Peter Caine winced as he turned his head, the bruises so recently inflicted by Jericho protesting the movement. Without missing a beat, he continued to detail the events surrounding the terrorist's death and his remaining employees' subsequent capture.

Paul Blaisdell barely suppressed a wince of his own as he saw the flash of pain that crossed his son's face. Earlier, Blake had told him enough details of the showdown with Jericho that he knew Peter was leaving many out now. Blake also had assured Paul that Caine had determined Peter's injuries were minor. Knowing that didn't make seeing the angry bruises on his son's neck any easier. "If anybody deserves to be honored at this celebration the girls are planning, it's you, Peter, not me," Paul commented when Peter paused for breath. "But there's no reason either of us has to be on time." Peter looked at him questioningly; Paul stepped closer to Peter and gently touched his neck with a fingertip. "Why don't you get these bruises looked at?"

"I'm fine. I don't need a doctor."

Annie put in, "Sweetie, you may think you've managed to hide the pain you're in, but I heard you gasp a bit a little while ago." Peter's eyes widened, as if he'd been unaware he'd made such a sound. Annie continued, "And your voice is so hoarse it's not too hard to tell something happened to your throat."

Paul pressed on. "You may well be fine. I won't argue that point with you. However, in the last four days, you did a pretty major job of wrenching your back muscles, you've nearly been strangled, and you probably got a couple of bruised ribs, maybe even a couple of broken ones, when you went down in that warehouse." His son waved a hand dismissively. "Not to mention the limits you pushed yourself beyond during --"

Peter cut him off. "I'll admit I went a little too far then, but I don't need to see a doctor. If these bruises on my throat were bad enough to warrant that, it would hurt to talk and it doesn't." Paul smiled despite himself; Peter certainly hadn't been any less verbal than normal since he'd arrived at the hospital. "You know I've had enough broken ribs to know what they feel like -- I don't have any now. And my back's almost better. If you don't believe me, ask my father. He's the apothecary, he should know." Peter turned to draw Caine into the conversation, but the priest had vanished.

Paul caught the flicker of disappointment that entered his son's eyes at the discovery of Caine's absence. It stabbed at him, not so much because of Peter's momentary discontent over Caine's disappearance as because of the way he himself had let down Peter and the rest of his family by his lengthy absence.

"Anyway, I really don't want to be in this hospital," Peter wheedled. "I've seen enough of the place over the past four days to last me a lifetime. And this time I wasn't even the one in the hospital."

Against his better judgment, Paul gave in. "All right, you win. But don't think that your mother and I aren't going to be keeping a close eye on you all night."

Peter gave a sigh of relief. "I think I can handle that," he said, bending over to give his mother, who stood beside him, a hug and a kiss. "In fact, I think I'm going to be doing the same thing myself with you... we all came so close to being destroyed by Jericho it's hard to believe we're still alive."

Peter's last few words conveyed enough exhaustion that Paul decided he didn't want to let him drive; he had visions of the young man falling asleep at the wheel and wrapping the car around a tree. However, he knew the direct approach was unlikely to work with Peter at the moment. Instead of suggesting Peter shouldn't be driving, he seized on Marilyn's presence and inquired, "Am I right in thinking you don't have a car?"

She nodded, then added, "I'll take a cab and meet everyone else at Delancey's later. I'd just feel a bit more at ease about things if I stayed here a little longer."

Paul turned to Peter. "Look, why don't you give Marilyn your keys so she and Jim can come by the party whenever they want without having to call a cab? You can ride with us."

"The insurance --" Peter protested, nevertheless digging the keys out of his pocket as he spoke.

"Don't worry about it," Paul said. "If anything happens to the rental car, I'll pay the bill."

***

"Thought you might be interested in seeing the fruits of your labors luring a certain Air Force Major here from Aviano."

Karen looked to the door of her hospital room as she heard Kermit's sardonic voice. "Yes, I am, actually," she replied, grateful that Kermit wasn't angry she'd revealed his identity to his son. As he made the introductions, she marveled at the way it seemed the weight of the world had just been lifted off his shoulders. She wondered briefly if Jim had the slightest idea that Kermit rarely behaved in so open a manner, then scolded herself for forgetting that he had undoubtedly witnessed Kermit's usual emotionally guarded behavior while both were Straker's prisoners.

"I'm not sure what I expected," said Jim, his tongue surely getting ahead of his brain, "but it wasn't that the woman who played hardball in that phone call would be a blonde bombshell, ma'am."

"Smooth, kid, real smooth," Kermit muttered, shooting an apologetic look at Karen from behind his sunglasses.

Karen laughed. "I've been called worse than a 'blonde bombshell' in my time. But -- " She fixed Jim with a penetrating glare. "-- you call me Karen. I suppose 'Captain''s all right if you absolutely must. Save the 'ma'am' for when I'm sixty."

"Yes, ma -- uh, Karen."

Karen turned to Kermit. "He's a quick study."

"Unlike his old man?"

Karen let that remark go, rather than air the obstacles that had plagued their relationship in front of Kermit's son. Recognizing that Jim seemed aware of an undercurrent, she switched focus. "I'm curious, Jim. I know military ranks and I know it's highly unusual for a man your age to already be a Major -- at least in a peacetime military. Is there a story behind the promotion?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," Jim quipped.

Karen shot Kermit a look that said "he's definitely your son", then asked, "Care to give me the broad strokes?" Instinct told her that Kermit already knew, that he had managed to gain access to his son's entire Air Force personnel file and the printout of those records now rested somewhere among the clusters of paper in his office.

"'Heroism above and beyond the line of duty' is the way my CO summed it up when he recommended me for accelerated promotion. It was a black op."

***

Peter had been quiet during the entire drive to Delancey's. Paul knew that worried Annie as much as it did him. Pulling his sedan into a parking spot in front of the bar, he let the engine idle. He cast a glance over at Peter, who was sitting in the front passenger seat at Annie's insistence. "Just say the word, and we don't have to go in there."

"We can't do that. Everyone's expecting us."

Paul noted Peter hadn't said he wanted to go inside, only that the others would be disappointed if he didn't. "Peter." His tone forced the young man to meet his eyes. "I'm serious about this, son. You've been through the wringer over the past several days, probably more so than any of us."

"Except Kermit, of course," Peter interjected.

Paul nodded in acknowledgment, then continued, "If this crowd is too much for you right now, just say the word. A couple of hours ago Jericho had a gun to your head. No one's going to think it's odd if you don't feel like going to a party so soon after that. It's your call, and I want you to tell me what you want to do, not what you think you have to do. If you want me to, I'll walk in there right now and make our apologies, then we can go back to the house and talk. If you just want to go home and get some sleep, I can drive you to your apartment and your mother and I can come back here. It's your decision. I'll do whatever you want."

"What about Carolyn and Kelly?"

"Your sisters will understand. It won't be a big deal. If we go back to the house to talk, they're welcome to come back with us. If you want to go home, I'm sure they won't be offended that you want to get some rest."

Peter thought about his options for a moment. Admittedly, the thought of a good night's sleep was tempting. Unfortunately, he could guarantee Jericho would plague his dreams. In all honesty, he also wasn't ready to leave Paul yet; the past two years without him had seemed so long he was hungry for more time with him. However, Peter's idea of "quality time" with the man didn't include going home to talk, for he was certain Paul and the rest of the family would want to discuss matters he wasn't yet ready to face.

Peter cast a glance at Delancey's. A party was the last thing he was in the mood for, but... inside the building were several people he'd worried about over the past four days and he knew his mind wouldn't really be at rest until he saw with his own eyes that they were unharmed. Pasting a smile on his face, he told Paul and Annie, "Let's go to the party."

***

"They're finally on their way in," Kelly Blaisdell reported from her post by the window. "I don't think Peter was sure if he wanted to come in or not." She broke off as the door opened, running over to the three who entered, Peter bringing up the rear.

Paul braced himself so he wasn't caught off balance when his younger daughter flung herself into his arms. Returning her fierce hug, he joked, "Kelly, you're about to choke me to death."

"Oops, sorry." Kelly backed off only a little, saying, "I missed you so much, Dad. I was starting to wonder if you were ever coming home." The latter sentence held a slightly remonstrative note.

So was I, baby. Believe me, I wondered if I'd ever see all of you again. "I missed you -- all of you -- too," he replied, grinning at how easily he could imagine her using the same tone of voice to scold the children she hoped to teach when she graduated that year.

Hearing Carolyn's footsteps behind her, Kelly reluctantly disengaged herself from her father's embrace and took a step back. She took one look at her brother and blurted out, "You look like shit."

Instead of scanning the room to see who else was there, Peter turned to Kelly. "Thanks a lot, sis." He warded off the questions that would inevitably lead to his having to reveal he'd caused her car to explode by inclining his head toward Carolyn. She stood before Paul, her son in her arms, the tot's head resting on her shoulder. This Peter wanted to see.

"Welcome home," Carolyn said softly. "Before I give you a proper 'welcome home' hug like Kelly's, I want you to meet your grandson. This sleepyhead is Brian. Brian Paul McCall. I wanted at least part of his name to be after you." Even though Todd said the meter of the name was off. She grinned impishly. "How'd you like to hold your grandson for the first time, Dad?"

Carolyn's question was rhetorical; she was already handing her son into her father's waiting arms as she spoke. Paul beamed with pride as the little boy stirred slightly at the unexpected move out of his mother's arms, then looked up in fascination at his grandfather's craggy face. Carolyn touched Brian's shoulder gently and told her son, "This is your grandpa."

Brian chortled, squealed a garbled version of the word "Grandpa", squirmed in Paul's arms, and threw his chubby little arms around his grandfather's neck. Chuckling, Paul commented, "No room for doubt about his opinions, even at this age, is there?"

Carolyn laughed. "That strong will isn't so attractive when he doesn't want to go to sleep."

"Stubbornness runs in the family," Paul replied dryly. "You've got quite a handsome son, Carolyn. He's been that way from the first time he had his picture taken."

"His photos don't do him justice. You should have seen him in person when he was smaller."

Paul flinched inwardly. Carolyn's thinly veiled reminder that he'd missed precious months of his grandchild's growth that could never be regained stung, as had Kelly's off-handed reference to the hell of not knowing to which he'd subjected his family. Although their accuracy about what he'd done pained him, he welcomed the barbs as an honest display of their emotion -- and markedly less than he deserved. He only wished his son felt secure enough to be as open at expressing his anger as did his daughters.

Feeling slightly envious of his sister, Peter watched Carolyn and her little boy with Paul. He was uncertain whether his jealousy was sparked by the picture of happy domesticity she and her son presented or by the fact that she appeared to be handling the circumstances surrounding their father's just concluded absence with an ease he couldn't begin to approach.

"Hey, partner, what the hell'd you think you were doing, baiting Jericho like that? Not to mention trying to do it without backup?" Mary Margaret Skalany's whiskey voice cut into Peter's thoughts.

Tearing himself away from observing what he'd begun to think of as the "family picture" in which he had no place, Peter growled, "Blake has a big mouth. Especially since I ended up wearing the damn wire."

"Don't blame Blake. I got the whole story about what happened in the warehouse from someone else who was there."

Startled, Peter let his eyes travel beyond Mary Margaret... to Caine. Anger surged through him. He wasn't sure whether his father's provision of details to Skalany or the priest's disappearance from the hospital only to show up here infuriated him more. Either way, it looked as though he'd been wrong when he guessed that Caine had slipped away without warning in order to give him some time alone with Paul. He didn't back off to give me space. He left because Skalany was back and he preferred being with her to being around his son.

"You told her." Peter addressed Caine coldly, keenly aware both his anger at him and his conflicted, though barely acknowledged, feelings about Paul's absence made him unworthy as a son to either man.

"Yes. Mary Margaret asked me what had happened when you met Jericho and I explained how Jericho and his men were... handled." Caine's tone was even, betraying no hint that he'd noticed his son's high level of agitation.

His calm demeanor served only to enrage Peter further.  "Did you tell her how big a failure I was, too? How I screwed up as both a cop and a Shaolin and let Jericho get me? How I had to be saved by Blake?"

Bewildered, Skalany stared at Peter. Her shocked expression fueled both his anger and his guilt.

"Peter, I --" Caine's effort to calm his son died in his throat as he saw Peter register the presence of the woman crossing the room toward them. Relief, mingled with joy, showed in Peter's eyes, defusing his rage. The priest suspected his son wouldn't care to examine the intensity of those emotions too deeply at the moment.

"I would have been over here the minute you walked in the door, but I wanted to give you and your family some time alone," Jody Powell told her partner as she neared him. It didn't escape her notice that he was now closer to the door than he had been immediately after his arrival.

Peter nodded. He knew there was more to the delay than she was willing to verbalize, but wasn't sure he was ready to explore her reasons. "You're here now," he said, uncomfortably aware of Jody's eyes traveling the length of him as she scanned for injuries. More unnerving was the fact that his own eyes were practically glued to her as he sought to reassure himself that she really was in one piece.

Jody stopped about two feet away from Peter, tilting her head critically to one side as she appraised him. "Nope," she remarked to Skalany, ignoring their fellow detective's presence, "he doesn't look too much the worse for wear."

"Especially not for Peter Caine," the other woman agreed.

"Hey, stop talking about me like I was a piece of meat," Peter protested half-heartedly. The instant the words were out, a gleam in Skalany's eye told him he was in deep trouble.

"And quite a fine specimen of USDA prime at that," Mary Margaret quipped.

Peter squirmed. It didn't ease his embarrassment to realize from the sound of their laughter that his sisters remained in earshot. Nor was he pleased by the fact that Annie and Paul had both emitted low chuckles, while Caine was trying unsuccessfully to mask a smile. Jeez, even my parents thought that was funny. Recovering his equilibrium a few moments later than would ordinarily have been the case, he retorted, "Two can play that game, you know, Skalany. I'll get you back -- just wait and see. Hey, you're lucky I don't have you charged with sexual harassment for that remark."

Mary Margaret flashed him a glance that challenged "You and whose army?" Peter considered himself lucky she hadn't petulantly stuck out her tongue at him as his sisters would have done.

"Seriously, Peter," Jody broke in, "you're a sight for sore eyes." Afraid her voice might reveal too much of what she felt for him, she forced a note of lightness to it. "After all, we all knew you'd play John Wayne and get yourself in trouble with Jericho. What else can you expect from a hotshot Shaolin cop?" After a pause, she added, "You look terrific, all things considered."

Peter's hazel gaze fastened onto Jody in shock. For a moment her brittle effort to joke about Peter Caine hotshot cop had made her sound all too much like someone else... like Kira. He stared at her for a moment as her last sentence registered, waiting for his heart to stop racing with dread. Jody's not Kira. They're not even that much alike. And Jody's alive. At the same instant that Peter was able to reassure himself he was seeing not a ghost but his live partner, the unwelcome question of whether he could survive losing another partner -- especially Jody -- struck him.

"Peter?" Jody spoke his name quizzically, worry over his prolonged silence lacing her tone.

With an effort Peter pulled himself back to what was and away from what could have happened. "Thanks, but you're the one who looks terrific."

Jody shot a startled glance at Mary Margaret as she heard the sincerity, untainted by humor, that underlined his words.

"But then I guess there's a reason for that, isn't there?"

"And that reason would be?" Jody asked uncertainly.  Please, please, don't let him know it's because he's still in one piece.

"Heard you and Skalany did some pretty fancy shooting out at the safe house. You killed one of Jericho's men with a single head shot, didn't you?" Peter felt the weight of Caine's disapproving glare, but ignored it. He and his father would never agree on the question of whether using a gun was warranted, nor would Caine ever be able to reconcile his son's admiration for a skilled shot with the reality that such a shot had caused a death. Sometimes there isn't another way, Pop. How come you could recognize that when you killed Tan in hand to hand combat, but you can't see that Jericho's men would have killed everyone at the safe house if they hadn't been killed? Their lives were more important than those of Jericho's men.

Jody beamed with pleasure, lying to herself that her pride was solely due to Peter's objective recognition of her skill as a sharpshooter. If she'd admitted the truth, she'd have had to face the fact that the compliment meant more coming from him than it would from anyone else. "We had some help handling Jericho's men," she said, slightly uncomfortable with his singling out her actions. "Steve Carlson insisted on helping the three of us professionals. He took out two of them."

Peter heard a snort of laughter from Skalany that caused Jody to laugh as well. "What's so funny?"

Skalany shook her head. "You really had to be there to appreciate it. Had to do with recoil from a full automatic." Expecting Peter to press for details, she began to watch him nearly as closely as Jody did when he failed to respond.

As if he hadn't heard a word Skalany said, Peter had refocused all his attention on the Blaisdells. At some point during his own conversation with Jody, Paul had handed Brian to Annie and now Carolyn was hugging her father. Kelly was still standing very close to Paul, and Peter suddenly felt as though he was on the outside looking in to the family picture. It hurt to sense more distance between himself and his family than the physical one which existed.

"Peter, what's wrong?"

Slowly becoming aware of Jody's hand on his arm, Peter forced a smile to his lips. "Nothing. Just... "  He shook his head, too keenly aware of Caine's presence to admit the truth. How could he possibly let his father know how desperately he wanted to be right in the middle of his other father's homecoming without hurting him? "Nothing's wrong," he repeated, troubled eyes betraying his inner conflict.

Jody followed the direction of Peter's yearning glance, then looked over at Caine and Skalany. Her eyes urged the other woman to draw Caine away and allow Peter a little space. Mary Margaret didn't seem to understand the message Jody was trying to send. Caine apparently grasped it, for he began to move away, whispering in his dark-haired companion's ear as he did so. Jody saw the confusion that entered Peter's gaze as a sidelong glance registered Caine's withdrawal. "Stop me if I'm out of line," she began, "but you look like a lost little boy right now. You look like you don't think you deserve to be celebrating with your family." She inclined her head in the Blaisdells' direction as she spoke.

A few moments of dead silence passed. "Maybe I don't." Jody had to strain to hear the low words, filled with self-doubt. "Look at them. They all belong. I don't. Not that I belong in Pop's world either."

Great. I just opened a can of worms here, didn't I? "Peter, they're your family. Of course you belong." She paused, then continued, "You have two families. That doesn't mean you have to choose between them."

"But --"

"Did finding out your father was alive change the way you felt about the rest of your family?" Jody swept her arm to indicate the Blaisdells in order to ensure he knew her precise meaning.

"Not... exactly." His response was unnaturally drawn out.

"What do you mean, not exactly?"

"I felt the same way I did before I knew Pop was alive, I just felt guilty about feeling that way." The depths of emotion he was allowing Jody to probe frightened Peter, especially as he realized he'd never allowed a woman to come this close before. Why am I telling her all this? I've never told anyone this much. She's my partner, that's why. The argument made no sense, even to him -- he wouldn't have revealed this much to Skalany or Epstein... or Kira.

"You have two families, Peter. You love them both. That's the way you should feel. And sometimes you need one more than the other. You know why I think your father just went off with Skalany?" Peter summoned the wit to shoot her a half-leering glance; she laughed despite herself. "Besides that. I think he knows you need to be with the Cap- the Inspector and the rest of the Blaisdells right now and he doesn't want to crowd you. Just the way I bet your other father backed off when you found out Caine was alive and you needed time to get to know him again."

Peter didn't respond verbally. He only continued to glance longingly toward the family group.

"Come on, go over there," Jody prodded. When he remained still, she asked, "Peter Caine, do I have to drag you over there myself?" He still hesitated. The look in his now downcast eyes stabbed at her as she realized he was actually uncertain whether he was welcome.

"Peter, you want to join us some time this century?" Carolyn called, amused exasperation lacing her tone.

Peter's head snapped up at his sister's words. A slow grin crossed his features as he saw Paul shaking his head indulgently, his gaze drawing Peter in as part of the family. Peter couldn't hear what Paul said to Carolyn, but he knew the older man's manner well enough to understand that he was telling her to leave her brother alone, he would join them in his own time. Realizing he'd been a fool to believe they would even think of excluding him, Peter started over to his family, then stopped and turned back as he realized Jody was no longer by his side. "Come with me."

She shook her head. "It's your family, not mine. I'll be around here, partner. We can talk later. But I shouldn't be part of that." She started to turn away.

"Jody." Peter's emotion-laden voice stopped her in her tracks and caused her to turn. He extended his hand to her. "Please? I want you there with me."

Against her better judgment, Jody gave in to Peter's puppy dog eyes and her own desires. She took his hand. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to pretend for just one night that she was truly a member of the Blaisdell clan, as an extension of Peter, or to make believe Peter loved her the same way she loved him. After all, she argued to herself, it's not like a one night stand or anything.

***

"It would seem that Paul Blaisdell is not the only one of Peter's fathers who has much to learn about our son's recent... activities," Caine remarked as he stood next to Skalany at the bar, watching his son's actions across the room.

Mary Margaret thanked the bartender, Terry, for the Scotch he delivered, then turned her attention back to Caine. "What do you mean?"

"My son does not always ... enlighten me about the women in his life. As you recall, I did not know he was... dating... Rebecca Calvert until she was murdered. It seems that once again I have been --"  Caine shrugged, then finished, "-- out of the loop?... as I believe you and my son would phrase it."

"What gives you that idea?"

"I did not know Peter had begun to see someone new after breaking up with Jordan."

"He hasn't."

"Then he has... renewed an old involvement of which I knew nothing?" Caine inclined his head in his son's direction as he spoke.

Mary Margaret followed Caine's glance. For an instant she wasn't sure she knew what she was supposed to be looking at. Peter was talking, seemingly completely at ease, with the Blaisdells. She'd seen him do that many times over the years. Only a few years before, it would have seemed more natural to see him with them than with Caine. She started to turn back to Caine to ask what he saw, then realized she hadn't been looking in close enough proximity to her ex-partner.

Peter had his arm draped around Jody's shoulder. Skalany mused that it had been ages since she'd seen him appear this relaxed. Jody looked both thrilled and worried to be where she was. Skalany's dark eyes narrowed. Damn you, Peter Caine, if you break her heart, I'll -- Cutting off the violent thought, she told Caine, "Not that I'm aware of. And, believe me, I would know."

"You would... know?"

"Jody would tell me." Her manner dismissive, Mary Margaret took a gulp of Scotch. Caine appeared too busy assessing the Peter/Jody situation to notice how curt she'd been. It was just as well, for it meant she could conceal her own thoughts. She really loves you, Peter. Don't treat her like just another one of your women. She deserves better than that... the  same way I deserve better than playing second fiddle to a ghost.

Her own bitterness surprised Mary Margaret. She'd believed that she'd long ago accepted that her relationship with Caine likely would advance nowhere except, perhaps, into the bedroom. She had told Jody more than once that neither of them stood a chance of making the marriages they wanted  -- Caine was too committed to a past love, Peter either too careless or too frightened to truly commit. Jody probably didn't believe me when I told her pursuing a Caine was a dead end any more than I believed myself. Well, at least Caine doesn't give me mixed signals like the ones Peter's giving Jody now. Her own problem was that she was no longer certain she could be satisfied with the way things were -- and would continue to be.

***

"OK, I've got a question for you, Peter. Is it true my hotshot big brother managed to total the Stealth during a car chase with Jericho's men?" Kelly's laughing tone told Peter she had no clue what he'd done to her car.

Unconsciously retreating toward the door, he answered, "Hey, wait a minute there, Kel. They nearly drove me off the road and then shot at me. That's how the Stealth ended up in the shop again. If it had been my call alone, I'd have --"

"-- wrecked the Stealth and had it end up in the shop," his sisters chorused. Still drawn close against Peter's side, Jody stifled her own laughter; he could feel her shake.

"So the Stealth wasn't the car Sergeant Broderick said blew up on you?" Carolyn quizzed.

Cringing inwardly, Peter ignored Carolyn and turned to Kelly. "No -- uh, actually -- uh, the car that blew up was the one I 'borrowed'." He paused, then plunged ahead, getting the rest out on a single breath. "Kelly, I'm sorry, but your car's in about a million little pieces right now. It's a total loss."

"My car?" Peter's sheepish nod caused Kelly to increase her volume. "You didn't ask me if you could take it and then you let my car get destroyed? Oh, you're paying for whatever the police department and the insurance company don't, Peter."

Oh, shit. Between her car and what the department won't pay for on the Stealth, I'm gonna be bankrupt.  Peter shifted from foot to foot, trying to figure out a way to break the news that the insurance company refused to pay at all -- and that Kelly's rates were about to skyrocket. An inordinate sense of relief came over him when the door opened and Marilyn Carlson and Jim Hellstrom walked into the bar. This should be good for a distraction, Peter thought as he realized Marilyn couldn't get through to introduce Jim to her own family without first stopping to introduce him to the Blaisdells.

"All right," announced Marilyn as she approached. "First round of introductions. Let's do this informally or it'll take all night. Everyone, this is my nephew, Jim Hellstrom -- Kermit's son."

Jody choked on a strangled cough before she regained enough breath to ask, "Kermit's son?!"

"Since whe-" Carolyn began at the same time Kelly started, "Kermit's got a -" Both were warned off from finishing their questions by a stern shake of their father's head.

"I sure know how to render people speechless," cracked Jim.

Peter laughed.

Marilyn told Peter, "Don't encourage him." Turning back to Jim, she said, "Let me introduce you to the people here you haven't met yet. You and Peter know each other, of course, and you met Inspector and Mrs. Blaisdell at the hospital." Turning to those closest to the door, Marilyn began, "This is Jody Powell. She's Peter's --"

"-- girlfriend," Jim completed "helpfully".

Peter turned scarlet. Jody looked horrified. Peter's sisters found the mistake hilarious.

"Partner," Marilyn corrected. She waited until Jim shook hands with Jody, then introduced him to "Peter's sister, Carolyn McCall. The child Mrs. Blaisdell's holding is Carolyn's son, Brian." Jim confined himself to telling Carolyn what a handsome child she had. Finally, Marilyn gestured to Kelly and said, "This is Peter's other sister, Kelly Blaisdell."

"Nice to meet you, Jim," said Kelly, extending her hand.

Taking her hand (and holding it a shade too long for a simple handshake), Jim allowed his eyes to travel over the young woman in a frank, sexually charged appraisal.

Kelly returned the favor, her assessment of the pilot equally bold.

Neither was aware of the stir they were causing. Struggling to rein in his protective "big brother" instincts, Peter choked as he watched. Only Jody's hand on his arm restrained him from intervening. Carolyn exchanged amused glances with Marilyn. Paul took a good hard look at his daughter with his best friend's son and groaned, muttering, "Oh, shit."

"Paul? What's wrong?" Annie's low voice vibrated with concern.

Never taking his eyes off Kelly and Jim, Paul replied in an equally soft voice, "Our little girl and Kermit's son are looking at each other with... " He coughed, finding it difficult to come up with words that would describe that sexually charged look. "... hunger."

"And?"

"I have a feeling this could be very dangerous." Even to his own ears, Paul sounded a bit overprotective. He didn't care. Kelly was his youngest child, still innocent, and his instinct told him that Jim Hellstrom was far too experienced for Paul to feel comfortable placing Kelly in his hands.

Annie patted her husband's arm reassuringly, smothering a smile. Kelly was old enough to make her own decisions, and Annie knew her daughter wasn't about to allow anyone to pressure her into doing other than she wished. Paul would be surprised to learn just how much experience at turning down sexual advances his younger daughter had gained in the last two years. Annie's instincts told her there was nothing to worry about now.

But... Paul had said Kelly and Jim were eyeing each other with hunger, that the instant attraction was mutual. That could prove very interesting, Annie decided. Amused, she refrained from reminding Paul that she'd been able to feel him watching her with that same type of desire during their own first meeting -- and that she'd felt their own chemistry then as well.

**********

Steve Carlson looked up from his conversation with John Durham as he saw his wife approaching, a young man who looked oddly familiar in tow. As they drew closer, the reason for that familiarity clicked as Steve linked the resemblance to the old photos Marilyn kept of her younger brother. He leaned across the table to speak to his stepchildren.

Lightly rapping his knuckles on the table's wooden surface, Steve cut Jason off midsentence. "Heads up, kids. From the looks of it, your mother's got a surprise in store for us." His eyes traveled to Meg in Mitch's arms; it never ceased to amaze him that the tomboy older sister could so easily be wrapped around the tiny baby's finger. "You might want to let her godmother take your sister, Mitch," Steve suggested. "Looks like this is going to be a shock."

Mitch followed his instructions, handing her little sister to Megan Durham. She then exchanged a confused glance with her older brother. Jason shrugged elaborately to indicate he was as clueless as she.

Marilyn stopped next to Steve's chair. "You wanted to meet the rest of your family, Jim. Here they are." She placed her hand on her husband's shoulder, keeping him seated. "My husband, Steve Carlson."

The two men shook hands, Steve saying, "Welcome to the family," and Jim easily acknowledging the welcome.

Marilyn turned to her children, shaking her head as she saw them both staring at Jim, mouths hanging open. "Are you two trying to catch flies or are you just being rude?" Her tone was pointed, its sarcasm lost on neither teenager, yet they continued to gape.

"Guess I really do look a lot like your brother David," Jim put in. "I can't believe the resemblance is strong enough to cause this sort of reaction, though."

"Once you've seen a picture of him, you won't think that." Marilyn sighed. "OK, Jim, these two gawkers here are your cousins, Jason and Mitch." She indicated each by gesture as she spoke, not giving Jim the chance to ask which was the girl. "The baby is also mine -- my daughter Meg. She's being held by her godmother, Megan Durham, and the distinguished gentleman is John Durham. John's your father's old friend."

Jim smirked, Marilyn's tone having told him Durham and Kermit had both inhabited the mercenary world when they became friends.

"He doesn't sound like Uncle David does on your old tapes." Mitch addressed her mother, ignoring Jim's presence.

"Not at all," agreed Jason.

"I know." Marilyn turned to Jim. "I'd apologize for my children's rudeness, but --"

"I've proved I'm liable to act the same way, right?"

"If he's Kermit's son, how come we never met him?" Mitch asked her mother, having somehow been designated official spokesman for herself and her brother.

Marilyn sank into the empty chair beside Steve, gesturing to Jim to join the rest of them at the table. He remained standing instead, his grin revealing that he was enjoying being the center of attention. "OK, OK, quick thumbnail sketch," he declared, laughing. "I'm Jim Hellstrom. You already know I'm Kermit's son. I'm a Major in the Air Force, stationed at Aviano, Italy. I fly F-16s, primarily, and I've got some Special Ops training and experience." John, Marilyn, and Steve exchanged unsurprised glances. "I was raised by adoptive parents, Jake and Doris Hellstrom. He's a retired Air Force General. She died while I was at the Air Force Academy. I always knew I was adopted, but when I turned 16 I found out that Chris, Jake's niece who I thought was my cousin, was my mother. Chris died after a drunk driving accident a couple of years ago. None of us knew my father was alive until after she was dead." Jim shrugged apologetically. "The General found out right after she died, when he read the letter she left asking him to let both me and Kermit go on thinking what we'd always thought and he abided by her wishes until... well, that's a story in itself. I grew up thinking my real father died a war hero in Vietnam before I was born."

Marilyn reached out for Steve's hand and gripped it convulsively. She glanced at John across the table and a look of sober understanding passed between the two.

Jim halted his enthusiastic monologue and looked anxiously at Marilyn. "What'd I say?"

Steve answered for her. "You didn't say anything. It's simply a little ironic since your father served in Vietnam and, from what I hear, Kermit was a hero."

"Yeah, Karen told me that too." Jim was more curious than ever about his father's time in Vietnam, but decided he'd wait to pursue the subject until he talked with Kermit. "Anyway," he continued, "last year I was back in the States on temporary duty at the Pentagon -- don't ask -- at the same time that the General was appointed to head a UN commission investigating war crimes in Bosnia. A number of Serbian officials who'd ordered and participated in some pretty horrific massacres were willing to pay a lot to derail the investigation long before they could be hauled before a tribunal in The Hague. They paid a man named Straker to try to blackmail my uncle into ending the investigation and recommending that the commission be disbanded. Straker abducted me and held me prisoner for a couple of months in the same camp as his other hostages.

"When the General was contacted, he broke his promise to Chris and called Kermit. I'm told that was the first time Kermit knew he had a son. And he somehow managed to get himself taken prisoner by Straker so he could get me out. By then I was committed to making sure all the prisoners escaped, so... " Jim paused. "Kermit and I were in Straker's camp together for several weeks but he never told me anything, not even after Peter and Caine arrived." Oblivious to the confusion on the faces of many of those at the table, he went on, "We all escaped and I never saw him or heard from him again. Then this morning I got a call from Karen Simms." The nods around the table told him everyone knew Karen. "She told me the truth. She thought I should know before Kermit died. Of course, by the time I got here, the antidote had worked against the poison." He took a deep breath. "Well, that's my life in a nutshell. Anybody want to tell me about my family?"

"After you've met everyone here, Jim," Marilyn responded, beginning to rise.

***

"You're telling me Blake took out this terrorist Jericho? Blake from our precinct? The one who's always so jumpy?"

"How the hell did Morgan get invited to this party?" Roger Chin muttered to T.J. as the woman continued her diatribe.

"Beats me and I really don't care," the other detective returned. "I just wish she'd go bother someone else."

"You want to know how she got invited?" asked Frank Strenlich, reaching between the two men standing at the end of the bar to deposit an empty beer bottle on the polished wood and signal Terry for another. "I stood in the middle of the squad room and announced the damn thing at the top of my lungs to the entire precinct, that's how. Didn't even think about her. I was too busy wondering whether certain other people would have the guts to show up."

"If my father had still been there, he probably would have," T.J. commented, his tone disheartened.

Strenlich shook his head as he walked away. Commissioner Kincaid had been the least of his worries. Frank had managed to talk Molly into joining him here on the strength of its being Paul Blaisdell's homecoming party; the last thing he wanted was for Kelly Blake to walk into the bar and destroy whatever inroads he managed to make with his ex-wife. So far, the younger woman hadn't had the nerve to show up -- and he hoped things stayed that way.

***

Nearly half an hour after he'd first stepped foot in Delancey's, Paul Blaisdell was finally able to break free of wellwishers welcoming him home and sit down at a table with his family. About twenty minutes before, he'd had just enough time to take off his coat. A few minutes after that, he'd realized that he'd lost his wife and his daughters, which meant they'd been smart enough to go find a place to sit down. Peter, however, had stayed within five feet of him the entire time. Paul wouldn't have thought twice about it if not for the contradictory picture his son presented. On one hand, Peter was nearly glued to his side, eyes never completely straying from his father even when engaged in conversation with other people. On the other hand, Peter still hadn't removed his coat and, until Paul had begun the move toward the table, had remained close to the door, as if wanting access to a swift escape route.

Concerned, Paul cast a glance at Peter as the two men approached the table. Peter remained standing, tension evident in every muscle, as Paul added his own coat to the pile atop an empty chair at the next table and sat down. Both Carolyn and Kelly looked curiously at Peter. Before either could get a word out, Paul suggested dryly, "Why don't you take off your coat, sit down, and stay a while?"

Peter started, but remained silent for the moment it took Paul's words to penetrate. "Almost forgot I had this on. Feels light as hell after being used to wearing Kevlar along with it the past several days," Peter joked as he shrugged out of the jacket.

Taking advantage of this opening to excuse herself without her partner detaining her again, Jody said, "I'll talk to you later, Peter. I want to go talk to Mary Margaret about something."

As she left the table, Peter followed Jody's path with his eyes, never allowing Paul out of his field of vision as he did so. Paul's eyes followed the same route for a different reason, connecting with Caine's long before Jody had reached him and Skalany. Somehow Blaisdell wasn't surprised to see his own concern about their son reflected in the other man's eyes.

***

"What the hell is going on between you and Peter?" Skalany hissed as she dragged her friend to a semi-quiet alcove.

"Damned if I know." Jody craned her neck in a vain effort to see her partner. "You saw what happened. At first everything was -- well, not fine, but typical Peter. I mean, he was still shaken from that encounter with Jericho, but that's understandable. It's the rest -- the not letting me go -- I don't get."

"Jody, if you play with fire, you'll get burned."

"Don't you think I know that? Why do you think I came over to talk to you in the first place? For that matter, why do you think I tried to walk away from Peter earlier?"

"Some try. You were hanging all over him."

"Should've taken a better look. 'Hanging all over' a man's Kelly Blake's province, maybe Jordan's. Not mine. I didn't do it when I was 22 and married to James Powell and I'm not about to do it now. Honestly, Mary Margaret, do you really think I'd demean myself like that?"

A suitably chastened Skalany shook her head.

"Besides," continued Jody, "Peter was the one who wouldn't let me go. I kept trying to tell him he didn't need me intruding on his time with his family, but he wouldn't pay attention. So finally I just gave up. Sometimes it ain't worth fighting it, you know."

"That's true enough." Skalany was sure she knew what Jody was thinking; moreover, she believed she would have done the same damn thing had she been in Jody's position.

***

"Has your usual changed in the past two years, sir, or is it still a Scotch on the rocks?"

Paul shook his head. "Amazing, Terry. A customer hasn't been in for two years -- has never been in the new place, for that matter -- and you still remember what he drinks."

Terry smiled. "Tools of the trade, Inspector. That kind of memory's what makes a bartender indispensable -- and lets him develop a loyal clientele that'll follow him." Lowering his voice, he added, "Besides, having cops as regulars is a great safety incentive, you know?" As Paul laughed, Terry visually checked to make sure no one's drink needed freshening, then asked Peter, "Your usual, Pete?"

"No, I'll have a Scotch, too."

Surprised, Paul arched a questioning eyebrow at the young man. Peter ignored it, but the looks on the faces of his wife, daughters, and son-in-law confirmed Paul's suspicion that his son's drinking habits hadn't changed that drastically during his absence. Even if he'd been alone with Peter, Terry's slight hesitation before replying, "Coming right up," would have told him Peter still rarely drank whiskey.

When the drinks arrived, Peter threw back about half the glass in one swallow. Both Kelly and Carolyn stared in shock, while Todd shook his head. Carolyn was quick to take that gesture as one of unwarranted disapproval, Paul noted absently as he watched Peter with growing concern. He'd meant what he'd said earlier about the past few days being harder on Peter than on anyone else.

Peter had been the only person who had spent that time dealing consistently with both the emotional impact of the situation and the physical danger posed by Jericho and his soldiers. Peter had certainly been the only one trying to balance the hunt for Jericho with both misplaced guilt feelings and the toll taken by his use of his Shaolin skills. Most of all, Peter had been the only one to encounter Jericho at such close range that the terrorist had, for several minutes, literally held his life in his hands. Despite the price the past few days had exacted, Peter refused to acknowledge that anything was wrong. Paul prayed he would be able to draw his son out and get him to talk... before all that was bottled up inside him erupted to the surface.

Uninvited, Jim Hellstrom dropped down into the empty chair between Peter and Kelly. He tossed a set of car keys on the table in front of Peter, saying, "Marilyn said these were yours." He then asked belatedly, "Anybody mind if I sit here?"

Kelly hastily spoke for everyone. "Of course not."

Peter swallowed most of the rest of his Scotch.

"What does a man have to do to get a drink around here?" Jim queried.

"You're kidding, right?" asked Peter. "We're in a bar."

"Yeah, but Marilyn hasn't let me stay in one place long enough to order one. She's been dragging me all over the joint, introducing me to everyone here. My head's swimming with names and faces -- not to mention the fact that everyone nearly chokes when they hear I'm Kermit's son. I had to get away from her." Jim leaned toward the center of the table and dropped his voice, his effort at achieving a conspiratorial tone failing because success would mean Kelly and Peter were his only audience. "Actually, that's why I decided to join your family instead of mine -- I'm hiding from my aunt."

Peter laughed. "Let's get you that drink." Polishing off the rest of his own, he signaled to a nearby waitress for another. "And what about you?" he asked Jim.

"You drinking Scotch?" Peter nodded. "What the hell, I guess this warrants the same as a mission successfully completed." Jim turned to the waitress. "Another of the same."

"I don't remember you drinking Scotch the day after we escaped from Straker's camp," Peter commented absently.

"Don't remember you doing it either," Jim returned.

"Yeah, well... " Peter shrugged. "Straker's camp was easy compared to the last couple of days."

The remark spoke volumes about the last four days to both men who caught the barely audible words. Paul remembered Straker's methods too well not to know there had been far more to Peter's imprisonment than he had ever told Annie. Despite his knowledge of Jericho, he found it chilling that Peter would admit the battle against Jericho had been worse than confinement in a prison camp run by Straker.

Jim remembered exactly what Straker's camp had been like  -- and how Peter Caine had handled himself there. None of what he knew about Jericho led him to classify any of the man's actions as less than sinister, but it wasn't nearly as easy to believe Peter would be cowed by Jericho as it was to accept that the terrorist had posed a far greater threat than Straker. Peter's admission that it had been easier to deal with Straker threw him. "Jericho's actions over the past couple of days have anything to do with why you sound like shit, Peter?" he asked, wondering exactly what the hell Jericho had done to his friend.

"They have everything to do with it." Peter took too large a swallow of Scotch and choked on it. Once finished with the coughing fit that ensued, he went on, "Jericho grabbed me during our 'up close and personal' encounter. He had his arm around my throat, his Luger to my head. And --"  Peter paused, finished his drink, and signaled for another.

Paul's worry grew. Peter was drinking too much, too fast, and he was sure that the young man was in no condition to be doing so. The first whiskey he could have understood and attributed to "medicinal purposes"; now that Peter was nearly on his third, Blaisdell found himself wondering if the painkilling effect his son sought was more emotional than physical.

Silence had descended on the table as Peter waited for his next drink, no one daring to break into the train of thought he had yet to finish. Hellstrom knocked back the end of his first Scotch as the waitress approached, breaking the silence only with his request for another. The young woman nodded, then looked first at the small amount of amber liquid left in Paul's glass, then at Blaisdell. He shook his head, having no intention of compromising his own sobriety this evening.

Peter took a gulp of the fresh drink to fortify himself before continuing his tale. "There wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. I challenged him, told him he didn't have the --" He stopped, red with embarrassment, as he realized his mother and sisters were within earshot and amended his planned words. "-- cojones to take me on. Thought I could get him so angry by baiting him and taunting him that he'd mess up and I could take him. Instead -- instead I couldn't even protect myself enough to avoid him grabbing me, let alone be any good to anyone else. If Blake had agreed to play the game the way I wanted to, I'd be dead -- and God knows how many people I'd have managed to bring down with me."

***

Three hours and several Scotches later, Peter wound down his rambling discourse on the events of the past several days. His audience had thinned as the evening wore on, Carolyn and Todd adjourning to a nearby table shortly before the waitress began moving about Delancey's to take dinner orders. While Peter hadn't even noticed their departure, his parents and Kelly had all wondered whether this was an indication of renewed trouble in Carolyn's marriage. Jim Hellstrom had spared their leaving just enough thought to realize Carolyn clearly hadn't wanted to do it. Right now, though, Peter was only one person shy of the number of audience members he'd had when he began. Jody had returned to the table after Carolyn and Todd left, heading for Carolyn's empty seat until Jim vacated his to move to Kelly's other side.

Paul still watched Peter closely, increasingly worried about his son's frame of mind. Despite the near monologue he had delivered, Peter had danced around the edges of what disturbed him most. Much of his tale had censored critical details Paul had already learned from others. He could only imagine what else Peter was leaving out as he edited his thoughts.

"After all of that, it's a wonder that any of us are still alive," Peter concluded, his words slurring. The end of his story coincided with the busboy's approach.

As the plates were cleared from the table, Annie asked Paul in a whisper, "Did Peter eat anything or did he just push his food around his plate?"

"A couple of bites of his burger and a few of his fries. I'm not sure he'd have eaten even that much if he didn't think I was watching him."

"I thought he ordered it only to placate us. Don't say anything to him about it, Paul. It won't do any good. He'll just say his throat was too sore to swallow."

Paul agreed, thinking, And it wouldn't even occur to him that I'd have noticed his throat wasn't too sore to drink all that whiskey. Rising, he announced, "Let me go settle the bill for this evening and then let's get out of here."

"Dad, you're not paying for this," protested Kelly in chorus with Carolyn, who had just returned to the table. "We set this up."

Paul shook his head. "I wouldn't let you pay for all this, girls." He turned to Carolyn to ask, "Are you coming back to the house?"

"Of cour-" Carolyn broke off her ready agreement, amending her words. "I'd love to, but I really should ask Todd."

Kelly made a face. "Oh, for Pete's sake, Carolyn, if Todd wants to be an old stick in the mud, just let him go home alone and come back to the house yourself."

"I said I'll ask him," Carolyn returned sharply. Marilyn's appearance distracted Kelly from pressing further and allowed her to slip away to ask her husband the question.

Paul placed a hand on Peter's shoulder. "You're coming back to the house, right, son?"

"I -- uh --" Peter's eyes darted from Paul across the room to Caine and back again. "I'd like to, but --"

"Think about it while I settle up."

As Paul walked away from the table, he heard Kelly inveigling her brother. "Oh, come on, Peter, you have to, especially if Carolyn's not sure. The whole family should be together."

He repeated, "I'd like to, but --"

Next to him, Jody sighed. Not again. You want to do this so much, Peter. Why do you think that means you're somehow betraying your father?

Kelly renewed her plea, nearly before Peter had finished speaking. He hesitated, torn, searching for a way to answer her.

Catching sight of something that could tip the balance, Jody nudged him. When he looked at her she wordlessly directed his gaze across the room.

Peter's eyes followed the path Jody had pointed out, coming to rest on Paul and Caine engaged in what looked like an amiable conversation. Seconds after Paul moved toward the bar, Peter watched Caine and Skalany leave together.

"I don't think you need to worry about him expecting to see you tonight," Jody remarked under her breath, assuring only Peter could hear her. "Looks like he's made plans with Mary Margaret."

"Come on, Peter," Kelly entreated again, a returning Carolyn adding her own voice to the plea. Hearing Carolyn, Kelly and Marilyn both questioned her with a glance. Carolyn nodded that she and her husband were going back to the house, then made a face in his direction to indicate that Todd wasn't thrilled about the idea but she didn't care. Kelly redoubled her efforts. "Peter, if you come back with us, we'll have the whole family under one roof for the first time since Dad left. You can't say no."

***

"How much do I owe you, Terry?"

"Your money's no good here tonight, Inspector." Terry waved off the credit card Paul withdrew from his billfold.

"Listen, I know my daughters can't afford to pay for this party. Just give me the bill."

"It's been taken care of. And not by your daughters."

"It may be good business for a bar or restaurant owner to buy a certain amount of 'good will' by providing a few freebies, but the owner of this place will go broke if he comps parties like this one. Just give me the bill."

"Can't. Besides, it wasn't the owner who picked up the tab." His hands occupied with the glasses he was polishing, Terry nodded to point out the man who had.

"Don't even offer to pay for it because I won't take your money," Steve Carlson told the older man before Paul had a chance to speak to him.

"This is far too generous, Steve."

"Hey, listen, your daughters weren't exactly the only planners of this party, whatever impression my wife may have given you. Because she decided to go see Kermit rather than help Carolyn and Kelly pull all this together, she told me we'd take financial responsibility for pulling this off." Anticipating another protest, Steve added, "Paul, I know you're used to taking care of things. Just let us do this tonight. It sure as hell isn't going to break me. Besides, it's not as though there's any way I could ever adequately repay you for all you've done for Marilyn and our family."

"Steve, you don't even know me."

"Yes, I do. I know we just met tonight, but... I think it would be very difficult to be part of the Griffin clan and not know you. Come on, let's go collect our respective families."

***

Peter looked up as Paul and Steve approached the table. "Looks like I'd be outnumbered if I didn't want to go back to the house anyway, Dad."

Kelly and Carolyn both flashed their father self-satisfied grins. "OK, let's hit the road then," said Blaisdell. "Peter, Kelly, I take it you're both riding with your mother and me." His tone brooked no opposition; in any event, he hoped Peter retained enough clarity to realize he was far too drunk to drive.

"In that case, mind if I appropriate your car again?" asked Jim. "I'd like to go by the hospital, see my father."

Peter moved to hand him the keys lying on the table. It was a chore to refine his movements enough to pick up the key ring. Meanwhile, Jim stood and put on his jacket.

Jim's movements struck Paul as a shade too deliberate. Mentally he calculated how many drinks the younger man had imbibed. He'd ordered only a couple of drinks less than Peter, although he had eaten, which would have blunted their effect to some degree. Jim wouldn't appear drunk to the untrained eye and he was steady on his feet, but Paul had no doubt his blood alcohol level was high enough that he'd be driving under the influence. Peter should have recognized that as well. The dulling of his son's cop instincts bothered Paul.

Peter finally managed the coordination necessary to pluck the keys off the table and began to hand them to Jim. Before Paul had a chance to intervene, Steve intercepted the keys. "I'll drive you," he said, overriding Jim's protest before it really began. "I want to talk to Kermit anyway."

Marilyn finished the conversation she'd been having with Annie, then turned to give Paul a hug. "Guess I'd better round up my crew now. I'll see you tomorrow -- there's a lot I want to talk to you about besides thanking you. And, no, I'm not driving all the way back to the Gables. We're staying in town tonight, at John and Megan's. As a matter of fact, Steve and I have been discussing moving back here." Before she walked away, Marilyn exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Carolyn. She smothered a triumphant smile as Carolyn mouthed that she'd heard Jim make a lunch date with Kelly for tomorrow.

"Everyone ready?" Paul asked.

"We'll follow you back to the house, Dad," promised Carolyn.

Peter started to get to his feet, swaying a bit unsteadily. He pulled on his jacket and zipped it with little difficulty, but staggered as he started to step away from the table. Jody caught him as he reeled. Barely refraining from shaking his head, Paul moved forward to support his son. "I'll take it from here."

***

"It's not too late, is it?" asked Jim.

Kermit turned his attention to the doorway of his hospital room as he heard his son's voice. "Can't guarantee whether hospital personnel will think so, but if they do, that's their problem."

"What about you? You mind my being here?"

"I'm just a little curious as to why you're here." Real smart question, Griffin. He just found out you're his father. He wants to know more.

"We've got a lot to talk about. I thought we should start now."

As Jim advanced into the room, Kermit took note that he walked with a shade too much caution. Arching a questioning eyebrow at Steve, who had followed Jim into the room, he waited for an explanation.

Steve stepped forward and dropped a set of keys into Kermit's palm. "He thought he was going to drive Peter's rental car. Give the keys back to him in the morning, when he's sober."

"I'm not drunk," Jim protested.

"Bet a Breathalyzer would say otherwise," Kermit retorted.

"Marilyn told me about you and Karen," Steve cut in. "Congratulations, Kermit. Now I'll go catch a cab and leave the two of you to deal with all you have to talk about." The last thing he noticed before leaving was father and son beginning to match stares challenging each other to start. He chuckled to himself, betting Jim would break first, unable to withstand the penetrating gaze from behind the green lenses.

Steve was right. As he closed the door, he heard Jim Hellstrom say, with an air of uncertainty he already knew was alien to the young pilot, "I have a lot of questions I need answers to."

***

One more block and then... home. The last time Paul Blaisdell had driven these familiar streets, he'd thought he'd be back in a few weeks' time. But that winter had turned to spring without his return and now the cycle of seasons had brought them to the second winter since his departure. Paul gave silent thanks he was seeing all of this again, for he'd been far too certain for far too long that his last glimpse of his home had been a hasty one on the day he'd left.

His own house emerged from the shadows ahead, as solid and unchanging as he remembered it. For some reason its constancy surprised him, almost as if he'd expected the emotional upheaval he'd put his family through for nearly the past two years to manifest itself in the house's facade. Aware of Carolyn's car following so close behind his it was almost tailgating, Paul pulled the sedan into the driveway rather than stopping to take a prolonged look at the house. There would be ample time to do that in the days ahead, he reflected, cutting the engine. For the first time in more than a year and a half, he had the luxury of anticipating a future.

Paul and those who'd ridden with him waited for Carolyn and Todd to join them before entering the house. Blaisdell alternated his focus between the couple removing their baby's things from the car and the activity on the front steps -- Kelly stamping her feet impatiently as she tried to get warm, Peter thrusting his hands deeper into his pockets, Annie leaning into the shelter of Paul's arm.

Finally, Carolyn and Todd joined the others, Carolyn carrying Brian, Todd lugging most of the baby's things. Paul moved toward the door, keys in hand. "These should still work, unless you've changed the locks on me," he joked uneasily, inserting the front door key into its lock. The door opened, swinging in without protest.

Paul began to enter, arm still around Annie, then stopped short. "It's a good thing neither of us is easily embarrassed, babe," he whispered to his wife as a grin began to play at his lips. Coming home was something he'd hardly dared dream about for far too long even while he'd craved that return with every breath. He hadn't really allowed himself to imagine being able to come home to live, rather than to die -- and he'd refused to do the latter. He was returning to his old life, true, but at the same time it was a new life, one he hadn't dared hope he'd have.

Dropping his arm from Annie's shoulder, Paul scooped her off her feet, taking her by surprise. Less conscious of the shocked expressions on the faces of his children and his son-in-law than he was of his wife's delighted laughter as she grasped his intentions, Paul carried Annie across the threshold. Setting her on her feet in the front hallway, he murmured, "I know it's the same house as always, but I thought this was appropriate anyway. Coming back here -- getting the gift of coming back here -- feels like a new lease on life. It's as if... "

Annie cut him off, placing a finger on his lips so she could complete his thought uninterrupted. "... as if we're starting a whole new life together, now that we finally no longer live in Jericho's shadow."

Paul murmured assent, unsurprised that Annie knew exactly what he had been thinking. Unmindful that they were being watched, he then crushed her to him in a soulfully passionate embrace. Briefly, the unwelcome thought that they would never be out from under Jericho's shadow until he had stopped haunting their lives and the lives of those they loved crossed his mind. He dismissed the notion -- for now -- as they kissed hungrily, their embrace and their kiss deepening in intensity and ardor with each passing moment.

***

"You can ask me anything you want." Kermit managed with an effort to mask his horror as he heard himself say the words. Not a bright move, Griffin. He isn't shy. He's liable to do just that.

It was the chance Jim had been waiting for -- and it had the effect, both unpleasant and unfamiliar, of rendering him speechless. He had far too many questions to ask and have answered in one night and no idea how to proceed logically. Making his way over to the chair beside the bed, he sat down without speaking. After a few more moments of dead silence, he asked, "Does Peter always get like this after a case?"

"Like what?" The suspicious tone in Kermit's voice told Jim the topic he'd selected wasn't as safe as he'd thought when he picked it, hoping to ease into more personal matters from there.

Jim searched for the right word to characterize Peter's behavior that evening. "Rattled, I guess, is the way you'd describe it," he finally said, settling on a word he thought too weak.

"Not unless it goes sour. How rattled?"

"Pretty rattled. He drank an awful lot."

"Doesn't look like you were any slouch yourself," Kermit pointed out.

"Yeah, but this was different. The amount I had to drink wouldn't have hit me this hard if I wasn't drained. And, as tired as I am, I'm still not really all that drunk. Peter was slurring his words by the end of the party and he staggered when he got up." Jim paused, then added, "Did you know Jericho had a gun to his head for a time today?"

"Oh yeah."

"Well, did he tell you he thought that happened because he was a failure who couldn't protect himself, let alone anyone else?" Jim had difficulty reconciling the actions of the Peter Caine he'd known in Straker's camp with the self-doubt that had been practically a living entity itself when he listened to Peter talk that evening.

"No, but it doesn't surprise me. How much did he tell you about all the grief Jericho caused over the past four days?"

"Everything -- and nothing. I listened to him talk about Jericho for three solid hours and I think he only scratched the surface. I wouldn't say he was lying, exactly, but something's not right."

"I'll talk to Paul." The pronouncement carried an air of finality. Kermit broke the uneasy silence that ensued by asking, "Think you've broken the ice enough to start asking some of the questions you were so hot to have answers to?"

"I don't know where the hell to start," Jim answered. "Not even twenty-four hours ago, I thought my father was some nameless, faceless war hero who died in Vietnam. Now --"

"One illusion shot straight to hell," muttered Griffin inaudibly as his son stopped for breath.

Jim continued, hoping what he was about to say didn't sound too corny -- because he meant it. "Now I know my father's alive and I'm told he was a war hero -- which is something really easy for me to believe because the name and face that go with that label of father are those of a man I already admired." Hellstrom, when the hell did you start giving speeches in the hearts and flowers mode?

Floored by his son's words, Kermit found himself truly at a loss. He'd been certain the best he could hope for would be an armed detente. He hadn't dared hope for respect, much less the depth of caring audible in Jim's voice. Kermit told himself that it was the alcohol talking; Jim would say more than he planned to tonight and retract most of it tomorrow.

It didn't matter. Even if Jim's treatment of him tomorrow was most notable for flippant sarcasm, he'd begun to see the raw emotion beneath. Jesus Christ, what did I ever do to deserve this? he wondered. Better enjoy it while it lasts, Griffin, because the more he learns about you the less reason you'll give him to admire you.

***

"That has got to be the shortest family gathering on record in this house," Paul chuckled as he and Annie climbed the stairs to their bedroom, his arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist. Fifteen minutes after entering the house, Peter had almost fallen asleep on his feet, barely managing to rouse himself enough to say his good nights and make his way upstairs to his old room. Carolyn's sleeping son had taken Peter's departure as his cue to wake up and start fussing. Sighing, Carolyn had taken Brian upstairs to put him down for the night, literally dragging Todd along behind her. That had left Kelly to discreetly leave her parents alone together.

"I thought you were going to have a coronary when you heard what Kelly muttered under her breath when she went upstairs." Annie laughed lightly, tilting her face up toward Paul's.

Paul grimaced, glad his wife couldn't see the expression crossing his features. It had taken him longer than usual, longer even than it should have taken after two years away, to secure the house for the night because Kelly's words had thrown him so badly. He'd heard her say to herself, "I hope that when I'm married as long as they are, my husband and I will still look forward to making love that much." Even now, thinking about it, Paul wasn't sure whether he was more shocked that Kelly had said that or that Annie had found her words funny.

Accustomed to reading her husband's silences, Annie commented, "Kelly's grown up, you know. You can't keep her as sheltered as you want -- and you couldn't have done it if you'd stayed."

"Annie, I just want to protect her." Paul disengaged himself from his wife long enough to open their bedroom door, usher her in ahead of him, and close the door behind them.

"From big bad fighter pilots like Jim Hellstrom?" Annie surmised. "Honey, I'm sorry, but I don't see the problem you do with Kelly and Jim being interested in each other."

"I don't think our inexperienced daughter is quite ready for someone like Jim." An unwelcome thought struck Paul, fueled as much by Kelly's remark a few minutes before as by the look she and Jim had exchanged earlier; he unconsciously backed halfway across the room from his wife as the idea hit. "Annie, you're not telling me Kelly's --"

Laughing at the panicked note that invaded his voice, she reassured her husband, "No, I'm not. I would know if Kelly wasn't still a virgin -- if she didn't tell me, she'd tell Carolyn. And Carolyn would tell me. In any case, Kelly had an overprotective older brother around, even without an overprotective father here. Our daughter is smart enough not to risk dealing with that unless she's really sure. She knows her own mind. She won't do anything till she's good and ready."

"That's what worries me," Paul groaned, again seeing in his mind's eye the heated look Kelly and Jim had exchanged a few hours earlier.

A look of amused exasperation flashed across Annie's face as she advanced toward the sound of his voice, shaking her head. "What do you really want to do your first night home, Blaisdell? Stand around worrying about our daughter's sex life -- or, more accurately, lack thereof? Or --" Annie stopped as she came into contact with Paul's outstretched hand, allowing him to pull her into an embrace. One hand strayed to his collar, discovering he'd already pulled open his tie. "Or," she began again, "make love to your ever so patient and ever so understanding wife?" She punctuated her question by dropping her hand to his belt and undoing it in short order.

Paul grinned. "Am I being seduced by a temptress, Mrs. Blaisdell?" he teased, his hands beginning to roam down his wife's back to unhook the clasp of her bra through the fabric of her sweater.

"I certainly hope not," Annie laughed, arching her neck as she felt his kisses begin to trail down along the column of her throat. "I was counting on this being kind of a... mutual admiration society."

"Can't be," Paul replied briefly, stilling the delicate hands busily undoing his shirt buttons so he could lift her sweater over her head.

Annie batted his hands away as they reached for the hem of the sweater. "Explain yourself."

"Can't imagine there's as much for you to admire about a broken-down ex-merc as there is for me to admire about... " He claimed her lips in a kiss, aware her resistance was melting. "... the beautiful, perceptive, strong, sexy woman I married."

Annie relaxed, leaning into his embrace so their bodies seemed to flow together. "You forgot brilliant," she quipped.

"Clever," Paul amended. "I'm not so sure it was smart for you to put up with my idiocy the past two years."

"Then again," argued Annie, wrapping her arms around his waist and drawing him to her, "I'm the one who said that this day would come, that you'd be back home alive and well and we'd outwit Jericho for once and for all. So... "

"I'm still slow at learning my lessons?" Paul laughed huskily as Annie maneuvered him inexorably backward toward the bed.

"Especially the one about never underestimating the power of a blind chick."

Paul stumbled as the bed hit the back of his legs. Chuckling, he used the momentum of Annie's continued forward movement to drive them both down to the bed. "It's been a long time. I think I need a refresher course," he joked, keenly aware her hands were working as feverishly to strip him as his were to do the same to her.

"Private lessons," Annie murmured. "Private lessons."

Words trailed off, neither wishing distraction to prolong the time the barriers presented by their remaining clothing stood in the way. Moments later, they lay together, skin to skin, exploring each other's body with an intensity unknown for too long. Only whispered words of love and pleasured gasps broke the silence as they allowed themselves free rein.

Annie delighted in running her sensitive fingers over her husband's skin, unerringly finding the places that could drive him to madness. How she'd longed to do this, longed to make love to him with sheer abandon again. She'd needed to be too careful, to hold back far too much, the last several times they'd made love, fearful of sapping his waning strength. And the last time they'd slept together... Annie banished the thought of that period in the all too recent past when Paul had been too weak for her to even dream of making love to him, when she'd prayed she wasn't leaving him for the last time once it came time to return home, and gave herself to him now with all the passion she'd held back for too long.

Paul felt Annie's momentary tension and paused to whisper, "I know what you're thinking, sweetheart. But it's over now." He didn't mention what had flashed through his own mind: the realization that it had been almost two years since they'd made love with this degree of freedom.

Every time they'd done so on the island there'd been a bittersweet quality to their lovemaking, as though each time was the last. And right before he'd left... her anger and his stubbornness had bled into their bed, marring the last few times they'd made love before his departure from town. Now... now all that remained was pure love and desire and need as they moved together, devouring each other's mouths, thrusting against each other until both felt their passion crescendo at a dizzying height.

***

"Were we always this spectacular or have I just been fantasizing this for the past two years?" Paul asked, shifting a bit more onto his side so he could drink in his wife's lovely features in the pale moonlight streaming through the window. God, I missed this. Just lying here after making love, watching her. He idly reached out a finger to play with blonde hair turned golden in the soft light, restraining his hand from going further with an effort. If he allowed himself to trace the curve of her cheek, all would be lost and they'd begin to make love again.

"Usually," Annie replied. One hand rested against her husband's chest, as if to reassure herself his presence in their bed was real. Sheer willpower, he was certain, was all that kept her hand still to allow them both a chance to catch their breath.

"Usually? Not always?" Paul chuckled.

"The last few times before you left, it wasn't this... " Annie paused, then let a knowing smile play at the corner of her lips as she found the right word. "... pure."

Paul laughed in delighted disbelief, knowing his wife would revel in the sound of genuine laughter, rather than the laughter with an edge she'd become accustomed to hearing from him over the past months. "Somehow, I doubt that what we just did would be classified as 'pure'. Carnal pleasures just don't cut it on that score."

Annie slapped his hand playfully. "That's not what I mean, and you know it. I'm talking about the purity of emotion, of love." More seriously, she added, "I'm talking about it being untainted, sweetheart. This time there was no one holding a sword over our heads, no external force tearing us apart, no male stubbornness keeping us apart, no desperation trying to snatch life from the jaws of death. It was just... us, finding each other again."

***

Now that the ice was broken, what other questions was he so hot to ask? In other words, why was he still stalling? Good question, I'll hand you that, Jim thought, mulling over his father's words. It's not exactly as though I'm the kind of guy who'd hesitate to speak his mind -- even if I was intimidated, which I'm not. "I guess I'm still trying to understand everything," he said finally. "Maybe I'm a little afraid to ask -- if Jericho had the kind of effect I noticed on Peter, what the hell did he manage to do to you?"

"Exactly what Karen told you. His men shot me in the leg with a bullet covered in poison, nearly killed me. Nice try, Jim. Let's put the Jericho thing to rest."

"Let's not." Jim's hard tone matched Kermit's. "Somewhere in the mix tonight Peter mentioned something about letters to you and Blaisdell, threatening both your families. I think I've got a stake in that, don't you? What did Jericho say about me?"

"Drop it, kid. Jericho's dead and gone. He won't bother anyone again. Whatever his twisted mind produced, there's no reason to talk about it now. Those letters don't mean a damn thing anymore."

"That wasn't the impression I got when Peter talked about them. As a matter of fact, I got the impression you got thrown pretty badly by the one you got." Jim paused, then challenged, "Are you suddenly morphing into an overprotective father or was there something in that letter you're afraid to have me see?"

"I'm telling you it wouldn't serve any purpose for you to see the damn letter. Most of it's just an obscene passage about Karen's and my sex life anyway. And, now that Jericho's out of the picture, the rest of it doesn't concern you either."

"I prefer to make that judgment about threats on my life myself, whether the person they come from can carry them out or not," Jim shot back. "I'm not a ten-year-old kid, you missed that part of my life." He was surprised when Kermit didn't react to that remark. Even so, he felt mildly guilty it had come out phrased that way. "I'm a fighter pilot. I've got Special Ops training. I've done black ops missions on air and ground. I studied Jericho, for God's sake. And you and I met in Straker's camp, where I was trying to find a way for everyone to escape. There's not a damn threat that could be made in a letter that could throw me any more than it would you. So don't worry about how I'll react. Either tell me what Jericho said about me or show me the letter."

"You're not about to give this one a rest, are you? Just like a dog with a bone." Kermit shook his head.

"Don't shake your head like I've stepped out of line," Jim snapped. "Just tell me the truth." He leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, his very posture demanding a response.

Irritation produced by his son's tenacity present in his tone, Kermit shot back, "The truth is that the letter doesn't concern you at all. You weren't even mentioned -- unlike Marilyn and her kids. You were the only member of my family Jericho didn't write about." He added in a more even voice, "The fact that you weren't mentioned at all meant that Jericho didn't know about you. And I was glad he didn't know I had a son, that at least one member of my family would be safe. The omission told me that at least my son wouldn't pay for my past actions."

Jim sat back slowly, taking in Kermit's words. "By all rights I should have been in as much danger as anyone else in the family, but I'm glad I wasn't." He paused, waiting for a reaction from Griffin. The older man neither spoke nor changed expression. Jim smothered a self-satisfied smirk at his success in interpreting his father's thoughts as he read the unspoken question hanging heavily in the silence. Answering it, he explained, "If Jericho didn't know about me, it means what I was told about how much you knew and when -- and what you decided to do then -- was the truth." He paused again, unsure he should continue. Major, you're losing your edge. If you worried this much about the consequences in combat, you could get your entire squadron killed. You were never at a loss for words when the two of you were being held by Straker. Why are you suddenly finding it hard to talk to him just because he turned out to be your father? Jim took a deep breath and added, "That means a lot to me."

This time Kermit lowered his sunglasses enough for Jim to see the questioning look directed at him.

The younger man's voice was low as he voiced his thoughts. "It wouldn't matter to me if Karen had lied about any of what she told me. She was trying to save the life of the man she loves and she would have done anything she had to. I can respect that. If I was trying to save the life of the woman I loved, I wouldn't hesitate to do anything I had to either. I wouldn't think twice about lying or not sparing someone's feelings." He noticed Kermit fail to suppress a smile; evidently father and son had both, at least once, been "victims" of Karen Simms in her take-no-prisoners mode.

"But if Jericho had known we were father and son," Jim continued, "that would have meant you'd known at least long enough to slip up and let him find out. I think it probably would have meant you and the General had both known all along. Neither one of you lied to me beyond what Karen's already told me -- and I wish neither one of you had thought you had to go that far but ..." Jim broke off, then finished quietly. "He kept a promise he shouldn't have made, especially since Chris was already dead when he made it, and you thought, for some reason, that I was better off without you in my life. You both acted with honor, even though you were wrong. I... uh... I didn't want to believe either one of you lacked that integrity and this proves you don't."

Kermit looked at his son curiously. He already knew Jim far better than the young man believed, for his attitude and demeanor had never left any room for doubt that he was a Griffin. Jim might be more comfortable with emotion than he was, but Kermit doubted he displayed its depths much more readily -- except, he'd wager, when it came to women. And he strongly suspected that Jim's candor, like his own, was limited to circumstances where it couldn't reveal a chink in the armor. Yet Jim was drawing dangerously close to reducing this conversation to one of those explorations of feelings to which Marilyn would occasionally threaten to subject her brother.

Hiding his amusement behind an expressionless exterior, Kermit found his own thoughts betraying him. Recognizing the likelihood that the alcohol was responsible for loosening Jim's tongue enough to reveal this much of the few insecurities hidden beneath the cocksure arrogance was one thing. Acknowledging he was glad about that was quite another... especially since it meant admitting how anxious he was to get in some practice at being a loving and supportive father -- in short, the kind of man he'd never dared try to be because it could make him too vulnerable.

Jim's voice had been harsh with emotion. Kermit was afraid that, any moment now, they were about to have a "Hallmark moment" of father/son bonding. What scared the shit out of him was his own reluctance to head it off with a sardonic witticism.

How the hell do other people make this parenting stuff look so easy? he wondered. Karen wouldn't be any help right now even if she were there; neither would Marilyn. Both his fiancee and his sister would be far too busy watching his discomfort with glee to offer him any assistance. For Christ's sake, Griffin, you can unlock the secrets of any computer program, you're not afraid to go up against terrorists -- but you let yourself get thrown about being a dad? What the hell kind of idiot are you? He didn't know the answers to those questions, only that he was desperate not to leave the same kind of mark on his own son that Mike Griffin had left on his children.

Jim had fallen silent, clearly waiting for Kermit to respond. For the life of him, Kermit couldn't think what to do next. All he could do was wonder how the hell Paul would handle the situation -- and curse himself for wondering, for he knew without a doubt that Paul Blaisdell's paternal instincts were too much second nature for him to ever find himself in a similar quandary.

***

Sleep's blessed oblivion from worries and choices – and, for once, from nightmares – lasted only a few hours before the colossal stupidity of his actions at Delancey's made itself known to Peter. Waking up was amazingly simple, given that he'd left the bar only four hours before. Unfortunately, the easy return to consciousness had been brought about by his nephew's wail piercing the stillness. Awareness brought with it overpowering nausea and an accompanying staccato drumbeat within his skull.

Moving wasn't something Peter wanted to do, not when even trying to raise leaden eyelids produced pain, but he had no choice. He grimaced as he rose, as carefully and slowly as he could if he hoped to make it down the hall to the bathroom before losing the meager contents of his stomach. The room spun, the dizziness that disoriented him forcing him to move even more gingerly. Somewhere in the back of his mind was a dim awareness that his back muscles ached a bit more than they had last night, having stiffened with sleep, and that his throat hurt more than it had, but the throbbing of the anvil chorus pounding in his head far outweighed those ills.

***

The sound that awakened both Paul and Annie was welcome to Paul, his grandson's cries striking him as an affirmation of life. Annie groggily stirred in his arms, as undisturbed as he by the sound of the child's wail, awake only long enough to ascertain that Carolyn had responded to the little boy's demand. She was nearly asleep again when less welcome sounds down the hallway made her sit bolt upright.

"Relax, Annie. Go back to sleep," said Paul, easing out of bed and pulling on his robe as he spoke. "I'll take care of Peter."

***

Kermit Griffin squirmed inwardly, ill at ease with his son's appraisal of him as an honorable man, an exemplar of integrity. The silence lengthening between them had become fraught with tension, Jim clearly waiting for Kermit to make the next move, Kermit waiting for a flash of inspiration that would tell him what that next move should be.

Jim tried to hide a yawn and sneak a look at his watch at the same time. His attempt at subtlety failed miserably.

Either he needs a refresher course in whatever spycraft he's learned or he's dead on his feet, Kermit thought, surprised by the wave of indulgent affection that swept over him as he watched the young man he finally had the ability to call "son". Still unable to figure out how to respond to Jim's last few remarks, he instead seized on an earlier comment. "You said you would have understood if Karen lied to you to save my life because you would do the same if you were trying to save the woman you loved. Was that a hypothetical statement about what you'd do if you were in love or is there some woman in your life I should know about?" Smart move, Griffin, like he has to account for himself to you.

Jim's grin was a shade less cocky than usual. "There might be."

"If you're trying to decide whether you can sort out one woman from a field of many, there isn't."

"No field. Just one... " The yawn Jim had been struggling to hold back escaped. "... woman."

"Someone you've been involved with for a while? Say, since before Straker's camp?"

"No, nowhere near that --" Jim broke off, allowing another yawn to escape. He shook his head, fighting to force his eyelids to remain open. "Jeez, I don't know what the hell's wrong with me. I could fall asleep right here in this chair. Hell, I could probably do it standing up."

Kermit looked at his watch and mentally added six hours to the time displayed. "Couldn't have a damn thing to do with the fact that you've been awake well over twenty-four hours, spent at least ten of those hours in the air -- more if you'd already had flight time in for the day, and drunk enough Scotch to be over the legal limit, now, could it?"

Jim grinned sheepishly, slouching so far down in the chair that it became apparent he was about to fall asleep there. "Yeah, I guess that could have something to do with it. Anyway, as I was saying, I haven't known her anywhere near that long. We haven't known each other long enough for me to be sure she'd want anything to come of it." Jim's words slowed as he began to lose the battle to stay awake. "Actually, you know her."

Why does that not make me feel secure about this? "Feel like telling me who I know or are you trying to keep her a mystery woman?"

No answer came. Kermit noticed that Jim's eyes were closed and his breathing was evening out. He cursed to himself, impatience demanding he not be left in the dark about this young woman's identity until morning. When Jim finally responded, the words he muttered just before falling asleep were barely audible. "Kelly. Kelly Blaisdell."

Kermit watched his son sleep, wondering if his ears had deceived him. No, he realized, there was little chance of that and even less chance that Jim's answer had been anything other than deadly serious. Might as well pick out my headstone now. I'm dead. Paul's gonna kill me.

***

"Can you die from a hangover the same way you can from alcohol poisoning?" Peter wondered aloud, the sound of his own voice a self-imposed punishment, utterly convinced he would be sick again in a few moments.

"It only makes you wish you could." Paul's quiet words startled the young man.

"Go ahead and say it, Paul. Tell me what an idiot I was to drink as much as I did last night and ruin the par-" Peter broke off as he felt vomit rising in his throat once more. As his stomach again emptied itself into the toilet bowl, he was dimly aware of Paul taking a few steps across the room and kneeling beside him on the tile floor, supporting him through the retching that shook his body.

The pattern repeated itself four times in fairly rapid succession. Peter didn't feel any better when he realized his body had largely purged itself of the alcohol, but he was still grateful when his retching began to produce only dry heaves and the spasms gradually eased.

Embarrassed, Peter looked up at Paul as the older man got to his feet. "I haven't gotten this drunk since that time when I was seventeen," he admitted. "You might as well let me have it now. I'll survive being yelled at the way I deserve."

"I'm not going to yell at you."

"Why not? You did the last time I got this drunk."

"Son, you're a grown man and I can't control your actions... nor do I have the right to try. In the first place, you're the one who has to decide whether it's worth it to abuse your body this way. In the second place, if you don't learn your lesson from going through this, no amount of yelling from me's going to teach you." Paul paused. "I yelled at you when you were seventeen because you shouldn't have been drinking at all -- it was illegal and you could have been arrested if any other cop had caught you. That's why I was angry with you then -- because you broke the law."

"And you're angry at me now because of how stupid I was not to have learned my lesson the first time I had a hangover this bad?" Peter guessed before his father had a chance to say more.

"I'm not angry at you, Peter. I'm worried about you, but I'm not angry."

Shock and confusion crept into Peter's tone. "You're really not angry?" Despite his effort to hide the pain caused by swallowing, he was certain Paul was aware of it, especially since his father had winced at the hoarse sound of his voice.

Paul shook his head. "No, I'm really not angry. Now... do you need to stay here a little while or do you think you're better?"

"I think I'm better but... I'm actually not so sure I'm going anywhere soon." Peter grimaced, the action driven by pain elsewhere in his body redoubling the pounding in his head.

"Your back?"

"Not really. More my ribs. Doing... this really strained them. They hurt like hell now."

"No wonder."

Paul offered a hand to help Peter get to his feet; Peter was still a little too shaky to use it to lever himself to a standing position. He faltered halfway up and was grateful when Paul released his hand to place a supportive arm around his waist. Leaning into the strength of that arm and bracing his hand on the older man's shoulder, Peter found he could haul himself upright. Finally standing independently, he offered a weak attempt at a grin. "Well, that was fun."

Paul glanced at his watch. "Try to get some more sleep. It's still the middle of the night."

Peter managed a slight nod as he took a step forward. Unsteady on his feet, he reached a hand out to rest it on the wall to balance himself.

Shaking his head, Paul asked softly, "Do you want some help?"

Concentrating on the mechanics of placing one foot in front of the other, Peter didn't answer until he'd taken another three steps. "I'll manage. Go back to bed yourself so you and Mom can get some sleep. No reason I should keep anyone else awake."

Paul followed Peter into the hallway, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness that contrasted with the bathroom's light. He knew without turning that Annie stood in their bedroom doorway, listening to their son's progress down the corridor. Never taking his eyes off the young man as he made his own way back to Annie, Paul watched Peter walk back to his old room.

"Do you think he's really all right?" she inquired worriedly.

"In other words, you want me to go check on him?"

"I think he'd rather you do that than have his mother hover over him."

Paul did as his wife suggested. Easing open the door to the bedroom, he made out the shape of Peter sitting on the edge of the bed.

Hearing the door open and the heavy footsteps approach, Peter remarked, "Turned out that lying down wasn't an option. The room spun too much when I tried, made me dizzy. It's not that much better now. Things seem kinda... tilted. At least the room's dark, though, the light in the bathroom was really starting to hurt my eyes." Peter tried to remember exactly why he'd thought it a good idea to flood the bathroom with light in the first place; he couldn't get beyond the memory of staggering into that room for the life of him.

Paul waited as Peter fell silent; his son was grateful for his knowledge that the younger man needed quiet more than he did words of reassurance. Hearing footsteps recede down the hallway and start descending the stairs, Peter realized his parents were both resigned to the rest of the night being sleepless. Several minutes later, Annie's low voice came from the doorway where Paul stood. "I've got a pot of coffee brewing."

Peter cautiously turned his head. "Did I hear the word 'coffee'?"

***

Kermit winced in sympathy as he saw Jim shift uncomfortably in his sleep. He'd spent enough of his own nights sleeping in a chair to know how stiff Jim would be when he woke up. Reminded of how close he'd come to dying by his own lingering fatigue, he nonetheless knew that he wouldn't get any sleep himself. Too much had happened in the past several days -- there was far too much to sort out.

Jericho's strike had been only the tip of the iceberg. Being poisoned by the terrorist's underlings had been less of a shock than so much else -- Karen's being shot, Paul's return, the discovery that Paul also had been poisoned by Jericho, Maranville's role in developing the antidote that had saved Paul and in perfecting it to save Kermit, the realization he'd struck Karen during a poison-induced hallucination, his proposal to Karen and her ready acceptance of it, Jim's arrival in town. Thinking of that last occurrence, Kermit shook his head in continued disbelief.

Several months before, he'd taken a long, hard look at his son across a tavern in the tiny Vermont town of Monmouth, one last glimpse intended to etch upon his memory the subtle differences between Jim's appearance and David's. The sunglasses had come off as he did, no need as powerful as that for an unfiltered look at his son that would have to sustain him in the years ahead. After what had seemed both a moment and an eternity -- and a cryptic exchange with Caine -- he'd turned and left, glasses again firmly in place, convinced that walking out of his son's life before disturbing it was the best gift he could offer Jim. And now... with no one to see, Kermit allowed himself to smile at the irony. He'd stayed in the shadows to avoid disrupting his son's life, but Karen had turned it upside down in a moment, dragging a piece of her lover's past into the light of the present -- and the future.

Jim had said Karen played hardball when she called him, indicated that he wouldn't have dared cross her even if he'd been inclined to do so. Kermit made a mental note to discover exactly what Karen had said.  The details intrigued him nearly as much as the parallel between Jim's decision and his own. The pilot hadn't hesitated to metaphorically step directly into Jericho's line of fire the moment he knew there was a possibility doing so could extend his father's life. Likewise, Kermit had never questioned his own willingness to plunge into the middle of one of his worst nightmares once he learned Straker had his son.

"Griffin." Kermit snarled his name as he snatched up the receiver, annoyed his effort to follow the money trail of an embezzlement was being interrupted by an outside call. Didn't Broderick know he had better things to do than deal, as he already had three times that day, with an overly nervous prosecutor, he wondered darkly.

"Are you on a secure line?" demanded the brusque voice on the other end of the phone.

"No, why?"

"Get on one and call me back at --"

Kermit wrote down the New York City number he was given, then asked quickly, before the caller could hang up, "Who the hell am I supposed to be calling?" The exchange following the 212 area code pricked the recesses of his brain with familiarity, but he couldn't associate it or the voice with a name or a face.

"Jake Hellstrom." The click of a disconnecting phone line and a dial tone came immediately after the words.

Scrambling to connect the gadget Blake had provided him to doubly secure the line to the second phone hidden in the bottom drawer of his desk, Kermit puzzled over both the name and the oddly familiar phone number. New York. Jake Hell- The reason for the number's familiarity hit him. It was one associated with the UN Secretariat, the man in question the retired Air Force General charged with heading the investigation into war crimes in Bosnia. And teams bringing war criminals to justice need crack investigators. Who the hell gave him my name? Although tempted to first find out the answer to that question, Kermit picked up the secure phone and dialed the number.

"Griffin?" Hellstrom answered the line immediately.

"Could've been someone else on this line, maybe the President or the Secretary General. What would they have said if you answered the phone that way when they called?" Curiosity failed to outweigh the need to bust someone's chops Kermit had felt all day long.

"Probably less than they would have said when I asked them not to tie up the line. This isn't official business, Kermit."

Jake Hellstrom. U.S. Air Force. The caller's use of Kermit's first name sent an image slamming into his mind of a windswept cemetery on the freezing January day when Mike Griffin was buried. Some of the local anti-war activists had taken advantage of the day's sunshine to stage their protest near the grave of a man who had died in combat in Vietnam. In his mind's eye Kermit could still see the medal-sporting Air Force officer whose niece was one of the protesters as clearly as if it had been yesterday. He would always be grateful to the man for his help that day. "I haven't seen Chris since the day I left for..." Training had preceded Kermit's departure for the destination he was about to mention, but she had known exactly where he was going to end up when he left town. "... Vietnam. If you're having trouble finding your niece now, try someone who saw her more recently."

"Someone she didn't betray?" queried Hellstrom. "Kermit, this isn't about Christine -- well, not really about her. The only thing about her that's relevant to this phone call is the fact you two slept together when you were eighteen."

Kermit's blood ran cold. Back then he'd have expected Jake Hellstrom to kill him for that single night -- and he wouldn't have had the guts to tell the man Chris hadn't been the one losing virginity then. More than a quarter of a century later, he knew there could be only one reason the man was bringing up that night. "You don't have to convince me I have a child and use my son or daughter as leverage to get me to work with the war crimes commission, General. I'm not so far removed from that world that I wouldn't agree to do a job like that... especially bringing war criminals to justice."

Jake sighed. "After what Christine did, I don't blame you for being suspicious of her relatives. I didn't know you were her son's father until after she died. And I hated the promise the letter she left exacted from me to keep you in the dark about it, but I've kept it up till now because I honor my promises."

"What the hell do you want from me?" By the time he spoke, Kermit had hacked into the database of vital records of the town where he'd grown up. Christine Hellstrom's name showed up only in connection to her own birth and death certificates. He keyed in the year 1968 and broadened the name search to the last name "Hellstrom", rather than limiting it to a direct first and last name match. An indicator of sealed adoption records and of issuance of a birth certificate altered to reflect the adoptive parents' names he expected came up on the screen.

At the same time the General's tense voice told him, "Our son is being used as leverage, Kermit, but not by me.

He's  --"

Fingers flying over the keyboard as he attempted to find information on the name he'd turned up, Kermit barked, "Who's using Jim and what can I do to stop it?" A moment of dead silence told Kermit the other man was stunned. "Computer search," he explained curtly. "You and your wife adopted him. Where is he now?"

Regaining the use of his tongue, Jake offered, "James Hellstrom, Major, United States Air Force," and recited Jim's serial number. As Griffin began to type in the words, he added, "How in hell do you expect to gain access to -- never mind, I've heard about what you can do with a computer and I don't want to know how you're getting into DOD databases." He sighed. "You were right. Everyone does call him 'Jim'. And I pray to God you can help me find him. I didn't know where else to turn that had a shot in hell of success -- so I broke my promise to Christine. Jim's life is far more important."

On the few occasions they'd met all those years before, Kermit had been impressed by Jake Hellstrom's command of almost any situation, which had seemed to him then nearly to rival Paul Blaisdell's. He knew enough about the man's involvement as a strategist during the Gulf War to understand exactly how keen a mind he possessed, even though he had long ago relinquished the notion that anyone else could approach Paul's instincts. If he could hear the fear, however tightly controlled, in this man's voice, Jim truly was in trouble. "What do you know about his disappearance?"

"Only why he was abducted somewhere between his TDY at the Pentagon and my house on Capitol Hill during rush hour -- and by whom."

Kermit had a sinking feeling the "by whom" part of the equation was the reason he'd been called; he must have run across the abductor in his mercenary days. "Tell me everything you know." He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes behind the sunglasses. While Jake talked, he'd hacked far enough into Jim's service record to know he'd been decorated for valor and had extensive Special Ops schooling in his background. No one abducted a man like that on one of the congested rush hour routes between the Pentagon and Capitol Hill without being noticed unless they were damn experienced at the job -- and if the kidnapping had been noticed, Jake Hellstrom would have told him exactly when and where it had happened.

"He was missing for thirty-six hours before a friend of mine at the Pentagon called to tell me -- unofficially -- that he was about to be listed as AWOL. It took another ten hours for me to receive the ransom demand. I got a phone call warning me that Jim dies unless I find a way within the next few weeks to crush the war crimes investigation so it doesn't ever start up again. I was warned that my resignation wouldn't suffice unless I also disbanded the commission and squashed the  investigation for once and for all."

"Did you ask to speak with Jim?" Kermit asked the question automatically, directed by years of experience with cases where an extortionist had no captive in his grasp to produce or where a kidnapper's victim was dead before the ransom call was placed.

"Of course I did" came the impatient snap. "Jim told me not to give in. Even while I could hear the sounds of them beating him, he kept telling me not to stop the investigation." Hellstrom stopped for a moment, then continued, "Kermit, I heard things over the years about you working as a mercenary, about some of the missions you and Paul Blaisdell pulled off. I think you may have worked with Jim's captor in the past, back when he was selling his services to the U.S. government instead of to the highest bidder. I'm being watched. I have no way of taking action to find our son. But if you could find Straker, maybe you could rescue him."

"Straker," Kermit growled. He'd always hated the man, hated his lack of moral qualms. "I'll get Jim out."

"He's not the only prisoner. Straker has others – mostly civilians with relatives in pivotal positions who are being blackmailed into doing his 'clients'' bidding. Jim managed to get that much out before they silenced him. Straker must be running a whole damn prison compound."

A tidal wave of unwelcome memories washed over Kermit as he heard the General's last sentence. Still watching those memories play out before his eyes, he told Jake, "I know a few people Straker might want. I can have one of them orchestrate his own capture and get me the coordinates, so I can take it from there in a manner Straker won't suspect." Kermit paused, then made a promise he knew another man had made -- and kept -- in somewhat similar circumstances at a time that seemed both a lifetime ago and only yesterday. "I'll find him and I'll bring him home -- alive."

Glancing over at his sleeping son, Kermit whispered, "No matter what you learn about me, Jim, never doubt that your life was more than worth the price I risked paying by entering Straker's camp."

***

"I think I'm going to go take a walk," Peter announced, wincing at the sound of his own voice. Placing his hand palm down on the kitchen table, he slowly began to get to his feet. Every muscle and joint in his body protested the effort, each either producing pain of its own or jolting enough to set off a chain reaction that went straight to his pounding head.

Paul's eyes swept first to the darkness outside the window, then to the kitchen clock. Annie released the case on her watch with a click and ran her fingers over the Braille dial inside. The sound of the latch releasing hit Peter's eardrums as if it had multiplied itself tenfold. Before Paul could say a word, Annie asked, "At 6:30 in the morning, Peter?" She eased the watch case closed as she spoke, the sound barely a whisper.

Peter began to nod, then thought better of the effort, largely because he feared it would tear his head off. "Yeah. Everybody's going to be getting up in a couple of minutes and the noise --" He shrugged, immediately regretting how quickly he'd moved. "And then you'll be cooking breakfast and just thinking about food turns my stomach." In truth, he was surprised the water his mother had insisted he drink before taking the two cups of coffee he craved had only subdued the taste of cotton wool in his mouth. He'd expected both to try to make a reappearance. More coffee might be welcome; the mere thought of food was not.

Annie's bare foot made contact with Paul's leg beneath the table, her movement an only slightly restrained kick. He gave her hand a soft squeeze in reassurance, then suggested, "It might be a good idea if you put on some clothes before you go outside, son."

Peter grinned, having anticipated the words the instant he saw his mother's foot swing. "Afraid I'll scare the neighbors?"

"More worried you'll catch your death of cold."

Peter considered his father's remark briefly before heading upstairs. Annie waited a few moments after his footsteps faded, then began to rise herself.

Paul intercepted her by placing a hand on her wrist. "Let's just sit a while and enjoy the morning – enjoy the quiet."

"I hate to break this to you, but you've been away far too long if you don't realize this calm is deceptive. It's only a matter of a few minutes time before our usual early morning chaos."

"I have been away far too long," Paul agreed. He chuckled. "Believe it or not, I missed early morning chaos in the Blaisdell household. But you're right, I suppose we'd better go get dressed ourselves before we get caught in the middle of our home version of Grand Central Station." Getting to his feet, he joined Annie for the walk upstairs.

As husband and wife climbed the stairs, Annie smiled to herself. A couple of days hence Paul would be grumbling about the logistics of three people getting their acts together in the morning, wondering aloud when the two of them were out of their daughter's earshot how they'd ever done it when morning included getting three kids off to school. She'd be laughing at him, knowing what a fraud he was, knowing he missed those days and longed for the all too rare times the whole family was under one roof as much as she did. And when he starts those complaints again, she thought, then I'll know this house is back to normal.

***

What the hell did I say last night that Mom and Paul are being so cautious around me this morning? Peter wondered as he buttoned his shirt, never once guessing that they might merely have been sympathetic to the hangover that threatened to shatter his skull. His mind raced as he thought back on the previous evening. Parts of it were a blur, but the details he remembered caused him to flush red with embarrassment. Had he really talked so long -- and practically nonstop -- about Jericho? Way to go, Peter. It's Paul's homecoming, so you manage to regale the whole family, not to mention Jim Hellstrom, with tales about the very man who took Paul away in the first place.

A vague sense of unease made itself known and turned to dread as Peter tried to identify the reason for it. If he'd done something way out of line his parents would have told him, wouldn't they? Peter thought about the question for a few seconds, then decided that, yes, they'd have been honest with him. So why the hell do I feel so damn embarrassed -- and at the same time like I really hurt somebody?

The first image that struck him was of the argument he'd begun to have with Caine; the recollection carried with it the sense that he'd shamed himself by the harsh way in which he'd spoken to his father. Thoughts of how he'd screwed up on that score -- again -- were fleeting as another set of memories made themselves known.

Jody. Peter groaned as his partner's name entered his mind, the mere thought of their closeness the night before causing an unwelcome stirring in his loins. He'd done it again, hurt Jody again with his own selfishness. The clarity of sobriety and the brief exercise of some of his Shaolin senses allowed him to remember what he hadn't registered last night -- Jody's awkwardness as he dragged her into the middle of his family and, earlier, the horrified expression on her face when Jim assumed she was Peter's girlfriend.

The last thing on earth Peter wanted to do was hurt Jody more than he already had. Ordinarily his instinct was to be more careful around her than around any other woman. Because you couldn't take another Kira, a voice inside taunted him. Peter agreed with that voice, doing his damnedest to silence the traitorous one simultaneously denying that motivation. Is it really that you can't take another Kira, Caine, or that you're afraid one day Jody won't be able to forgive you for it any longer? Isn't that really what you can't take -- the idea of Jody looking at you with hatred and accusation in her eyes?

Disgusted with himself, Peter left the bedroom and headed downstairs. He'd been so damn selfish last night that all he'd thought of was taking the edge off his own pain, off the harrowing fear and crippling guilt he'd lived with for the past four days -- and he'd used Jody to do it. He'd taken advantage of Jody's compassion, drawing on her strength so much he was sure he must have drained it. And what did I give her in return? Absolutely nothing. How am I gonna face her?

***

Jody turned over on her side, burrowing back under her comforter before she braved the chill of an apartment that had been closed the last four days. Right now she didn't even want to face the cold long enough to pad over to the thermostat to turn up the heat. The extra minutes of sleep she'd promised herself proved elusive, and Jody restlessly flipped over onto her back as she tried to make sense of her muddled thoughts.

One arm snaked out from under the covers long enough to hit the radio's on button. Music had always helped her think; maybe it would help her make some sense out of what had happened last night.

Replaying the evening in her head, Jody groaned. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise, there was no escaping the fact she'd had no right to do what she'd done the night before. She cringed as she remembered the way she'd overstepped her bounds. The worst part, she decided, was that she hadn't learned her lesson. If given the chance again tomorrow, she'd still intervene, still give Peter "permission" to love both his families, still convince him to be part of his family's togetherness -- to let himself be Paul Blaisdell's son when he needed to, still cajole him to go home to the Blaisdell house as he so desperately wanted. Yet she didn't have a right to have done any of it. The actions she'd taken had been the province of a wife; she had no claim on Peter Caine's heart in legality nor acknowledged fact, no matter how much she wished it otherwise.

You should have stood back and let Peter's family handle this, she berated herself. Peter's family. That was the other piece of the equation, the other way she'd screwed up. She'd had no place at that table last night, yet she'd made only a token protest before allowing Peter to persuade her to join the Blaisdell clan. If she'd really left Peter's side when she went to talk to Mary Margaret, perhaps she would have salvaged some of her dignity. Instead she'd let her desire to be with Peter -- and her desire to help salve his emotional wounds -- override her common sense. I shouldn't have been there. That was just family, except for Jim Hellstrom. And at least he knew it wasn't his place to be there. I acted like I had every right. She should have felt guilty, Jody mused, but she just felt as if what she'd done had been the most natural thing in the world.

So how the hell do I face Peter when we go back to work today? Jody groaned again as another thought occurred to her, forcing her to fight the urge to pull the covers over her head in mortification. If I think facing Peter's going to be bad after the way I acted last night, how in the world am I supposed to face Inspector Blaisdell?

***

By the time Peter reached the bottom of the stairs, the idea of taking a walk no longer held as much appeal.  Physical exertion was becoming a concept which was anathema to him. Yet the idea of cold fresh air sounded better and better. "Anybody seen my keys?" Peter wondered, trying to remember where he'd put them, as he entered the kitchen and spotted his parents.

"I know you didn't use them last night, so where was the last place you remember putting them?" Annie asked.

Peter made a face he knew his mother couldn't see as he thrust a hand into the pocket of his leather jacket and came up empty. He tried the other pocket, then each of his jeans pockets, meeting with the same result. "Bet they're up on the dresser," he groaned, in no mood to go back upstairs.

"Relax, Peter, I'm sure your mother won't lock us out." He swung his eyes in Paul's direction with a start, certain that confusion was playing on his features. "That's if you'd care for a little company on your walk, of course."

"Walk and talk?" Peter's tone was a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

"No lectures, son. Not even any conversation unless you want it. Just company."

Peter grinned. "I think I'd like that." Speaking to himself, he added, "I missed all the times we spent like that."

Paul briefly rested a hand on his son's shoulder. "So did I, Peter."

***

"You have time to stay here and have breakfast with my family," Carolyn argued. "You haven't been at work for almost four days, you can afford to wait a couple of more hours. It's not even as though you'd be late."

"Do you have any idea how much in commissions that four days may have cost me?" her husband returned. "Do you honestly think I can afford to let any more time go by?"

"Oh, for God's sake, stop being so melodramatic, Todd. I saw your book, I know you had nothing but cold calls set up the past several days. You don't have anything but cold calls the next couple of weeks. What guarantee is there that you'd be even one sale ahead of the game if you'd worked the past four days?"

"Nice expression of confidence in your husband, Carolyn," Todd retorted coldly as he knotted his tie.

"Oh, for the love of God." Carolyn slammed down her hairbrush, listening to a satisfying "thwack" as it struck the polished wood of the dresser. "I didn't mean you were a bad salesman, I just meant you weren't even supposed to be making sales calls on people who'd inquired about the product and the people you were supposed to meet with might not have had any use for it -- from your company or any competitor."

"We'll never know how many sales I lost because of all this, though, will we?"

Carolyn shook her head in exasperation. Didn't take you long to forget how scared you were back at the safe house or how poorly you handled it, did it? "At least you're alive to make future sales. Damn it, Todd, if you want to run out on my family to try to make some damn sales numbers, fine, but Brian and I are staying for breakfast. What you do is your decision. If a couple of cold calls are so important to you --"

"We can't all dedicate our lives to saving the world like your father and your brother. Maybe you should have married a cop, since it's more clear every day that you'll always measure me against that standard and find me lacking."

"I never tried to measure you against any standard," Carolyn replied in a quiet voice as passionate as his had been icy. "I fell in love with you and I married you not that long afterwards. I fell in love with you, Todd, not with a salesman and not with a man I was going to measure against anyone else -- with you. Don't try to tell me I've been the one with unrealistic expectations or that all our problems have been my fault."

"Fine, I'll stay for breakfast since it's obviously so important to you. Just remember, though, that all I wanted to do was go home, get everything in order, and go to work. I wasn't going to run out on my family for their own good." Todd yanked open the door into the hallway, nearly knocking over Kelly in the process. Without apologizing, he stalked past her.

Lowering her right hand, which had been poised to knock, Kelly stuck out her tongue at her brother-in-law's retreating back. "Maybe I shouldn't have given the two of you all that time alone to get ready," she suggested as Brian struggled to clamber down from his position in her left arm.

Carolyn reached out for her son and held him tightly as she responded. "No, I'm glad you helped out with Brian this morning. I think Todd and I needed to say some things to each other." Moving to join her sister in the hallway, she eased the door shut behind her. "Come on, let's go downstairs."

"Carolyn, I heard some of it."

"Don't worry about it. It's my problem." Carolyn watched Kelly start to descend the stairs, then whispered to herself before following, "Maybe I did make a mistake, Todd. You didn't have to be a cop, but maybe I should have known better than to think you'd develop more tolerance for those who are... or that I can live with your growing contempt for them."

***

Peter absently set the porch swing in motion with the toe of one boot. The gentle movement made him slightly queasy. Closing his eyes, he halted the swing and took in a deep breath. Cold, clear air filled his lungs as he sought to regulate his breathing. To his surprise, finding his center wasn't terribly difficult, and he managed to relax himself enough to quell the returning nausea and still the throbbing in his head to a certain degree.

As the physical symptoms of his hangover subsided, Peter allowed himself to reach out his senses and try to read the morning's effect on those close to him. A sense of well-being and peace filled him as the reality of Paul's return -- for good -- and his family's elation over it began to sink in. For the past few days, he'd been trying to deny his own fear that this was merely a fragile fantasy, soon destined to be shattered. Now he saw the more substantial truth. His joy was enhanced as he extended his senses further and briefly touched his father's mind with his own. Even without exerting himself to "mind speak", he grasped that Caine was happy for him and that he need not feel guilty over being at the Blaisdell house because his choice to go there the night before had been understood and accepted.

Relief seeped into Paul's bones as he watched his son's countenance grow calmer, the strain etched into Peter's features easing. When they'd first stepped outside, he'd guessed from the physical pain evident in the young man's movements that they weren't going far. Peter's gravitation to the porch swing hadn't surprised him; his silence had. The longer Peter had gone without speaking or encouraging conversation, the more alarmed Paul had become -- until the idle movement of the swing had begun.

The calm that had followed was a side to his son he had rarely seen, though he could recall Peter's frustration when he thought he'd failed Caine and his heritage by being unable to slip into a meditative state as easily as his father. Today the relaxation, when it came, had appeared to be second nature. Easing himself down onto the swing beside Peter, Paul felt bitterly disappointed that he'd cost himself the opportunity to witness Peter's excitement the first time he realized he could achieve this state with any type of consistency.

Gathering strength from the love and happiness he could feel surrounding him, Peter opted to extend his senses further. Doing so without first concentrating on drastically easing his own physical pain was a mistake. The aches in his head and ribs and the soreness of his bruised throat intruded on his effort to control the sensory intake. A barrage of images and emotions came at him at once. His facial muscles involuntarily contorted in puzzlement as he tried to sort them out.

Anger, fire and ice, sliced at him, its source (or sources) clouded. Confusion mingled with embarrassment -- those emotions were easy to place. They were his own. Yet identifying them as such didn't allow him to put them in their proper place. Probing a bit further, Peter realized, stunned, that he could identify an equal amount of those emotions as Jody's. But what in the hell does she have to be embarrassed about?

More confusion, this time mixed with awe and wonderment, penetrated. Peter grinned inwardly. Unlike his own and Jody's, this bewilderment was a positive force, a foundation for hope for the future. It didn't surprise him in the least that he could so effortlessly identify one of its sources as Kermit. He probably could have done so nearly this easily a week ago and, since the chi strengthening, Kermit's essence was as familiar to him as his own. Peter made a mental note to ask Caine if the link he'd established then would last or merely linger for a while as an aftereffect of his efforts at healing. His fairly rapid recognition that the other source of this bewilderment was Jim Hellstrom did surprise him, until he realized he had probably pegged it so readily because there were so many traces of Kermit evident in his son.

Carefully, Peter began to test the vestiges of the link he'd created between himself and Kermit three nights before. He withdrew almost immediately, sensing the older man's resistance. Though he'd had no chance to probe, the emotional tempest he'd tapped into three nights earlier had made itself known to him again. This time, without his senses narrowed to the single link, the remembered storm coexisted in Peter's mind with a multitude of other disturbances.

Bone-chilling fear, so far along it approached terror, made itself known. It was his own and that of others -- too many others -- hunted by Jericho over the past four days. Peter wondered why the fear was still so alive to him despite Jericho's defeat, but found himself distracted by the reassertion of the odd twinning of fire and ice. As crystalline as the anger was, he still couldn't identify its sources. He could only question why he found himself drawn to the fire. As always was the case when he focused on fire, in Peter's mind's eye the white hot intensity of the fire mirrored the flames that had consumed the temple. Yet now he felt himself inexplicably drawn by the warmth of the fire, praying it could melt the ice that opposed it.

Peter blinked, a sudden awareness that the sky was growing brighter penetrating his senses. For the past few days sunrise had struck him as a rebuke, a harsh reminder of his failure to stop Jericho before he killed again and of everyone's helplessness against the poison. Today... today the soft light filling the sky sent peace coursing through his soul.

Stealing a sidelong glance at Paul, Peter noticed that the sunrise seemed to be having much the same effect on the older man as on him. He could sense an underlying sadness, however. "Paul? Are you all right?"

"Just thinking."

"About what?" Hastily, Peter tried to retract his query. "Never mind, I didn't have any right to ask, you don't need to answer me."

"You have every right to ask, son. There's nothing wrong with being curious -- and you weren't exactly intruding on deeply private thoughts."

"So what were you thinking?"

"How strange it seems to welcome sunrise again, rather than greet it with a growing dread. It's been a long time since dawn meant more than one step closer to the end, one more precious day taken from my family -- and one less chance we'd ever be together again."

Peter could find no words to respond. What these years had cost Paul were apparent in the older man's every word, as was Paul's keen awareness of the price that had been paid by every single person he loved. The others might be ready to confront that reality; Peter was certain that verbally acknowledging that pain could only deepen the wounds. Instead of speaking, he draped a companionable arm around his father's shoulders as the two watched the sun rise.

***

The first thing Jim Hellstrom's internal clock told him was that it was late. Not just late for waking up when the military was your job, but late for even late risers to awaken. The next was that the internal clock itself was royally screwed up. It was telling him it was early afternoon, yet when he cracked his eyelids open a slit he could see dim rays of predawn light -- which meant a more accurate guess at the time would be about six hours earlier than his initial supposition. And that meant -- that had to mean -- he was back in the States.

Still half asleep, Jim shifted position, gradually realizing he was sleeping in a chair. What the hell? he thought, becoming aware of a dull headache and a mouth that felt a little like cotton wool. Guess I drank too much last night, but... Oh yeah, wait a minute, that's right, we were celebrating Jericho's defeat. And that explains why I'm back stateside. So, if that was real, so was the rest of it. Forcing his eyes open, he met the scrutiny he could feel directed at him from behind green lenses and asked, "How long have I been asleep?"

Kermit hid a grin at the embarrassment in his son's voice as he replied, "Just a couple of hours. You needed your rest." Where the hell did that come from?

"Probably just should have stayed awake until tonight, gotten off Aviano time." Jim stood, stretched, and cracked an especially stiff portion of his back to work out the kinks. "Don't you think my age is a bit late for a long-lost father to start worrying about whether I need my rest?"

"Kid, that comment had nothing to do with fatherly concern. That was a friendly warning. You're here for three weeks and you'll be lucky if Marilyn lets you out of her sights during those three weeks."

"I can handle anyone. I can handle Marilyn."

"You may think you can, kid, but trust me on this one. Once Marilyn sets her mind on something, there's not a single member of her family who can say no to her -- mainly because she starts acting like a human steamroller."

So that tendency runs in the family? "Raked you over the coals in her time, huh, Dad?"

Kermit briefly wondered at Jim's easy use of the word "Dad", which he'd presumed wouldn't last past the alcohol wearing off. "Oh yeah. More often than I care to admit."

***

"Where are Peter and Dad?" Kelly asked, swallowing a mouthful of orange juice.

"Out on the porch," Annie replied. She heard the front door close. "Correction. They're on their way in here."

"If he wasn't with Dad, I'd say Peter was hiding from me because of what he did to my car," Kelly grumbled.

"If he was smart, he would be." Carolyn laughed. "I know you're going to make him pay for that."

"Wouldn't you?"

"Of course. I --" Carolyn broke off, thinking better of continuing as her brother and father entered the kitchen. Paul joined the others at the table, while Peter poured himself a cup of coffee and pulled a chair away from the table, distancing himself from the food as much as possible.

"You're not eating, Peter?" Todd asked.

Peter shook his head. Carolyn shot her husband a glare; his answering look said, "What did I do now?"

"Funny, I would have thought you'd want some fortification before we talked about what happened to my car." Kelly put a forkful of eggs into her mouth as she awaited her brother's response.

"Kelly, I never would have 'borrowed' your car in the first place if I thought Jericho could get to it. You know me, you know --"

"I know you'd have asked me if I'd been here, right, Peter?"

"Actually, you'd have coaxed and cajoled and wheedled until it was easier for Kelly to agree to let you take the car than put up with you for one more minute," Carolyn chimed in.

Peter reddened. "I didn't tell you everything last night and I know you'll want to kill me and you have every right to. I tried to file the insurance claim, but this isn't covered at all because a bomb destroyed the car. So --"

"But you didn't say anything about that when I told you you were going to pay for what the insurance didn't."

"Yeah, well, I was a little too busy with other things."

"Like what? You didn't have your first drink to keep you busy yet."

"Cute, Kel." Peter sighed. "I was trying to figure out how I was going to manage to buy you a new car and pay for whatever part of the repairs on the Stealth insurance and the department wouldn't handle without bankrupting myself."

"Hey, cool, my big brother's buying me a new car." Kelly smiled brilliantly; Peter realized he'd just jumped into dangerous waters and begun to sink fast. "I'll have to start thinking about what kind I want. Of course, even though I'm not paying for it, I'll probably have to settle for some old lemon if I expect to be able to afford the insurance. My rates are going through the roof, aren't they?"

"Well, yeah."

"Can I guess? Are they hitting that most expensive 'male driver under the age of twenty-five' bracket?" Turning her attention away from him, she added, "Mom, Dad, I bet you never thought my rates could go anywhere near as high as Peter's -- especially since I've never had an accident."

"How many have you had, Peter?" Carolyn asked.

Peter suddenly found the liquid in his coffee cup fascinating. Carolyn stopped the teasing, reasoning it was no fun to rib her brother if he wasn't going to play the game.

Kelly's voice dropped into the silence, its tone saccharine-sweet. "Peter, you haven't had anything to eat yet. Why don't you let me fix you something before we go car shopping?"

"No thanks, I'm not hungry."

"Oh, come on, Mom made this nice big breakfast. Don't you think you'd feel better if you put some food in your stomach? You know what they say about breakfast being the most important meal of the day. And you know you'll need some fortification before you look at the sticker prices on the car lots."

"Kelly, leave your brother alone. You've made your point." Paul's tone was mildly chiding. "I think he's suffering enough for all he drank last night."

"What about for my car?" Kelly's eyes sparkled with mischief.

Without looking up from the piece of toast he was buttering, Paul said his daughter's full name in a warning tone. "Kelly Ann Blaisdell."

"Yes?"

"Don't even think it. Let Peter be. I'll sort things out about the car. Now drop it."

Peter choked on his coffee. Sounds to me like Paul's about ready to decree that he'll buy Kelly her new car and pay the increase in her insurance rates. Why is he protecting me like that? Kelly's right -- I owe her both a new car and help paying the insurance. Guess I'd better hope I can rack up a hell of a lot of overtime because, from the smile on Kelly's face, I think I'll end up buying her an awfully nice car. Draining his cup, he stood and announced, "I'm going to head to the precinct."

"You and I both have the day off, my call, which happened to agree with the way Frank was going to fill out the duty roster with regard to you." Paul paused, then