hurting were himself and the people who cared for him. He still spent days jumping at unexpected sounds, and still found himself looking over his shoulder. But his determination for Burroughs not to win, not take his freedom or his life, was winning; he even smiled when he remembered how Burroughs had been infuriated with Peter's stubbornness. <You lose again, Burroughs.>

Peter sat at the water's edge, looking out over the lake, holding a small red box in his hand. "Yes, you have my permission, Pop," he said without looking up.

As Caine took a seat beside his son, he saw the box that Peter was repeatedly turning in his hands. "I missed you at the rooms. Something bothers you," he said as he gestured to the box.

Peter stopped turning the box, and without looking at Caine, he asked sadly, "Am I ever going to be free of him, Pop?"

Caine knew who Peter was talking about without the mention of a name. Taking a deep breath, he shrugged as he answered, "I do not know, Peter. You can only believe in yourself and your own strength to beat your demons."

Peter ran his hand through his hair as he stared at the box, which he now held with a grip so tight the box began to cave in a little. "The first time he took me, Pop, he did things...I don't want to remember. I was so scared...I mean nothing, Nothing! has ever scared me like that, not the destruction of the temple, the flames. I could have even jumped off a ten-story building and not been that scared."

Caine never said a word. He just let his son vent his feelings that had been building over the last month; he now needed to talk.

"Then, when I was back with you, Pop, I was safe again. He couldn't hurt me, not any more. Listen to me; I sound like a child," he choked. Taking a deep breath, he continued, "Then I thought they had killed Kermit. I felt so empty and guilty; it was my fault he was dead."

Caine spoke up this time, as he put his hand on Peter's shoulder. "While you suffered your guilt and loss, Kermit was doing the same. Both had nothing to feel guilty for. You did the best you could to protect each other; nothing else is needed."

Peter looked at his father as a tear fell. "I tried so hard, Pop, to fight, to survive. I didn't want thefear to control me like it did the first time, cowering away from you and my friends. I was so far away. I didn't want go there again. I wasn't going to let him do that to me again. Never again. I knew what was coming, and what I had to do, to fight. He wasn't going to win, and he didn't; well, not as much. But it took everything I had to fight him, Pop, everything. I don't think I could go through that again. I am not strong enough to fight him, not again. I was just lucky. He didn't have me so long the second time, if you could call it that," he smiled half-heartedly.

Peter grabbed his crutches and stood up, gasping as he did so. Everything he did gave him some pain and reminded him of what Burroughs had done to him, and now this. Opening the box, he took out its contents and passed them to his father's hand. "I mean it, Pop, I can't go through that again. I won't," he said, his eyes blazing with rage, as he limped over to stand at the water's edge.

Caine looked down at his hand and saw what Peter had left there: Peter's badge, and attached to it, a note: <Remember the fear, because it remembers you and so will I. B>

THE END