By Wendy Shywalker

The day had been perfect, and as Peter sat across from his father and the Ancient, he smiled. Life had been good to them lately. Crime seemed to have taken a holiday long enough for the three of them to spend days like this, with cafes and walks, getting to know more about each other.

Caine looked up from his conversation with the Ancient, toward Peter. "You are happy?" Caine asked, as he looked at the smile on his son's face.

Peter laughed. "What gave me away? Yes, Pop, I am. I am very happy. Must be the company, huh?" he replied, as he glanced at his watch.

The Ancient bowed, and with an impish grin, said, "I am glad I have that effect on you, Peter." They all joined in the mirth of the moment.

"Well, this is all very good, and I could sit here all day; but my shift starts in fifteen minutes, so I'd better go and see if there are any bad guys to catch," Peter said as he got up from his seat. Walking around to his father, Peter planted a kiss on his forehead, and repeated the same action to the Ancient. "Well, guys, don't get into any mischief while I'm gone. You know you need me to get you out of trouble," he said as he began to leave.

Caine watched Peter as he walked away, his son's gait light and quick as he stepped to the kerb, preparing to cross the street to his car.

Peter suddenly had a thought. Turning around, he called back, "Pop, want to meet me for dinner? I..."

What happened next, happened so quickly even Caine did not realise what was about to occur until it was too late. A car turned the corner, accelerated, and with no warning, diverted its course toward Peter.

Peter, still in mid-sentence, didn't see the oncoming danger, and seemed totally surprised by the actions of his father, as he watched Caine leap up from his seat. Peter had time for a shrug and a puzzled expression as he turned his head and looked over his shoulder to see what had drawn his father's attention. But his action was too late. The bumper of the car connected with a force that picked him up and tossed him into the air, his body spinning out of control.

Caine watched, stunned, as his son was hurled through space, his arms appearing to grab for something to hold onto, anything that would stop the inevitable from happening.

Peter felt the car hit him, with all its painful might, and felt himself weightless and powerless to stop the impending conclusion. The sound was sickening as Peter's body confirmed the law of gravity by landing on the bonnet of the car, rolling into the windscreen, and shattering it into a cobweb of glass.

The car came to a tyre-screeching halt, and Caine watched his son's seemingly broken body discarded like rubbish into the kerb, as the motorised weapon then sped away. Caine was at his son's side before his battered body had stopped moving, leaning over Peter to protect him in case of further attack. He was stunned to see that Peter's eyes were open, that unconsciousness had not claimed him.

Peter's face was a contortion of pain, his mouth moving, but no sounds could be heard. Caine could see he was trying to communicate, and tried to silence him. "Peter, no, you must not. Do not attempt to speak." Caine's voice broke as he spoke, as his son's pain stabbed at his heart.

Caine heard the arrival of the ambulance, though he couldn't see it for the crowd that had gathered around the sorrowful sight. As Caine looked to the Ancient, who had joined him at Peter's side, he felt a feather touch on his cheek. Caine turned in time to see Peter's arm lose its strength and fall. "Peter!" Caine entreated, as he touched son's cheek. Peter's eyelids fluttered a couple of times and closed; Caine never knew if Peter had heard him. As the orderlies began to wheel past Caine the gurney on which Peter lay, he took a chance to take hold of his son's hand. "Please?" he pleaded with the doctor, who then nodded to the two men. The orderlies stopped for a moment as the father leaned over his unconscious son. Caine knew he didn't have much time, but he needed to touch, to be with his son. As tears ran down Caine's cheeks, he gently ran his fingers around Peter's face, as if to memorise each feature, each pore of his skin. "You have always wanted to know my Persian flaw, Peter. I am selfish; I need you. Please, come back to me," he whispered into his son's ear.

The doctor stepped forward. "Mr. Caine, we must get him to surgery," he said as he looked to Lo Si for help.

The Ancient stepped forward and gently pried the father away, and they both watched as Peter gradually disappeared down the corridor.

Chief Strenlich, upon hearing the news, grabbed Mary Margaret and Jody. They arrived minutes after Peter went into surgery. Feeling helpless, they joined Caine and Lo Si in the waiting room.

"Caine, we just heard. How are you doing?" Mary Margaret asked as she put her hand into his.

"I am fine, thank you, Mary Margaret. I am worried for my son," Caine said sadly.

Mary Margaret tried to put on a brave face. "You know Peter; nothing keeps him down for long. He will be up and around before you know it."

Caine tried to smile for her, to let her know he understood what she was trying to do, but he could only manage a shrug as he fell back to his thoughts.

Blake, who had been sent to deliver the news to the Blaisdells, entered with Annie on his arm. Caroline and Kelly were out of town for the day. A message had been forwarded to them asking them to get back as fast as they could. As Annie reached Caine, he took her hands in his and led her to a seat.

"Caine, how is he? Do you know? Have they said?" she asked, her voice breaking with emotion. Before he had a chance to speak, Annie asked more urgently, "You were there. No one is saying too much. They don't want to upset the blind woman; they don't realise they upset me more when they don't tell me the truth," she pleaded.

Caine grasped Annie's hand gently, trying to break through his own fear for Peter, to ease the pain of the woman who had become his son's mother. "Our son was hit by a car. I could do nothing," Caine said, leaving out the deliberate nature of the offence done to their son.

"And it didn't stop?" Annie demanded, incredulous that someone could do that to another person and just drive away.

Caine shook his head. "No, it did not." He was finding it hard to hide the anger in his voice, and he was not the only one.

As Caine looked at Annie, the only real mother Peter had ever known, her eyes hidden by the glasses she wore to mask her blindness, he realised her pain was as great as his. "He is in surgery, Annie. We can do nothing but wait. Please try and rest while we wait for some news," he said quietly as he sat her down. Caine wanted to say more to help those around him, to follow his training, but his emotions as a father overrode everything as he prayed for his son.

Two hours later, the waiting room was full, as everyone from family to uniformed officers crowded in and out. The only movements were interchanging officers and coffee shifts. Conversations were held only in whispers, and prayers were repeated, some out loud in the waiting room, others soundlessly by candlelight in the chapel.

Kermit made his way down the corridors of the hospital like a man possessed; he had only one destination in mind as he barged into the waiting room. "Chief!" he called to Frank Strenlich. "What the hell happened? Every man and his dog is here, and I have to hear about Peter at the precinct," he snapped, keeping his voice down to a loud whisper. The chief tried to guide Kermit to a corner of the room, where they could talk, but Kermit pulled his arm from Frank's grip. His eyes glared from behind the tint of his green glasses. "Damn it! Frank, why didn't someone call me?" he demanded, as he tried to steady his nerves with a deep breath.

"Kermit, we've tried to reach you ever since it happened, but you haven't been answering our calls," Frank retorted.

Kermit's shoulders slumped as he remembered that he had been having trouble with the scanner in his car on and off all week, and had meant to get it fixed. "Shit, I am sorry, Frank. It's all my fault; I 'd forgotten about that damn scanner acting up!" he said, apologizing.

"No problem," Frank said as he patted Kermit's back lightly.

"So, how is he?" Kermit asked.

Frank shook his head and replied, "He is still in surgery. Any news at the precinct about the car?" he enquired, trying to keep his mind busy.

Kermit seemed very surprised by Frank's question and asked, "Haven't you heard? They found the car down around 10th Street; of course, it had been reported stolen. Forensics is going over it now with a fine-tooth comb, but I can bet they won't find anything."

Caine looked around at all the faces of his son's friends. Jody's eyes were red with the tears that had been shed, and Mary Margaret, who sat with her arm around her, tried to offer some comfort to her friend while she fought to keep her own fear hidden. He saw Kermit near the window, his features showing nothing, but Caine could feel the fear and anger growing inside the ex-mercenary. He was not the only one trying to deal with his anger: Frank Strenlich paced the waiting room. The hospital wait had been agony for Caine; all essence of his son was lost to him, and for the first time since the temple fire, his heart was feeling hollow and dead.

Lo Si patiently waited in the corner, saying nothing; he could think of nothing to say to a man who feared for the one thing that made him whole, that made him alive.

The silence in the room was deafening in its roar. No one wanted to speak, to be the one to break the curtain of hope that hung in the room. They were all living their own hopes and prayers in their minds as they held onto the essence of Peter for comfort.

The doctor entered the room and made his way through the sea of people, his face indistinguishable from the emotions he had worn earlier. "Mr. Caine? Mrs. Blaisdell. May I speak with you in private?" he asked, as he noted that the waiting room overflowed with anxious friends and acquaintances.

Caine looked around the room, then at Annie, and nodded. The others took their cue and filed from the room, leaving Caine and Annie alone to a foreboding that no one wanted to face.

"Mr. Caine, Mrs. Blaisdell, it is not good news, I am afraid."

Annie's body stiffened under Caine's hand, as she tried to prepare herself for some sort of permanent injury that would keep Peter from the force, and the battle that would ensue for Peter's future. Her grip on Caine's arm tightened. She wanted to block her ears and make this day go away. More than anything, she wanted Paul to be here beside her.

The doctor stepped closer to Annie and Caine, and with a look that spoke before his words did, he said the words that pierced their hearts. "I am sorry. Peter...your son...died fifteen minutes ago while still in surgery. There was nothing we could do; the damage was too great. I am very sorry." "Dead!" The word reverberated through Caine's heart. <Dead. It is not possible.>

Caine was suddenly brought back to reality as he felt Annie's body go limp beside him. Reacting quickly, he caught her before she fell, and with the doctor's help, carried Annie to a chair. Caine sat beside Annie as the doctor checked her, holding her hand but still lost in his own thoughts. Closing his eyes, he concentrated. He searched, but there was nothing. His son was indeed gone. A tear rolled down his cheek.

As Annie starting to regain awareness, she seemed to look around, disoriented at first; then, as her hands reached out and found Caine, the tears started. "Caine!" she wailed. "It wasn't a dream. Our son is gone."

Caine replied, trying to keep his voice calm. "Yes, it is true, Annie. Peter is...gone." He didn't succeed; his voice broke at the finality of his words. They sat in silence for a moment, each trying to gather what thoughts hadn't been numbed by shock.

"Oh, God!" Annie realised. "The girls...everyone is waiting. My God, Caine, how do we tell them?" She quietly began to cry again.

The doctor, who had been waiting for them to regain some composure, offered, "I could tell them, if it's too difficult."

Caine shook his head. "Thank you, but it is for me to do. When can we say goodbye to our son?" he asked sorrowfully.

The question seemed for a moment take the doctor aback, but he recovered quickly. "I wasn't sure if you would want to, but of course. I will give you time with your family, and I will come and get you when Peter is ready," he said as he took Annie's hand in his and looked at them both. "I am very sorry for your loss."

"Caine, I don't think I can stand this. Paul should be here, to say goodbye. This is so unfair to us, to Peter..." Annie cried as her heart broke a little bit more. Realising she had to be strong for her daughters, Annie straightened. "They have the right to know. We can't put it off any longer."

Caine stood up from the chair where he had been sitting, and taking Annie's hand, brought her to stand near him. "Are you ready?" Caine asked, knowing full well neither of them were.

"No, I'm not. Will you bring them in?" she asked, taking a deep breath.

Stunned silence followed Caine's news, a silence made of disbelief and denial, which then gave way to the agony of the truth, the cries of loss and the anger at the injustice of it all.

Caine stood outside the room that led to what was left of his earthly son. He was grateful for only two things: that his son was no longer in pain, and that this time he would get to say goodbye, no matter how painful it was.

Lo Si waited for his friend to gather his strength. "My friend, would you like me to come with you?"

Caine bowed. "Thank you, but no. I must say goodbye to my son alone. But I thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

The Ancient returned the bow as he backed away and left his friend to his melancholy task.

Caine gently pushed open the door, to see Peter lying in the bed as though he were just sleeping. For a moment, he could have imagined it was a dream, but he knew the truth; he felt it. He walked over to his son's bedside, and as he looked at the face now at peace, the body now at rest, the tears flowed.

Caine touched his son's face and pulled back his hand as though it had been burned; Peter was so cold. He unconsciously pulled the blanket up higher on Peter's chest, his tears dropping onto his son's skin as he did so. Running his fingers through Peter's hair for the last time, he memorised its softness.

Caine leaned down and kissed his son's forehead, and stared into the beautiful features of his son. Caine put his his palm to Peter's cheek for the last time. "No words will bring you back to me, but know this: my heart will ache for you until that day it stops beating and I can join you. I love you, my son," he whispered, as he said his last goodbye to his only, his beloved, his irreplaceable son. The day of the funeral came. It was a mixture of a policeman's farewell and Peter's Chinese heritage. They believed it was how he would have wanted it; he had lived a tightrope between the worlds, and had been proud of both. Jody stepped toward the open wound in the ground. Closing her eyes, she gently touched to her lips the white rose she carried. Slowly she released it, watching it disappear, taking her silent message to Peter. As Jody stepped back, it was Mary Margaret's turn. Wiping away a tear as it began to fall, she, too, dropped a white rose. "Goodbye, Peter. I am going to miss you, Partner." She smiled as her voice broke. Stepping back to hold Jody, she watched as Frank came forward.

Frank usually didn't come to cop funerals; it was too painful. But for Peter, he bent the rules. Dropping a rose, he kept his emotions in check. "Goodbye, Detective Caine. My head's not going to be the same," he said as he went to stand to the back again.

Captain Simms stepped forward, looking into the grave as she spoke with water-filled eyes. "Who will irritate me now, Detective? I will miss you."

Kermit had seen a lot of friends die over the years. Some still didn't have a gravestone to mark their place of burial. But this hurt; it was like burying David all over again. Kermit walked to the side of the grave and, slipping off his glasses, he dropped them to lie among the roses. "Bye, Kid. It won't be the same without you," he said.

Others came and went, all with their own messages of love and respect. Then Carolyn and Kelly stepped forward, holding each other for comfort. "Goodbye, Peter. You were the best brother two sisters could have. We love you." Carolyn cried as her voice broke. As Kelly sobbed in her arms, Todd came forward. Taking the flowers from their hands, he dropped them into the grave, saying his own goodbye, and he led away the two grieving women.

As Caine took hold of Annie's arm, she turned to him, pleading, "Caine, I don't want to say goodbye to him." She lamented, "I can't do this."

Caine pressed his hand into hers as he said gently, "You must, for yourself."

Taking a deep breath, Annie allowed herself to be led the few steps to the edge of the grave. Kissing the flower she held, she let fall the red rose, to join the others in a blanket of petals. Lifting her glasses slightly to wipe her eyes, she said softly, "I won't say goodbye, Peter. I will see you again, my son. I love you." She started to cry uncontrollably.

All but one slowly made their way from the grave site. Mary Margaret was starting to leave with Jody when she turned back and saw Caine sitting alone beside his son's grave. Excusing herself, she walked back to him. "Caine? Are you coming?" Mary Margaret asked gently as she knelt down beside his sitting form.

Caine's tear-stained face looked at Mary Margaret as a lost child would; then he turned back to focus on where his son lay. "I feel him still, Mary Margaret. Confused and in pain. My son is not gone. How can this be?"

Mary Margaret didn't know how to make the pain Caine was feeling go away, especially as she was feeling those emotions herself. "Caine, you want him back so badly, as we all do. Your connection to Peter runs deeper than any I have seen before. These feelings are probably left over from before his death. I thought I heard him laugh at the precinct just yesterday, and turned to ask him what he found so amusing. They are leftover emotions, Caine, nothing more. Soon they will be replaced with happy memories of your time together." Standing up, she held out her hand. "Peter wouldn't want you sitting here. Come on, I'll take you home."

Out of view, two men watched the sad sight, one of the men becoming angrier at every scene of despair he witnessed. "This is unforgivable," he seethed. "How could you do this to them?" he demanded.

The other man shrugged. "We didn't want this to happen. Remember that. This was not our choice; it was made for us. But it doesn't hurt the situation. In fact, it helps," he said, as he began to walk back to the car.

That excuse wasn't enough to satisfy the angry man, and he stormed after the speaker. As they reached the car, he could control his anger no longer; grabbing the other man by the shoulder, he spun him around. "This situation! Carstairs, when you messed with this family, you messed with the wrong one," he snarled. His fist connected with the startled man's jaw.

Carstairs' driver, Thompson, upon seeing the commotion, came around and knocked his boss's attacker to the ground. The driver helped his boss up from the ground. "Are you all right, sir?" he asked as he began to tie the stunned man's arms and legs.

Carstairs nodded as he looked down at the insensible man. "I knew he was going to be a problem. Get him into the car," he said. As he watched, Thompson picked up the unconscious man and tossed him through the open doorway, onto the back seat. Once inside the car, Carstairs looked over at Thompson. "How is our other friend?" he asked.

Thompson smiled. "It is all going according to plan. He is watching everything now. Once he knows the truth, he will know where to come."

Carstairs rubbed his chin. "I hope so. My position and yours are riding on silencing Burroughs for good. If the Company finds out that I was behind the contract on Curry and the kidnapping and torture of Peter Caine, our lives won't be worth shit. This way, Burroughs gets rid of Caine and Blaisdell, and I get rid of Burroughs, and it all looks like part of Burroughs' obsession with that cop. Let's get going, before sleeping beauty here wakes up."

They hadn't driven far when the tied man began to stir. "Carstairs, you bastard, what the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, as he struggled with his bonds.

"You never learned, Paul. You are in the Company. The Company is everything. You and your family don't mean shit. Really, Paul, technically, it's all your fault, you know. You told your son where Curry was hiding; all he had to do was tell us."

Paul suddenly realised, "You! You're behind what happened to my son. Why?" He seethed, still straining at his bonds.

"How or why is not important, Paul. Needless to say, Curry has some information that may prove harmful to my new position in the Company. I paid Burroughs to get that information," he explained matter-of-factly.

"Burroughs is a sadistic animal. You knew that. He nearly killed my son," Paul spat back.

"Well, Paul, you've been in the business long enough to know you don't hire Mary Poppins for this kind of work. And anyway, I never saw you riding to your son's rescue. His real father saved him, didn't he?" Carstairs smirked, trying to rile Paul.

Paul tried not to play his game. "So this has all been part of a personal plan, and it wasn't to protect my son from his assailant, or to catch a rogue agent. Where is Peter, and what do you plan to do with us?" he asked, trying to stay calm.

"Well, Paul, the good news is that you will be reunited with your son. The bad...well, it will probably be a short reunion. I think Burroughs has plans for your son." He smiled, quite pleased with himself.

Paul closed his eyes as he remembered that visit to the academy all those years ago. And how he had told his son that what he was asking his son to do would not put him in any danger. <God, how wrong could I have been?> As Carstairs' car drove off, another interested party watched the dramas playing out in front of him. He waited for the cemetery to clear, and climbing into his car, he ordered the driver, "Okay, let's go."

The driver shook his head as he started the car. "Why are you doing this? He's dead. You did it. It's over." He despaired over the obsession his boss had with a body.

"Over! It won't be over 'til I see that body and spit on it. Caine has more lives that a cat, and if I have to, I will drive a stake through his fucking heart just to make sure he doesn't get out of that coffin," he spat.

Sending his man into the hole armed with a crowbar, he paced around the top of the hole. "Well?" he shouted down the hole.

The man called from the darkness, "Get me out of here first."

Pulling his man out of the hole, Burroughs snapped, "What was all that about, the big hurry to get out of the hole? Scared of a ghost?" he asked, smiling.

The man shook his head. "No, I just didn't want to be in a six-foot hole when I told you. I might not have made it out again," he said sarcastically, but with some truth in what he said.

His boss moved closer to him, his face inches away. "What are you trying to tell me? He's not there, is he? The bastard's still alive. I knew it. I fucking knew it!" he screamed to the heavens. "He has cheated me again. I am going to rip his body to pieces and feed them to the fucking sharks. Carstairs has something to do with this, and I know where to look. Come on, Carter, let's get the hell out of here," he ordered as he stormed off.

Burroughs looked over to see Carter beginning to laugh. "What's so damn funny?" he snarled. "Or don't you remember the bullet that friend of Caine's put in your leg? Or that you would be in prison if it wasn't for my connections."

Carter threw the crowbar into the air, catching it. "Oh, I forget nothing, just like you. But this is a trap. It's so obvious, and it has to be Carstairs, unsanctioned. There is no way he has permission to use Caine like this."

A smile played across Burroughs' face. "Well, Christmas has just come early, Carter. We get to remove two annoying fleas off our backs at once. Let's get out of here. We have a reunion party to plan." Carstairs looked through the window of the two-way mirror as the man lay still in the bed. "Has he awakened again?" he asked the doctor.

"Not really. On and off, words, pain, nothing of awareness. His system is cleaned out, but we have kept him just under, per your request. Caine's injuries from the car accident are still fairly dangerous. You are going to have to watch movement with his broken ribs. And the leg injury, though not life threatening, he shouldn't walk on too much for a while. I can stay if you need..."

Carstairs waved him off. "Thank you, Doctor. You have done the Company proud. You can leave as soon as you wake him, and make sure he doesn't see you."

The doctor didn't argue; he wasn't paid to. Returning to Peter's room, he prepared a syringe.

Carstairs watched the doctor leave as Thompson joined him. "You have gone to a lot of trouble to bring Burroughs to you. I hope this doesn't backfire. I don't know whether taking advantage of Burroughs' attempted murder of Caine was a good idea. If the Company finds out what you are hiding, or that you're risking Blaisdell's son as well as putting Blaisdell himself on ice, the shit could hit the fan right back at you," he counseled.

Carstairs eyebrows raised. "You want out?" he asked.

Thompson smiled. "And miss a shot at Burroughs myself? No way. That man has a lot of IOUs, and I, for one, want to collect. I just wanted you to be sure you know what you are doing, and if it takes using Peter Caine for bait, so be it; he means nothing to me." Caine sat, legs crossed, his eyes closed as a candle licked at the air in front of him. He tried to reach out to the peace and harmony that had been his son's being, but each time he was rebuffed with emotions of pain and a cloudy awareness of self. Caine was pushed from his meditation, leaving him more exhausted and confused than ever.

Lo Si had been watching his friend's struggle to control the grief and rage that fired his soul. "You try too hard, Kwai Chang Caine. It is too soon to find peace with the loss of your son. You need time."

Caine jumped up. "I do not understand this, Master. I feel him. It is like the touch of a feather in my mind, a moment when he is with me; then he is gone."

Lo Si hung his head. "My friend, I too loved Peter, but you must come to terms with his loss. These emotions are what you wish to be. You must not do this to yourself, Kwai Change Caine."

Caine bowed slightly to the Ancient. "I believe my son is not gone. Master, I was told my son was dead; I felt his loss, here," he said putting his hand over his heart. "I believed that to be the truth. Without reaching for him, deeper within myself, I allowed myself to be led away from Peter."

Lo Si looked into Caine's eyes and saw his truth looking back at him. "Then if you believe that Peter has been taken from you but still lives, you must find him, Kwai Change Caine. I will help you."

Caine bowed to his friend. "You honour my son and myself with your offer, but will not Mr. Chow be in need of medicines today? His illness is very serious. He will be in need of an apothecary; his treatments cannot wait."

"You are right, of course, Kwai Chang Caine. When you find Peter, you will tell him that it was not a nice thing to do to an old man, especially one as old as I am." He smiled, bowed, and left the room.

As the fog began to clear and his eyes opened, Peter looked around the room, expecting to see his father waiting with an encouraging word beside him, but the room was empty. He tried to move, but his chest reminded him that he had been in an accident. Reaching beside the bed, he tried to feel for a buzzer, something to call a nurse, anyone, but there was nothing there. That's when he noticed the room: except for an overly large mirror, there were no windows, nothing in the room but the bed. <What is going on here?>

Kermit came to see Caine in response to a message that was delivered to his office. Kermit wasn't used to getting messages from Caine, but he could understand that coming to the precinct might be upsetting for him now. It wasn't too easy for him, either, walking past Peter's desk every day, being reminded of the boy he had watched grow into one of the best cops he had ever seen. And one of the rare friends that he had. He missed him.

"Caine," he called at the entryway to Caine's apartment. "It's Kermit." When he didn't receive a reply, he ventured into the room, to see Caine deep in meditation. Not sure what to do, he knelt behind Caine and said quietly, "Caine?"

Caine felt it again; he was now more sure than ever that Peter was alive. On hearing Kermit's voice, Caine opened his eyes. "Kermit, you received my message," he said as he stood to greet his guest.

Kermit noticed how much older and more tired Caine looked lately. But now there was something, something indefinable, in his face. It was something he hadn't seen in him since Peter was alive. "You wanted to see me, Caine?" Kermit asked, wondering if he would find the reason for the change.

Caine didn't know what to say without getting the same look he had first received from Lo Si, a look of patience and pity. Neither was what he needed from Kermit. "I have something to tell you. I believe it to be the truth, but I need your help, Kermit."

"Anything, Caine, you know that," Kermit answered seriously.

Caine spoke without further preamble. "I believe Peter is alive."

Kermit was stunned. This was the last thing he expected from Caine; he had seemed to take the news as well as they all had. He had suffered this loss of Peter before; maybe this was too much even for a Shambhala master to bear. Kermit tried to find the words to explain to Caine that this sort of thing happens. "Caine, we all want to believe that Peter isn't gone, but..."

Caine put up his hand to silence Kermit. Laying his hand on Kermit's shoulder, he stared into Kermit's eyes with an intensity that Kermit had never seen before. "Kermit, if you believe anything, believe this. My son is alive; I have felt him."

Kermit looked at Caine for a moment, at the honesty of his conviction, and he thought about the fact that, in all the time he had known him, Caine's had never been wrong. <What if he is right and the kid is alive? Can I live with myself if I don't listen to Caine?> This battle raged in Kermit as Caine patiently waited, knowing he needed time to work out the truth of Caine's statement. Kermit took a deep breath. "Okay, what do you want me to do?" Peter wasn't going to sit there forever, waiting for someone to come to tell him what the hell was going on. He moved--mistake number one: a pain pierced his chest like a hot fire poker. <Great, Pete, there go the ribs again.> Taking hold of the offending bones, he slipped from the bed. <Whoa, momma!> Mistake number two: a searing pain shot from his foot all the way to his thigh. <You idiot, what did you expect? You don't get hit by a car and walk away. You're not a damn superman> he thought as he shook his head.

Peter stood there for moment, not only waiting for the pain to pass, but also wondering what he was going to find on the other side of the door. <Well, my daddies didn't raise no procrastinator.> Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself from the bed, and a hop, drag, and limp later, he made it to the door, sweating as though he had run a marathon; but, he had done it.

He listened at the door for any sounds on the other side. But it was silent, so quiet it echoed with an absolute emptiness, unlike any hospital he had ever heard, and he had heard and seen a lot of them. Looking around his room, he looked for something to use as a weapon, but the point was moot; even if there were something there, he doubted his ribs would let him wield it with any strength. <And with this leg, I'd probably end flat smack on my butt. If there are any bad guys, maybe I can make them laugh themselves into submission.>

"Well, enough rest, Peter. Once more into the breach," he whispered to himself as he tried the doorknob. The first surprise: it wasn't locked. Trying to open the door with as little noise as possible, he poked his head out the doorway, expecting it to get lobbed off with a blunt instrument; but, surprise two: <Nope, still on my shoulders.>

Looking down the corridor, he noticed that the hall was completely empty, nothing but walls and more doors. Peter kept one arm wrapped around his chest and the other leaning against the wall as he continued his search. It was slow progress, and if someone had offered him an axe to alleviate his pain, he might have taken them up on it. He didn't know what damage the car had done, but it hurt like hell. <Where is your local apothecary when you need him? Where are you, Pop, and what the hell's going on?>

Peter was beginning to think he was the last person left on the planet, when a noise caught his attention. His leg was in agony now, each step like walking on broken glass, but he had to find out what that noise was, or at least if he was alone.

Reaching the door from which the noise seemed to be emanating, Peter was too tired to stop and think if this was a good idea or not. Trying the doorknob, his sweaty hand slipped from the handle. Wiping his hands on his pants, he tried again and got it this time. The door opened to a bigger room than he had been in, more like a storage room. In fact, there were boxes piled to the roof in places, while the rest of the room seemed bare.

Trying to accustom himself to the darkness, he saw movement at the end of the room; with nothing left to lose, he started toward it. As he got closer, he saw it was a person. Peter was so intent with looking into the dark, he didn't look where he stepped, and his foot connected with a discarded box. Peter didn't know which hurt most, the leg that twisted beneath him or the unprotected ribs that connected with the floor. His breath knocked out of him for a moment, he lay on the floor, lost in his pain.

"Is someone there?" a voice called softly.

Peter thought he caught something in the voice, but shrugged it off as he felt the pain subsiding slightly. Then he heard it again.

"Is someone there?" the same voice called.

Peter turned his head toward the voice, unbelieving, wondering if it was an elaborate trick. Trying to pull himself up to a sitting position, he tried to get a better look at the person calling to him. As his eyes became accustomed to the dim light, he saw the face.

"Paul? Dad, you're alive! Thank God!" He smiled.

"I could say the same about you, Son. What have you been doing to yourself?" Paul smiled reassuringly.

Peter braced himself and started to drag himself across the floor. After a bit of hard work, he made it to his father's side.

Paul saw the sweat running down Peter's face. "What have they done to you?" The anger rose in his voice.

Peter smiled. "Don't sweat it, Dad. This is what happens when you lose an argument with a car. Come on, turn over. I'll untie you," Peter said as he tried to get comfortable.

As Peter turned to untie Paul, a sharp pain dug into his chest. He pushed it away and ignored it. Paul was the most important thing; he had his father back. Maybe together they could figure out what the hell was going on here. Kermit led the way into the precinct. Some officers stopped and looked toward Caine in sympathy; others averted their eyes, not knowing what to say.

Mary Margaret saw Caine and, smiling, stepped up to greet him. "How are you, Caine?" she asked, concerned, not having seen him much over the last few days.

Caine bowed slightly as he smiled. "I am well, Mary Margaret, and you?" he answered, without a touch of concern in his voice.

Mary Margaret was stunned. <What is going on here? This man lost his son only days before, the person he spent a lifetime looking for. His loss now seems distant, somehow.> She searched his eyes for the answer, but as usual, she could not read Caine.

Mary Margaret was about to dig some more when Kermit called from the doorway of his office, "Skalany, haven't you some work to do? I know I have. Please, Caine," as he gestured for Caine to come into his office.

Mary Margaret acknowledged Caine's bow to her, with a nod of her head.

"Excuse me, Mary Margaret." He made his apologies and made his way to Kermit's office.

Mary Margaret was left curious as to what was going on. She saw Captain Simms watching them from her doorway, and tried to stroll nonchalantly over to her. "Captain, do you know what is going on with those two in there?" she queried, casually pointing to Kermit's office.

Captain Simms was just as curious as Mary Margaret. "No use asking me, Detective. Kermit asked for some time off, and said he had some things to finish up before he left."

Mary Margaret suddenly had an idea, but the captain knew what she was thinking. Simms answered the unasked question. "I thought of that and asked them. Caine tells me they are not tracking Peter's killers."

Mary Margaret finished the sentence for her. "And I know, Caine doesn't lie. So what are they up to?"

Suddenly a call went up, "Detective Skalany, body over on Pine. Here's the address." The chief handed Mary Margaret a piece of paper. When she hesitated, he swung around. "Now, Detective, or would you rather we get the body to walk to you so you are not inconvenienced in any way?" he barked.

Mary Margaret had no choice. Grabbing her coat, she took a quick look at the blind-drawn office, and took off out of the precinct.

Behind those blinds, Kermit's computer had already started tracking. "With that description of the doctor -- and at the moment he is the only clue we have -- and my contacts, we should have a name soon. What I don't understand: this is a major operation. We know someone killed...sorry, tried to kill...Peter. I still can't get used to this. You know, Caine, I will never be more glad to be so wrong, in all my life. There is so much that is wrong here.There's the doctor, whom we hadn't seen before, and I'd bet there are no records of him at the hospital. A fake death, good enough to fool everyone, including you? The question is: why the elaborate charade?"

The computer came to a stop with four names on the screen. "Right. Now we narrow it down a bit," he said as he let his fingers do the walking. A smile came to Kermit's face as he put down the phone. "Bingo! Let's go," he said as he rushed out the door and out of the precinct.

Kermit was about to unlock his car when he suddenly realised he had rushed out and left Caine behind. He was about to go back into the precinct when a soft voice called from inside the car, "Kermit?". Kermit slowly bent down and looked inside, shaking his head. "Jeez, Caine, one of these days you are going to give me a heart attack," he said as he got in.

Kermit started the car and they were on their way.

"You have this man, the doctor?" Caine asked quietly.

Kermit thumped the steering wheel with his hand. "Oh, I am sorry, Caine, such a bloody hurry. Yes, I have the doctor, if you can call him that. His name is Dr. Mark Braun. He is what they term a part-time operative, and from what I was told, pretty unscrupulous. The word is, if he is involved, this might not be sanctioned work, which means the kid has landed smack in the middle of it again."

Caine shrugged. "It would not be Peter, if he did not," he said matter-of-factly, with a slight hint of a smile.

Kermit couldn't resist. "Even when he's dead, the kid can't stay out of trouble." Once Peter had Paul untied, it took half a second for them to say hello properly. "Dad, we've missed you...I've missed you," Peter cried on Paul's shoulder. It hurt Peter to hold and be held this way, but he didn't care; he had his dad back.

Paul gently pushed Peter back. "Give me a good look at you." Paul smiled as he looked into the eyes of his son. The smile faded as he saw the sweat still running down Peter's face, and the pain his son was trying to hide. Shaking his head, he touched Peter's face with his hand. "I am so sorry, Peter. Damn, this is all my fault," he apologised as his eyes fell, ashamed at the damage he had caused.

"What are you talking about? It was a hit and run; well, I guess it was. I really don't know what the hell's going on, do you?" Peter asked as he waited to hear if Paul had an explanation.

"Peter, I didn't mean for you to get hurt over Curry's whereabouts. I didn't think they would find out about you. And if I could have taken your place, I would have. I didn't hear about it until it was all over. I am sorry I wasn't there for you, Son," he said regretfully.

The mention of that time brought memories flooding back, and Peter involuntarily shivered. "I know, Dad. It's all right. I survived; I always do. That was nearly a year ago. Why are you bringing that up now?" Peter asked, not liking where this conversation was going.

Paul took a deep breath. "Peter, the man who ran you down and the reason all...this is happening is...it's Burroughs, Peter. He is back. I'm so sorry."

<Nonono, this can't be happening, not again.> Without thinking, Peter leaped to his feet, and ended up doubled over in agony. "Paul, do you know what he did to me? I can't go through that again. Not again," he said through clenched teeth, as he held his chest, trying to stop the pain.

Paul eased Peter into his arms. "He won't get near you again, Peter, never again. I promise. I'm here now."

Peter tried to pull himself together as he apologised. "I am sorry. I promised myself I wouldn't do this again, not after the last time."

Paul looked into his son's eyes. "I heard what he did to you. You have every right to be scared of him; he's a maniac. I didn't know about any of this, Peter. I was sent away; by the time I got back, well, there was nothing I could do."

Peter's expression changed. "You could have come home, Dad." Anger hid below the surface of his voice.

Paul knew Peter was right. <I should have been there; they would have taken me, instead. What can I say? How can I make this up to Peter? Will I ever be able to?>

Peter read his father's mind, and he remembered that if Burroughs hadn't taken him, he would have taken Paul. He wouldn't have wanted that. "Forget it, Paul; it's all right. We have to figure the now. What's going on, and how do we get out of here?" As Kermit parked outside Braun's apartment building, Caine began to step of the car; Kermit reached for his arm. "Maybe it would be better if I go in there alone," he said tactfully, believing he could get more out of the guy alone, without a priest watching.

Caine shrugged and enquired, "Could we not play what Peter calls...good cop...bad cop?"

Kermit smiled at the image it conjured up. "Interesting concept, Caine, but this idiot might have trouble telling which one of us is which. How about a new one: good priest, even worse ex-mercenary?" Kermit said, straightening his glasses and straightening his gun on his hip.

Caine bowed. "As Peter would say: that might work, too." Kermit was just about to bust his way through the door when it was Caine's turn to restrain Kermit with his hand on his arm. Caine passed his fingers over the lock, like a feather floating in the air.

Kermit watched, stunned as usual, as the lock opened with no effort. "Caine. I should have known you ten years ago. I could have saved myself a lot of shoe leather and shoulder dislocations." He smiled as he drew his gun and made his way cautiously into the apartment.

The doctor was in the middle of a snack he was carrying from the kitchen. His mouth stopped mid-chew as Kermit's gun was none too gently pressed against his temple.

"I hope you chewed that right. I wouldn't want you to choke," Kermit said as he slapped the man hard on his back. Kermit turned Braun's attention to the man standing in the corner, all the while waving his gun in the air in front of Braun's face. "You remember Mr. Caine over there. He recently lost his son. But you know that; after all, you were the attending physician, weren't you? Well, Mr. Caine now knows his son is alive, so Mr. Caine would like his son back. Now, as you're the one who said he was dead, and we know he isn't, we would like to know..." His tone was light-hearted until the last last three words; to emphasise them, he jabbed the gun back into the man's temple. "...Where he is."

Braun measured his chances of coming out of this alive, and tried to figure who he was more scared of: Carstairs or this guy.

"By the way, in case you need last rites or something religious like that, Mr. Caine's a priest. I, on the other hand, am only an ex-mercenary. You tell me who was born under the wrong star sign: him, me, or you?"

Braun weighed his chances with the man behind the green glasses, and the weight definitely was not in his favour. "I...I was just...doin' a job..." and with pleading eyes, he looked at Caine. "Your son was all right the last time I saw him."

Caine moved forward and looked the man in the eyes. "I know this. If I did not sense my son's wellbeing, you would not have a mercenary to worry you; you would have a Shaolin priest. We can be...even more dangerous." He smiled quietly as he stepped back to the corner.

Braun's face paled as he wondered what sort of priest a Shaolin was, but then again, he didn't want to know. "All right," he said, grabbing a pen and paper and writing something down. "He was here last time I saw him." Shoving the paper at Kermit, "Now l...leave me alone," he said meekly.

Kermit pulled out his handcuffs, and cuffing Braun's wrist, he pulled him over to an old heating pipe that still ran in this old building and cuffed him to it. "Now you just wait here, and someone will be along to help right the wrongs of your misspent life," he said as he reholstered his gun and headed out the door.

"Okay, Caine, what was that?" Kermit asked Caine with a smile. He still couldn't believe he had seen Caine threaten the man like that.

Caine shrugged. "Something Peter would do?" Paul looked at Peter as he sat resting on an upturned box. Sure his son was all right for the moment, he had a look around the room.

"Do you know where we are?" Peter asked, as he gently rubbed at his ribs.

Paul climbed on a row of boxes that lined the wall to look out the window. "I sort of upset our host and I was sleeping when I got here. It looks like an old warehouse, but where, I can't tell." Looking back at Peter and his injuries, he was worried. "Peter, we're two stories up."

Peter knew what Paul was inferring: with his injuries and Burroughs on the way, they would have to move fast. "Well, what are we waiting for!" But as he stood up, his face showed the pain that small movement had cost him. Paul climbed down and rushed to Peter's side. "Peter! You all right?" He tried to put thoughts of guilt out of his mind, if only until his son was safe. But they returned like a slap in the face, every time Peter's pain appeared. If Peter died because of him, he would never forgive himself; his son had been through enough for two lifetimes. Peter touched his father's shoulder. He knew Paul felt guilty for everything Burroughs had done to him. Peter wished he could make his father realise that he was all right; he was battered and bruised, but he'd survived. "Dad, I'm your son. It takes more than a scumbag like Burroughs to slow me down. Now can we please get the hell out of here?" Peter whispered through clenched teeth, as his body betrayed his tough talk.

They arrived at the staircase that led to the first floor. There were more steps than Peter had thought, and the idea that he had to attempt to walk down them brought tears to his eyes.

Paul turned to Peter. "Are you ready?" he asked, as he prepared to walk down backwards so he could help Peter down.

Peter smiled half-heartedly. "No, give me another choice. Can I take what's behind door number 5?"

Paul shook his head with a smile. "Come on, one foot in front of the other, just like your old man taught you."

Peter took a step, sucking in his breath as he did so. "Easy for you to say."

Paul watch as Peter attempted the first step. His leg nearly giving way with the strain. Paul brought up his arm protectively to his son's waist, ready to catch him should he falter. He watched the determined look on Peter's face, rigid as he strived for the second step.

"See, I told you. Nothing to it," Peter crowed proudly. Paul grinned at Peter's achievement. That was the boy he remembered, never giving up, no matter what the odds.

Burroughs sat in the car, scanning the warehouse with his binoculars.

Carter sat beside him, absently flicking his flick knife open and closed, shaking his head as he did so. "Carstairs might as well have a neon sign flashing 'Caine here, Caine here'. Shit, this is so damn obvious. We're not really going in there, are we?"

Burroughs put down the glasses. Picking up his gun, he checked the clip. "Bureaucrats. Only good for signing cheques. Carstairs doesn't know it, but the men in the grey suits are on to him; he has just seen his last sunrise. Damn, I'd like to be there for it, but we all have priorities. As for his trap, it pays to know the right people." He smiled knowingly to himself.

The look didn't go unnoticed by Carter. "Okay, what do you know that I don't?" he asked, sitting up and much more interested in the conversation now.

"Put it this way: the bomb that is wired in that warehouse to go off when we are inside, ain't going to go off. It's always handy to know the manufacturer." Burroughs laughed.

Carter was confused. Then the pieces fitted together.

"There you go! Lights just went on in Texas." Burroughs smiled when saw Carter had worked it out.

"Thompson! Who doesn't owe you?" Carter asked as he readied his gun.

As Burroughs did the same, he said proudly, "I always think ahead."

Carter chuckled to himself. "Except when it comes to Peter Caine. He always seems to get the better of you."

Carter realised his mistake as soon as he said it, but it was too late. Burroughs' arm flew out, smashed into his throat, and stayed there, the pressure choking the air out of him.

"No one gets the better of me. NO ONE. Caine dies today, and if you don't want to join him, shut...your...mouth," he snarled, letting go of Carter's neck.

Carter rubbed his neck, glaring at Burroughs. <Your time's coming, arsehole. If I didn't hate Caine, I know whose side I'd be on.> Carstairs sat in his car watching, and a smile crossed his face as he saw Burroughs and his man start to open the door to the warehouse. Thompson sat in the front seat, looking at Carstairs using the rearview mirror. "Do you think this will work, sir?" he asked.

Carstairs smiled. "Of course it will. I have covered all the bases; all my troubles are now over. All my eggs are now in one basket, and I'm about to stomp on them," he said to Thompson, as he pulled the control from his pocket and prepared to push the button.

Carstairs pushed, and waited. Nothing happened, so he pushed again, and again, nothing. "What the hell? Thompson! What the hell happened?" he shouted from the back seat.

Thompson turned around, looking totally confused. "I don't know, sir. It should have worked," he apologised.

Carstairs' lips curled back as he snarled, "Get your arse in there and fix it. Now!"

Thompson looked nervously at the building. "But, sir, Burroughs...the bomb...?" He didn't want to go into the wired building.

Carstairs leaned back in his seat. "Do it," he said, without looking at Thompson.

Thompson got out of the car and headed toward the building. As soon as he was out of Carstairs' line of sight, he pulled a mobile phone from his jacket and made a call. "Yes, sir, it has all gone according to plan. Burroughs is putting the finishing touches to the Caine problem now. Yes, sir, right now. Thank you, sir," he said as he hung up. Putting the phone away, he reached into the other side of his jacket and pulled out a control. "Nice working for you, sir. Nothing personal." And he pushed the button.

The explosion ripped through the street, showering debris for quite a distance.

Kermit slammed on the brakes and watched, stunned, as the car disintegrated in front of his eyes. "Damn it to hell! What is this, Beirut?" Kermit shouted as he jumped from the car seconds after Caine. But there was nothing they could do. The heat drove them back, and whoever was in the car was no longer in need of saving--but Peter was.

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

Paul and Peter had made it only part way down the staircase when the explosion rocked the building. "What the hell was that?" Paul asked out loud, looking around, but seeing nothing.

Peter shook his head, now beaded with sweat. "I don't know, but I think we are in deep trouble, as usual. I think it's back up the way we came, Paul."

Paul had to agree; the attack seemed to be coming from ground level. Turning back to Peter, "Well, best get to it then. Up you go, Son," he said, as he used his hands as leverage to push Peter back up the steps.

Once they got to the top, they looked back the way they had come. Paul asked Peter, "What's down there, past the room where you found me?"

Peter shook his head. "More empty rooms. Maybe you should just try and get out, Paul?" he suggested, leaning against a wall for support.

Paul leaned into Peter's face. "This time we are together no matter what. You understand, Son? Together!" He forced Peter to look into his eyes.

Peter smiled as he pushed himself from the wall. "Well, what are we doing standing around here then? Maybe we can tire him out with a game of hide and seek." Paul let Peter take hold of him, seeing as he couldn't figure out where to hold him in case he might hurt his son more than he already was. "You always played that game well, especially when you knew you were in trouble as a kid, or it was chore time, if my memory serves me correctly," he joked, though he knew that the reality was that they didn't have a hope. Unarmed, unaided, it was only a matter of time before Burroughs found them. By the time they made it back to the room from which they'd come, Peter's breathing was totally out of control, and Paul doubted Peter's leg would hold him up much longer. Looking around the room, he surveyed it with more desperation than he had before. Paul's eyes fell on a spot over in the corner; it was dark, and Peter might not be noticed with some boxes placed around him. He knew they were running out of time; he could hear Burroughs searching, ranting as he went.

Paul gently maneuvered Peter over to the site he had picked, gingerly sitting his son down. He quietly moved boxes around them, trying to blend into the other containers that encircled them.

"This isn't going to work for long, Dad. I am sorry you're here," Peter said softly.

Paul put his hand into Peter's. "I'm not, Peter. I wouldn't be anywhere else," he said as he smiled at his son. Burroughs and Carter met on the second floor. "Well?" Burroughs demanded.

Carter shook his head. "They have to be in one of these last two rooms," he suggested.

"Well, no shit, Sherlock. We will try this one first," Burroughs said, gesturing to the door Peter and Paul had gone through. "Carter, you see anything move, shoot it, and then shoot it again to make sure it's dead. I'm not screwing around with this bastard any more," Burroughs ordered.

Caine and Kermit made their way quietly into the warehouse, and could hear Burroughs as he searched upstairs. "Where is Peter?" Kermit asked Caine.

Caine focused for a moment, and he then pointed to the top of the stairs. "He is there. His father is with him." Caine smiled. His son was not alone. He had found his father again, but now they had to survive.

Kermit swung around to look at Caine. "Paul? Paul's up there? You sure?" Shaking his head, "Of course you are. God, I'm sounding like Peter. Are they all right?" he asked.

"If we can get to them before the two men that hunt them, they will be fine," Caine said quietly.

"Well let's go then." Kermit checked his gun. "I have a long overdue date with someone's destiny," he said ominously as they made their way up the stairs.

Burroughs looked around the semi-darkened room, upending boxes as he began his search. "I know you're in here, Caine! I am going to make sure you stay in your coffin this time!" he screamed. "Fuck it," he said as he sprayed gunfire around the room, hitting random boxes and positions.

A box which had been teetering on the edge of its particular tower was upset by the gunfire and lost its fight for balance, taking others as it fell. The noise drew Burroughs, and he strode toward the sound, an air of triumph in his walk. "I have you, Caine."

Peter tried to grab at Paul, grab anything to stop him, but he wasn't quick enough. "Dad, no!" But he was gone.

Paul had nothing to fight with but sheer willpower to protect his son. That would have to be enough--but it wasn't.

A bullet slammed into Paul's shoulder, sending him to the floor. Carter stepped over to Paul, and as he tried to get up, struck him across the temple, sending him to oblivion. Carter smiled as he bent over, pressing his gun to Paul's unconscious body. Burroughs called to where he now knew Peter was hidden, "Come out, come out, wherever you are, or...Daddy's dead."

Peter knew he had no choice. Closing his eyes, he dragged himself up 'til he was barely standing.

Burroughs stepped closer, smiling as he saw his handiwork. "Gotta do something about my aim. First you and the car, then your pappy over there. Just slightly to my left and he would already be pushing up daisies. Oh, well, he'll have to wait his turn, I suppose." He started to step closer. Peter looked past Burroughs to Paul's still body, his anger rising that this man had taken so much from him and now threatened Paul's life. Forgetting all sense and seeing only the man who had caused him so much pain and grief, Peter lunged at Burroughs, taking them both to the floor. Peter's ribs were on fire, but that was nothing compared to the rage that flamed in Peter toward the animal that was now fighting his way from underneath him. Peter pulled back his arm and smashed it into Burroughs' face, and with some satisfaction, Peter swore he heard Burroughs nose snap again.

Not to be outdone, Burroughs' fist connected with Peter's jaw.

Peter nearly lost his advantage, but his fury kept his momentum going, and his fist smashed down again into Burroughs' face. A look of shock crossed Burroughs' face, that Caine had that much strength left in him, as Peter's blows repeatedly attacked him.

Carter, watching the scene before him, stooped to pick up Burroughs' gun as it skidded across the floor during the fight. Carter bided his time; he enjoyed letting Burroughs get a little taste of what he had given others. When he thought the cop just might win, he brought his gun up and shot into the air. He whistled at Peter to get his attention as he bent over the cop's father.

Peter stopped in mid-swing, looking towards the sound. Carter was there, reminding him what was at stake. Looking at the gun pressed to his wounded father's head, he rolled himself off the bloodied Burroughs.

Wiping his sleeve over his blood-drenched face, glaring at Peter as he stood, Burroughs turned his head for a moment as Peter sat catching his breath. Then, without warning, he spun back, kicking out with his foot. He connected with Peter's head, knocking him completely to the floor. Burroughs was still wiping his nose as he scowled at Carter. "Enjoy the show, did you? You waited long enough," he said as he spat blood out of his mouth.

Carter shrugged. "Well, I thought you wanted to do it yourself. I mean, you nearly had him there at one stage," he smirked.

Burroughs ignored Carter's remarks as he turned back to Peter and saw him trying to raise himself from the floor. "You just don't give up, do you, Caine? What does it take?" he snarled at him as he pulled Peter up by his shirt.

Peter stood unevenly on his feet, trying to protect his ribs from any more damage, as he ignored Burroughs' questions. He was more concerned with Paul's condition than what Burroughs had planned.

Carter threw Burroughs his gun. Burroughs pressed the barrel under Peter's chin. "No more fancy moves, no more battles. I win," he snarled, his teeth bared as he pushed the gun deeper into Peter's skin.

"I wouldn't do that," Kermit said. His gun drew a bead on Burroughs' heart.

Burroughs smiled as put out his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, no harm, no foul, guys," he said, laying down his gun. Moving toward Kermit, Burroughs kept his arms out. "Wouldn't shoot an unarmed man. After all, you're a cop now. Mercenary rules don't apply," he smirked.

Kermit backed up a bit, to the doorway. "I can make an exception with you, very easily." Looking past him for a split second, he called, "Are you all right, Kid?"

Burroughs took advantage of that slight lapse of attention and threw himself at Kermit.

Kermit's gun went flying through the air as they both fell backwards through the doorway.

Carter was so intent on the new drama unfolding, he didn't hear Kwai Change Caine move up silently behind him, grabbing at his wrist. Caine pulled back Carter's arm and knocked the gun from his hand. It wasn't much of a contest. With a couple of failed attempts at attack by Carter, the fluid movement of Caine had the man down; a quick neck pinch, and he was out of action.

Peter saw his father going to Paul. Reaching down for Burroughs' gun, he painfully made his way towards the doorway.

"Peter, No!"

Peter heard his father call to him. Pausing, he leaned on the door frame to look back at his father. As he stared into Caine's eyes, an understanding passed between then.

Caine closed his eyes and went back to looking after Paul, hoping his son would face his demons without paying the ultimate price.

Kermit and Burroughs had worked their way to the end of the corridor, and both were carrying wounds of their fight.

"You are better than I thought, Griffin." Burroughs smiled. "It is going to be a pleasure taking you down," he sneered as he pulled a knife from his pocket.

So intent were they on their fight, they didn't notice Peter making his way up the corridor. Peter saw they had battled to the end of the corridor near the railings. He aimed the gun he held at Burroughs. "Drop it, Burroughs, or I'll drop you where you stand," he ordered.

Burroughs looked at Peter and smiled. "You won't win, Caine. I'll take your friend with me," he triumphed, as he lunged at Kermit.

The gun went off, hitting Burroughs in the shoulder. His balance was completely thrown and, as he was standing too near the railing, he overbalanced and fell over.

"Good timing, Kid, though I would have aimed a little more to your left," Kermit said, catching his breath. Walking over to the railing, Kermit looked over. "Oh, well, looks like fate took a hand, Kid."

Peter limped slowly to the railing and looked over to see what Kermit was talking about, and shuddered as he saw Burroughs' twisted body, a piece of wood from a packing crate protruding through his body. It was over. After all this time. Part of him wanted to run down the stairs and check, make sure he was dead. "You all right, Kid? You're not feeling sorry for him, are you? He didn't get half of what he deserved, you know," Kermit justified. Peter just nodded. His chest was killing him, and his leg wasn't being too kind, either. "I want to see how Paul is." Looking at Kermit, he commented, "I need a hand, Kermit."

Kermit suddenly realised how much pain Peter must be feeling. "How did you make it down the corridor without falling on your face?" Kermit asked as he grabbed hold of Peter and began to half carry, half walk him back to the room.

"Fear of embarrassment," Peter replied, trying to laugh but coughing instead.

When they got back, Caine had Paul sitting up.

"Paul? Are you all right?" Peter asked, concerned, as Kermit deposited Peter beside him.

Paul smiled reassuringly. "I'll live." Paul looked at Kermit and nodded towards the door.

Kermit shook his head.

Peter saw the exchange and his eyes fell. "He's dead." As if sensing a reaction from Caine, he added, "No, Pop, I didn't kill him. He fell. But if you expect me to feel sorry he's dead, I don't."

Caine shrugged as he started to see to his son. "You can not lie about your feelings. I understand your anger. At the moment, I am more concerned with your health, so sit still," he berated his son as he fidgeted.

Peter hurt and he was tired. "But..."

Paul shook his head, putting on his stern father face. "Sit still, Peter."

Caine touched his son's face, his concern evident on his tired face. "You heard your father. Now be quiet while I have a look at you."

Peter smiled as he leaned into the touch. "I knew you would come, Pop. Paul was the surprise package, though," he said as he smiled over at his other father.

Leaning over to Peter, Caine gently tapped his son's cheek with his hand. "And please do not do this again. Your father and I are getting too old for this." He smiled.

"Say that again?" Paul grinned.

As they waited for the ambulance, the bomb squad, and the representatives from the Company, as well as the gang from the 101st, Peter looked around at everyone. "I have one question. Something I heard Burroughs say. Why do I have a coffin?"

Kermit looked at Caine. Caine turned to Paul. Paul, in turn, looked back at Kermit.

Kermit took a deep breath. "Well, that's a long story, and I'd better explain before the gang get here. You will want to know why they have all gone deaf and dumb, and half of them have fainted. Well, it started when you lost that argument with the car..."

THE END