Faithfulness in the Center

Part 11

Det. Morgan, miffed at her encounter with Peter, decided to hit the lady's room to freshen up before going out onto the streets. As she approached the door to the facility, she saw Jody Powell approaching from the opposite direction.

"Hey, Powell. Haven't seen you all day. Where you been keeping yourself," she held the door open for the blond detective.

"Actually, I've been working the scene of the shooting with T.J." Jody responded as she closed the stall door behind her.

"Kermit's shooting?" Morgan clarified from the next stall.

"Yep. The Captain wanted everything examined in daylight. I think we covered just about every angle possible."

"Why bother?" Morgan muttered.

"What do you mean 'why bother?'" Jody's voice was clearly mystified.

"Kermit shot the perp and that girl. What's the point of going over the scene. It's a waste of time and manpower," Morgan complained.

Jody exited her stall and walked to the lavatory to wash her hands, looking in the mirror to watch Morgan exit the neighboring stall, "Okay, Kermit shot them. But it was an accident. The Captain just wants to make sure that all of the facts supporting that conclusion are documented."

"Bull shit," Morgan grumbled. "I've seen the way the Simms looks at Griffin. She's got a thing for him and she's doing everything in her power to protect him. Just like Caine . . .just like Blaisdell."

"What's your problem?" Jody frowned at the woman.

"You wanna know what my problem is? Blaisdell set Griffin up in a nice cushy job despite the fact that the man had absolutely no experience at being a cop. Hell, he was made a detective his first day on the job, while I had to walk a beat for five years until I made it to detective. I'm sick and tired of everyone in this precinct coddling the geek. To top it all off, from what I hear, the man was a mercenary for hire. . .a hired killer. . .no different than the scum we pull off the street everyday." Morgan's tirade was complete and she stormed out of the restroom, leaving Jody in her wake.

Jody shook her head, not sure of what storm had just blown through. She looked in the mirror, debated on freshening her makeup, decided it was too much effort and left the lady's room.

Neither Morgan nor Powell had noticed that the door of the last stall in the restroom was closed. . .that the occupant had never revealed herself to the police officers. Now that the coast was clear, Sandra Mason exited the stall, approached the lavatory, looked at her reflection in the mirror and grinned like the cat who had finally caught the ever illusive mouse. "You are mine, Detective Griffin."

Peter leaned back in his chair, glancing at the clock. Thankfully, it was almost 5:00. The day couldn't be over soon enough. The afternoon had been spent fielding phone calls from the press and the outraged public. Even though the callers were ultimately referred to the police department's public relations office, the complaints had to come to the precinct first.

Peter looked at Griffin's closed office door. The man had never left the office, not even to go to the john. Peter shook his head, grinning, "Kinda reminds me of Pop."

He climbed slowly from his chair, his joints slightly stiff. He leaned backwards, stretching his back and looked around. The 4:00 shift change had resulted in new faces coming in for the night. Mary Margaret and Jody had both left, as had T.J. and Blake. Everyone was tired after the events of the previous night.

Peter looked at the Captain's office. She was still inside, diligently working at her desk. He walked to the open door and tapped on the frame, "Captain?"

Simms looked up with tired eyes, "What can I do for you Detective?"

Peter entered the office hesitantly, "You were here all night, weren't you Captain?"

Simms didn't reply. Peter continued, "Why don't you go home and get some sleep. I think the next few days are gonna be kind of rough on all of us."

Simms smiled at the young man, his hazel eyes expressing his worry, "Thank you for your concern, Detective. I intend to head home as soon as I review this last report."

Peter nodded and looked suspiciously at the Captain, "You wouldn't be stalling so that you can make sure Kermit's okay, would you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," her voice couldn't mask the concern in her eyes.

"It's just that. . .well, I have seen. . ." Peter stammered, saw the disapproval in Simm's eyes, and instead finished the sentence with "Never mind."

Karen cleared her throat, "Isn't your shift over, Detective?"

Peter's voice was quiet in its response, "Uh, yeah," he muttered.

"Then I think it's time for you to go home, don't you?" Karen stood and escorted the younger man out the office, shutting the door behind him. As the door clicked shut, he heard her say, "Even Shaolin cops need their sleep, don't they?"

Peter grimaced at the reference and shook his head. He could see his Captain's feelings for Kermit in her eyes. He could feel her growing passion for the man. Ever since the earthquake, there had been a spark between the two. He didn't have to be Shaolin to feel that heat.

He walked back to his desk, turned off his computer and went to Kermit's closed door. Knocking on the glass, he turned the handle and found the doorknob wouldn't turn. "Kermit," he called out through the glass. "Open up."

There was no response from the other side. "Come on, Griffin. Let me in," he ordered insistently.

Still, there was no response. Peter grinned as he decided on using a different tactic with the ex-mercenary, "Kermit, I had two sisters who occupied the bathroom for hours on end. I've had a lot of practice at convincing the occupant of a locked room to open up the door. I can stand out here and harass you longer than you can stay in there and ignore me. . .trust me on this one."

Peter heard the sound of the lock being undone. He tried the handle again and this time, the door opened. "Real funny, Caine," Kermit muttered.

"Hey, whatever works, right?" Peter shrugged his shoulders and walked into the office. "I'm here to take you home."

"I drove, remember?" Kermit growled.

"Yeah, I know. But I thought that I'd follow you to your place and we could order a pizza or something. . .maybe watch the game."

"I don’t need a babysitter." Kermit turned to his computer and typed a few words out.

"I know you don't need a babysitter. I'm not a babysitter. You need a friend. . .and I am a friend." Peter picked up Kermit's jacket and tossed it to the sunglass-wearing man, "Come on, friend. Let's get out of here."

Surprisingly, Kermit didn't argue any further. He looked at the computer, sighed deeply and turned off the monitor. Standing, he followed Caine out of the office, stunned that he didn't put up more of a resistance.

As promised, Peter followed Kermit to his apartment. Within an hour, pizza had been delivered, beers had been opened and the game was starting. "Guess it's a good thing you aren't taking the pain pills, huh?" Peter tried to make light conversation as he downed several gulps of his beer.

Kermit nodded absently, chewing slowly on a slice of pizza. His sunglasses still covered his eyes, but Peter could feel that the man's attention was not on the meal, the conversation or the game that was about to begin.

"How's the shoulder?" Peter asked.

Kermit still stared straight ahead. Peter asked again, louder this time, "Hey Kermit, how's the shoulder."

Startled out of his gaze, he turned his eyes towards Peter, "Huh?"

"Are you okay." Peter asked, concerned.

Kermit nodded and drank from his cold beer bottle. Peter could see the man was relaxing with the alcohol that was entering his body. Peter had not seen the ex-mercenary drink much, an odd beer here and there, and therefore, he had to wonder about his tolerance level.

Peter knew from experience that if Kermit didn't want to talk, Kermit wouldn't talk. So instead, he turned to the television to watch the face-off, deciding that the best way he could help Kermit was by being there when his friend decided to open up. He sighed quietly, he could be there a long time. . .good thing hockey games last so long.

Periodically, he glanced at his friend. Kermit had finished his slice of pizza and now held his half-finished bottle of beer in his right hand. Confirming that the man was okay, Peter turned back to the television. The voice coming from Kermit was so quiet that he could barely hear it over the sound of the announcer's voice, "Peter?"

Peter turned to Kermit, "Yeah?"

"What happened?" Kermit's voice remained soft.

Peter picked up the remote control and turned off the television. "What happened when?" Peter frowned, clearly confused by the older man's question.

"What happened when Stiles kidnapped us?" Kermit asked.

Peter was stunned. He hadn't expected this question to come from the man. He knew that memories of what had happened that night had been randomly assaulting the ex-mercenary, but he never thought the man would consider asking another. . .especially Peter. . .for enlightenment. He figured that after they had broached the subject the previous night, Kermit would not bring it out into the open again.

"What do you mean, 'what happened with Stiles? We told you what happened. Stiles kidnapped us so as to take revenge on Paul. His plan failed. We were rescued." Peter's swallowed deeply, hoping that the short explanation would be enough for his friend, but fearing that it wouldn't.

Kermit shook his head, "No, that's not what happened. Don't lie to me Peter."

"I'm not lying, Kermit."

"Damn it, Kid. I can see it in your eyes. There's something you're not telling me. Something that you don’t want me to know."

Peter shook his head, ready to deny Kermit's accusations again. He wasn't lying. Kermit and he had been kidnapped by Stiles. . .taken against their will. The rest of what happened wasn't important now. . .Remembering could only do more harm than good.

Kermit could see the truth in Peter's eyes, "Get out!" Kermit stood and walked away from his friend.

"What?" Peter stammered, floored by the man's order.

"I said, 'get out'." Kermit repeated, walking out of the living room and down the hall towards his bedroom. Peter followed the man, as Kermit continued yelling, "If you can't tell me the truth about what happened that night, then you can leave. You're of no help to me."

The words stung Peter. . .and, they broke his heart. He weighed his options carefully. Kermit had never been told about what had happened when Stiles had taken them because, frankly, Griffin hadn't remembered the events. There was no need to tell the man of the tortures he had inflicted upon Peter. Nothing could be gained by such knowledge. But now, Kermit was remembering. The shooting of Stephanie Porter had awakened the hidden memories, and now the flashes of pain and rage were returning.

If Peter didn't help Kermit sort out those memories now, Kermit would try to sort them out himself and in his current state of mind, only bad things could follow; the wrong conclusions would be reached. Taking a deep breath, Peter knew deep inside that he would have to guide Kermit through the memories, putting the horrific visions in their proper place. . .allowing the ex-mercenary to deal with the pain of what he had done to his friend. "Oh Pop, give me strength," he prayed.

End Part 11

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