Knowing the White,

Keep the Black

By Terri D. Thomas

Part 7

"Peter?" Kwai Chang Caine felt the piercing pain through the back of his skull as if he had been hit. He was briefly disoriented and leaned against the side of the building to steady himself. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his son's essence. He could sense nothing. Redirecting his chi energy, he reached out to Lo Si. Immediately he felt the comfort of the old man's presence.

"Kwai Chang Caine, it is good to make contact with you again," the Ancient's calmness immediately put the younger Shambalah Master at ease.

"Master, I am glad you are able to feel my presence. I am concerned that something has happened to Peter. I felt his pain. Has he had a relapse from his injuries?"

Lo Si did not respond for a moment. "No, Kwai Chang Caine. Peter came to see me this morning and he was in good health."

"Then something else has happened to him, I fear." Caine thought worriedly.

Lo Si picked up on the thought. "I too feel that he is. . .in danger, again."

"I must help my son. I will return immed. . ." Before Caine could complete the expression of his intent, Lo Si interrupted with a quick "No."

"But, Master, I must. He is hurt. I must assist him. I was not there for him when he needed me a few days ago. I must be with him now."

"No, Kwai Chang Caine. You know that you were with Peter. It was you who saved him. It is true that he does not understand or accept this, but you know the truth. Do not lie to yourself or to me."

"But Master, I want to be with him." Caine insisted.

"No, Kwai Chang Caine. Now is not the time." Lo Si ordered.

"He needs me."

"He does not." Lo Si's voice was harsh. "Your son believes he can no longer help himself. . .he has lost faith in his abilities. You can not interfere now or the damage you will do to young Peter will be worse that any pain suffered."

"But if my son is killed, it won't matter." Caine's anger rose.

"Kwai Chang Caine, you will listen to me. You will not interfere. Peter can fight this battle by himself. . .he must fight this battle by himself."

There was no response from Peter's father for a long time. Lo Si was not certain that Caine would listen to the wise words of his elder. Finally, all Lo Si received as a response was "Very well, Master."

Kermit groaned as he tried to move out from under Peter's body. The weight on top of him was making the pain in the shoulder unbearable and was reeking havoc on his ability to breathe. His left arm was pinned beneath Peter's back. He tried yanking it out, but there wasn't enough room in the small hole to get leverage. He had tried waking the young cop, but could get no response. Peter was out cold, blood seeping from a deep gash in the back of his head, dripping onto the dirt. He struggled to push against Peter in an effort to roll him off, but that tactic didn't work, either. All Kermit could do was wait for Peter to wake.

He could hear the voices of the men who had dropped Peter down the pit. The man with the rifle peaked over the side, a grin crossing his face. "Well, we talked about it. Today's your lucky day. We took a vote. Dan wanted to shoot the both of you and bury you here, but Bart and I decided that you two might be valuable to us. So we're gonna leave you down here 'til we're sure that none of your cop friends are followin'. Of course, once we know we're clear. . .well let's just say that we don't have much use for dead weight." The unnamed man stood and took a step back. Kermit could hear the sound of an engine, the Oldsmobile he guessed. The rumbling moved closer and suddenly the sun was blocked out. The men had pulled the car over the top of the hole, effectively blocking the light. What little light peaked through was suddenly dimmed when the camouflage netting was thrown back over the car, leaving the ex-mercenary and cop in the dark.

Peter stirred against Kermit, a groan coming from deep in his throat. "Hey Kid, wake up," Kermit coaxed. Peter's head slowly moved from side to side, his arms and legs twitching slightly in the cramped space. Kermit repeated his words of encouragement.

"Oh my head," Peter moaned, "Where. . .?"

"Smarts, doesn't it." Kermit suddenly grunted when Peter's elbow moved back into Kermit's chest. "Easy there," he warned, "you've got me pinned."

It seemed to take a minute before Peter realized what Kermit meant. It suddenly dawned on him that Kermit's voice was coming from beneath him, and the ground was extraordinarily lumpy. Peter turned slightly and Kermit stifled a gasp of pain. "Oh man, I'm sorry," Peter said upon realizing that it was Kermit's lumpy body he felt under him, not the ground. Peter gingerly moved himself off the older man, but in the darkness, didn't know where it was safe to move to. He successfully found a place to put his hands and knees, and he crawled off the man. Kermit took a deep breath in relief, but then groaned deeply.

"Damn it," the mercenary growled, "now my left arm's asleep. Hey, Pete, reach into my shirt pocket. I have a pen light in there."

Peter patted his way gently and connected with the sling of Kermit's right arm, "Sorry." He kept on his search until he found what he was looking for. He pulled the pen out and flipped the switch. A dim light played across the hole, Peter looked down at Kermit's face, still lying curled next to him. "Unbelievable," Peter couldn't help but say, as he shook his head, dumbfounded.

"What?" Kermit asked, frowning in confusion.

"Your sunglasses never fell off."

"Yeah. . .okay. . .great, thanks, we'll check it out." Frank Strenlich hung up the phone and turned to an anxious Paul Blaisdell. "Highway Patrol just received a report from a trucker who said that he saw the black Olds and a blue Stealth heading north on 197, about three miles north of the city limits. They were doing about 85 mph when they sailed by him."

"Did he see where they went?" Paul rubbed at his head absently.

"No, but the Highway Patrol set up a roadblock at Grantville, and neither of the cars went through."

"Then that means that the robbers, Peter and Kermit are somewhere in between. Focus the search in that area, starting at 197 and heading east and west, since there have been no other reports of the Olds on the other major highways."

"That's a huge area Paul." Frank couldn't help but point out the obvious.

"I know it, but we don' have any other leads." Paul turned around without saying anything more and walked into his office. He shut the door behind him and closed the blinds. Leaning against the wall, he closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest. "Damn it, not again," he moaned. It was just a few days ago that he had thought his son and friend would be killed. He had been ecstatic when they had both made it through the crisis unscathed. Now they were right back where they started at the beginning of the week. . .up to their necks in trouble. "I swear to God, Peter Caine, if you make it back here in one piece I'm gonna chain you to your desk and throw away the key," and then another thought struck Paul, "and I'm gonna make sure that a certain ex-mercenary is sitting right beside you."

Peter had successfully maneuvered himself to a sitting position, legs crossed in front of him. He lightly touched the knot growing on the back of his head, blood staining his hand. Kermit's pain prevented him from sitting upright, so Peter did his best to move the man's body gently into a half-sitting, half-lying down position, resting against Peter's side.

"Well, this is another fine mess you've gotten me into." Kermit chuckled.

"Me?" Peter responded. "If I remember right, you were the one who almost got me killed this week. Remember, I was the pawn."

Kermit turned slightly, "No, if I remember correctly, I was the pawn. You were the innocent bystander."

"Oh, yeah. I remember now."

"So do you have any bright ideas of how were going to get out of this tomb?"

"Not yet," Peter said. "If Pop were here, he'd find a way out."

"Paul wouldn't be stupid enough to come out here without backup in the first place." Kermit moved slightly, groaning in response. "We were idiots."

"I didn't mean Paul." Peter corrected. "I meant my real father."

Kermit frowned. "Real father? I thought your real father was dead. I could've sworn Annie told me that."

"He was. . .I mean, we thought he was." Peter was quiet. He didn't like talking about the lies that had kept his father and him separated for the fifteen years. "We found each other last year."

Kermit didn't say anything, still frowning. "Bet that was pretty hard on Paul, huh."

Peter smiled slightly, "Paul took it all in stride. He supported me every step of the way."

"Paul's a great man. You're lucky to have him as a foster father." Kermit responded quietly.

"Yeah, I know."

"So what happened." Kermit's voice became louder again.

"What do you mean?"

"You said that you thought your father was dead. Why did it take him fifteen years to find you?" It was the same question that Peter asked himself every day.

"He thought I was dead. We were both told that the other had died."

"Who would do something like that?"

Peter let out an angry laugh, "a family friend. . .Can you believe it?"

"With friends like that. . ." Kermit followed.

"Yeah, no kidding. My dad keeps trying to tell me that it was for the best, but I don't think I'll ever forgive what was done to us."

Kermit didn't respond for a moment. Then he took a deep breath, "Yeah, I know what you mean."

"What?"

"About blaming someone for losing your father." Sitting in the dark, Kermit couldn't help the images and memories that suddenly assaulted his mind. "When I was twelve, my father was killed."

Peter was silent, suddenly feeling guilty, but not sure why. "What happened?"

"Let's just say that he decided to play hero. He was killed during a mission in northern Africa."

"He was a mercenary, too?" Peter couldn't help his surprise.

"No, he was in Special Ops with military intelligence." Kermit's voice sounded very distant suddenly. "He was my idol. I worshipped the ground he walked on. And then one day, he left for a long trip and he didn't come back. Ends up that he threw himself in front of an assassin's bullet meant for someone else. . .a buddy of his. I'd give anything to have him back. . .to have just one more chance to tell him how much. . ." his voice trailed off.

"How much you love him?" Peter finished.

"Yeah."

"I said the same thing every night during the fifteen years my father was gone."

"You're a lucky man, Peter Caine. You've got your chance, now." Kermit simply replied. Then he shifted position, and a groan came again.

Peter was silent. Now he really felt guilty. He had been given his chance; something that he had dreamed of everyday for half of his life had come true, and yet he chose to still be angry at his father. . .Why? Because his father left him. And yet, here was a man sitting next to him who would give anything to see his father just one more time, but will never have the opportunity. Peter leaned his head against the dirt wall and closed his eyes.

Kermit continued, "I think that's why I'm so close to Paul. He reminds me a lot of my father."

Now Peter was just wishing the man would stop talking. His comments were bringing back too many feelings of guilt. "I keep telling myself that I would have never had the opportunity to know Paul if my father hadn't died. That one single, tragic event resulted in me having the opportunity to know two great men. . .to have two men who were special in my life."

That did it. Peter couldn't hold back the tears that formed in his eyes, and the only voice he could hear was his own, saying over and over again what a fool he had been.

End Part 7

"Anything, Frank?" Paul walked out of his office, looking at his Chief of Detectives with pleading eyes.

"I'm sorry, Paul, but no." Frank shook his head in disappointment. He looked at the Captain and it struck him how tired and worn out Paul looked. Worrying about your son and a friend can do that to you. Frank vowed that when Peter returned, he would sit the insolent cop in a chair and lecture him on the finer points of a parent's worry. For Paul to have to go through this once this week was bad enough; twice was unacceptable.

The phone at Skalaney's desk rang and was answered by Mary Margaret immediately. "Yeah. . .Where?. . .How long ago?" She snapped her fingers to get Frank and Paul's attention and then waved them over to her desk. "Yeah, I think I know it. It's pretty deserted out there. . .Thanks, thanks a lot." She hung up the phone and looked at the anxious men.

"The highway patrol roadblock at Grantville just had a car come through that said a black Olds and blue Stealth passed it on the highway and turned on a dirt road about ten miles from the city limits. I think they may mean the old Warner road. It's pretty rough in that area. . .a lot of places to hide. . ." Mary Margaret's voice trailed off.

"Okay, let's go and take a look." Paul ordered. Frank and Mary Margaret obediently followed him out the door.

Kermit and Peter sat in silence for a long time, each lost in his own thoughts and memories. Kermit finally spoke, "Hey, Kid. . .I didn't mean to upset you."

Peter didn't say anything at first, afraid of what would come from his mouth. He couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that Kermit's words had created in his mind. Why had it taken so long for him to understand what his father had tried to tell him over the past year. His father had tried to show Peter that the temple's destruction, while tragic, had purpose. That it had shaped Peter into who he was today. But for that single event, Peter would not have been a police officer, would not have known the people he worked with everyday, he would not have been a son to Paul Blaisdell. "It's okay. I was just thinking about the past. . .how a single event can shape your whole life."

"Life's funny that way. You think you have it under control. You know what your plans are. And then suddenly the rug gets pulled out from under you." Kermit sympathized.

Peter only nodded and in the dark the motion went unnoticed.

"But trust me, after a while of falling on your butt when the rug is pulled out, you learn not to stand on the rug."

Peter frowned, not sure he was following the metaphor. "I've read a lot of philosophy in my time, but I don't think I ever read that in the Tao."

Kermit chuckled. "It means that you have to learn to rely on yourself. The relationships you form in life can pass in an instant. Regrets come and go. . .People live and die. The only thing you can count on is yourself. In other words, don't stand on the rug when you can stand on the floor."

"Is that what you do?"

Kermit said nothing. Peter was certain that he would not receive a response. Instead he received a simple, "Oh yeah." Then suddenly Kermit's voice had returned to the sarcasm that Peter was used to, "but could we hold the philosophical 'it is my destiny' discussion for a later time? I would really like to get out of this hole."

For a short time, Peter had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he had forgotten about their predicament. Kermit was right. If they didn't find a way out of the pit, and soon, all of the guilt, regret and rugs would mean nothing. Peter eased himself to a standing position, making sure that Kermit was supported by the dirt wall as he did. He felt the dirt. It was loose. Any attempt to create footholds or hand holds could dislodge it and bring the whole side down. Kermit was in no shape to climb up, at least not with out assistance from above. That meant that it was all up to Peter.

"Any ideas?" Kermit asked the younger man.

"Only one." Peter responded. Turning on the flashlight, he played it around the hole.

"Unless it involves sprouting wings, I don't have a clue of what you plan to do." Kermit confessed.

"No. . .no wings. Only concentration. . .and a little luck." Peter handed the flashlight back to Kermit and then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He pressed his back against one side of the wall and extended one leg against the other. He wedged the length of his body against both sides of the hole and began to slowly push himself up the side of the dirt wall. Loose dirt fell down into the pit, some landing on Kermit. The ex-mercenary was unaware of it though, as he watched his companion's progress. He could see the strain wearing on Peter. Beads of sweat were glistening from his brow. His breathing was becoming labored and there was a noticeable tremor in his legs. But he progressed. Within a few minutes, Peter had pushed himself up three quarters of the way, with only a few more feet to go. Kermit watched, realizing that while he was outwardly calm, his stomach was churning in anticipation.

Finally, after a solid ten minutes, maybe more, Peter had made it to the top of the hole. He reached up with his hands and grabbed on to the underside of the Oldsmobile. Hand over hand, he pulled himself out from under the car. Exhausted, Peter lay on the ground, trying to catch his breath. He turned over and listened for any sound of their hosts. Nothing. Slowly, he lifted the tarp and peaked out from underneath, the sun glaring in his eyes. Still nothing.

He eased himself to his feet, his muscles still quivering from the exertion, but at the same time, experiencing an overwhelming sense of satisfaction with his accomplishment. He threw the netting off of the car and pulled on the door handle. It opened. Sliding the gear into neutral, Peter pushed against the doorframe, rolling the car off of the top of the pit. Within a few minutes, he was staring back down at Kermit, view unobstructed. In the light of day Peter could easily see the strain Kermit was under, his face pale with pain. The man sat with his left shoulder against the wall, eyes closed. Peter was afraid he had passed out. Not knowing how far away their captors were, Peter opted for a strained whisper in an attempt to wake him. "Kermit? You okay?"

The man looked up into the face of the younger man, "Yeah, just peachy. That was a pretty impressive trick you just pulled. Where'd you learn to do that?"

"It just came to me. It's something my Pop would do." Peter smiled, suddenly proud to be a Caine.

"So how do you propose to get me out? Unless you see a ladder lying around there, I think I'm stuck down here." Kermit frowned.

"Let me think." Peter looked around the area surrounding the pit. There was nothing he could use to help Kermit. . .then he looked down and smiled. The netting. He tested the tarp for strength. While it was worn in places, overall it appeared to be in good enough shape to hold a man's weight. He tied a knot in one end and then tore a hole above the knot. He dropped the knotted end into the hole. "Put your foot in the hole, I'll pull you up."

"That's not gonna hold me, even with the knot." Kermit argued.

"Yes it will. Have faith." Peter insisted. "Can you stand?" The cop suddenly realized that Kermit might not be able to accomplish that task. He looked like he was ready to keel over at any minute.

Kermit said nothing and instead focused his efforts on coming to his feet. Peter held his breath, willing Kermit to succeed. Finally, Kermit was standing on two unsteady legs, grimacing against the pain. He slid his foot into the hole and grabbed onto the tarp with his left hand. "Okay, I'm ready."

"Hang on, and don't sway." Peter grasped onto the other end of the tarp and pulled with all of his strength. Slowly, he started to pull Kermit out of the pit.

Kermit watched the slow progression up. He knew that Peter was under a lot of strain and the injured man was unable to do anything to assist him. He could only hang on and pray for the best. Peter had succeeded in pulling Kermit within a foot of the top. With the injured shoulder, Kermit could not raise his injured arm to grasp onto the side. Peter turned and started to pull the tarp hand over hand, moving his body closer to the edge, with the hopes of grabbing onto Kermit's left arm. He had made it within two feet to the edge when he suddenly lost his footing. He fell forward to his knees, and Kermit began an uncontrolled slide back down. Peter threw his body forward and grabbed onto the top of the man's black jacket. Kermit couldn't help the gasp of pain as the injured shoulder was pulled.

"Kermit, grab my arm." Peter yelled threw clinched teeth. He could feel his body sliding forward. He dug his feet into the ground, trying to find some traction. Kermit, realizing that if he failed to take Peter's arm, both would make a return trip to the bottom, ignored the pain in his shoulder and threw his left arm up, blindly grasping at Peter's arm. He hung on with all of his strength. Peter was then able to release the jacket and grab onto Kermit's arm so that they were interlocked.

Not knowing where the strength was coming from, and not really caring at that point, Peter concentrated all of his will power on the task of pulling Kermit up. . .and succeeded.

Kermit didn't move for a long while. His breathing was labored, fighting against the renewed pain. Peter fell to the ground beside him, equally out of breath. Finally, Peter turned over and climbed to his feet. "We did it." The tone was that of a disbeliever.

"You did it," Kermit panted.

"Are you up to taking a little hike?" Peter held out his hand, prepared to assist the ex-mercenary to his feet.

"Can it be done from the prone position?" Kermit was still in pain, but now had a smile on his face.

"Nope." Peter kneeled down and helped the man to sit up right. He then carefully positioned one hand on the back and one on the uninjured arm and brought Kermit to his feet. The man swayed unsteadily.

"Whoa." Kermit exclaimed, the world spinning. He held onto Peter's arm for fear of tipping over. "You'd better take the lead. The way I feel right now, I'd be walking us in circles."

"No problem. We have to figure out where the Stealth is first. I doubt that they left it on the side of the road." Peter pointed out.

Kermit looked at the black Olds. "I've got a better idea. Let's just borrow theirs." Peter smiled and nodded at the ex-mercenary. Kermit climbed into the passenger side, Peter into the driver's. He leaned beneath the dashboard and pulled out the ignition wires. Kermit shook his head in disapproval, "You know how to hot wire a car?"

"The results of a misspent youth," Peter grinned.

"Does Blaisdell know you can do that?" Kermit frowned.

"Who do you think taught me." Peter chuckled.

Peter tapped the two wires together. The engine started on the second try. He grinned a cocky smile at the older man, and pushed himself upright in the seat , suddenly feeling the unmistakable pressure of a rifle sticking in his ear.

End Part 8

Knowing the White,

Keep the Black

Part 9

"Turn here." Skalaney pointed at the dirt road on the right. Paul slowed his sedan down and made the turn, skidding slightly on the loose gravel.

"How well do you know this road?" Frank asked Mary Margaret.

She grinned, "Well, I had an old boyfriend who just loved to take picnics. We would find a quiet little spot out in the middle of the woods, spread out our blanket and spend the entire afternoon making. . ."

"Okay, I get the picture," Frank interrupted. Paul couldn't help his grin.

"What? All I was gonna say was that we spent the entire afternoon making lunch." Mary Margaret teased.

"So you know the area?" Paul asked, serious again.

"There's an intersection up here. We used to go a few more miles to the east for our picnics. There are a couple of farms and a small pond. Not much else. I've only been to the north one time. It's real deserted. Michael told me there were some old abandoned cabins up there."

"That could be our spot. If our bank robbers know the area at all they'll go to a place where they won't be seen and can hide out until the heat's off." Frank reasoned.

Paul nodded his agreement. Within a minute he came to the intersection Mary Margaret had referred to and turned to the left. "We'll look up here until we hit a major intersection and then come back down and drive east."

Peter turned his head slowly and found the rifle was pointing at the middle of his forehead. The large man shook his head disapprovingly. "How rude. You trespass on to our property and then try to steal our car. And here we were trying to make you feel at home." He grabbed Peter by the shirt and roughly yanked him out of the car. The rifle changed aim from Peter's forehead to his back. Standing next to the man with the rifle were Dan and Bart.

Kermit was so intent on what was happening to the young cop that he didn't hear the footsteps on his side of the car before it was too late. The passenger side of the door was jerked open and the ex-mercenary was similarly pulled from the vehicle by his injured right arm. He groaned in pain and leaned against the frame of the car for support. Looking up, he saw the eyes of a stranger holding an Uzi, "Ben, I presume?" He asked smugly. He received a fist to the stomach for his effort. He gasped and hunched over, as his breath escaped him.

Peter started forward to protect Kermit, but was held in place by Bart and Dan's grip. The giant leaned over Peter's shoulder and growled, "You know, I have to admit that I'm impressed. I didn't think anyone could get out of our little hole. I figured it would make a nice grave for the two of you."

"Hey Vic," Dan smiled, " I guess next time we'll have to make sure they're both dead before we drop them in it."

Peter focused on Kermit, who was slowly recovering from the punch, trying to tell how severely the man was injured. Kermit glanced at the younger man and nodded, indicating that he was okay. Peter smiled and nodded in return.

Suddenly sounding very cocky, Peter turned to his captors and asked, "Did anyone ever tell you about standing on a rug?" The men looked slightly confused at the question. Without any warning, Peter leaned down and yanked on the tarp, which Dan, Bart and Vic were inadvertently standing on. All three lost their balance. Peter aimed a kick at Bart's kneecap, who dropped his gun, as he screamed in pain and collapsed on the ground, clutching at the leg protectively. Spinning the opposite direction, he threw a solid roundhouse kick at Dan's midriff. The man gasped in pain and fell, hugging his arms to his broken ribs.

That left Vic and Ben. Ben raised the Uzi and pointed it at Peter's back. The man, sidetracked by the sudden attack against his cohorts, was not expecting the attack by the injured man in the rumpled black suit. Then the man grunted when Kermit's head connected with the abdomen. Kermit, taking Peter's lead, rammed his head into Ben's midriff. In surprise, his arms flew up in the air and the Uzi went off in an uncontrolled burst, the sound echoing through the trees. Kermit didn't stop though, and like a battering ram, continued to run forward, pushing Ben backwards until the man tripped over his own feet and landed on his back, the gun flying out of his hands. Kermit's momentum resulted on him falling on top of Ben. Kermit recovered first and backhanded the man in the face. He then brought the uninjured arm down on Ben's throat and pressed his head into the ground. The man gasped for breath and then passed out.

Peter, meanwhile, had his hands full with Vic. The mammoth of a man saw that all of his friends were out of commission, but rather than retreating, it seemed to make him angrier. He brought the rifle up, preparing to fire at the cop, when Peter spun and kicked it out of his hands. But Peter was unprepared for the fist that slammed into the side of his head. It was like being hit with a two by four and Peter collapsed to his knees. Vic reached down and grabbed the young cop by the throat, yanking him back to his feet. Peter used both hands in an attempt to break the grip, but the man held firm, squeezing the throat tighter. Defensively, Peter brought a knee up in a desperate attempt to disable the man, but Vic used his other hand to block the action. So instead, Peter tried something that went against every instinct. He relaxed, focusing his concentration, analyzing the man's weakness. The result was his foot slamming into the larger man's shin. The man screamed in pain, but held firm. Peter kicked again and this time, and this time connected with the lower knee cap, the man's grip relaxed. Peter kicked at the shin again and threw his body backwards, falling against the side of the car. Vic reached forward to grab at the smaller man, murderous vengeance in his eyes, but Peter blocked his arm and aimed a punch at the man's face, connecting solidly with his nose, blood spraying out. He made another attempt to grab Peter, but this time, the cop brought his foot up and connected with the man's chin. Vic's eyes turned glassy and he stumbled backwards. His momentum carried him to the edge of the pit. He teetered on the side, clutching at air, and then fell in, landing hard on the bottom.

Peter ran to the edge and looked over, smiling smugly at his unconscious attacker, "Yeah, I figured no one told you about the rug…you'll fall on your butt when it gets pulled out from under you." He heard an unidentifiable noise rising from the other side of the Oldsmobile, and then he realized it was Kermit's uncontrolled laughter.

Within minutes, Peter had securely tied each of their abductors, minus the one who was still unconscious in the bottom of the hole, with strips of cloth from the tarp. Kermit sat on the hood of the Olds, Uzi in hand, playing sentry, his mercenary reflexes prepared to shoot any of the men if they attempted an escape. The sound of rustling bushes rose from behind Peter. Kermit waved for Peter to take cover, Kermit doing the same, hiding behind the car. He peaked around the corner and saw Paul, Frank and Mary Margaret enter the clearing cautiously, guns in hand. Peter saw his foster father approach, and with a broad grin, stood. "Nobody told me today was the Department picnic." Paul spun around at the sound of his son's voice. His face went from shock, to worry, to exuberance, to fury in a matter of seconds.

Kermit grimaced realizing immediately that Paul was not in good humor, and prayed Peter would be astute enough to come to the same conclusion. Peter, however, seemed ignorant of Paul's emotional state, and instead approached Paul, grinning from ear to ear. "It's about time you showed up. I know, I know, you just wanted us to do all the work." Paul, who had been silent, suddenly advanced on Peter and grabbed him roughly by the shoulders. Peter, shocked by his foster father's sudden movement, was taken aback, his smile changing quickly to surprise.

"What in the hell do you think you were doing? Do you realize what you put us through. . .put me through? I've been worried sick about you." Paul was so angry his voice shook. Peter was dumbfounded by his father's outburst, and was speechless. Mary Margaret, Frank and Kermit stood back silently, not daring to comment. Peter looked down, unable to meet Paul's eyes. "Look at me!" Paul yelled. Peter continued to look down. "I said look at me!" Paul repeated, his voice rising in hostility. Peter complied. "After what I went though this week, thinking you were dead, I can't believe you would willingly risk your life with total disregard for me. . .for my feelings." Peter's eyes were glistening, tears threatening to fall.

Paul released Peter with a slight push and turned away, hand rubbing his forehead absently. "I'm sorry," was whispered from his foster son. That made Paul angrier.

He spun on his son, "You know what Peter? Sometimes 'sorry' just doesn’t cut it. I'm sick and tired of your total lack of regard for me…for Annie. How do you think we would feel if you were killed? Especially doing some damn fool thing like chasing after armed robbers with no backup. How do you think I felt a little while ago when I heard the gunfire? I knew that you were dead…all I could see was your execution." Paul spun away again.

Kermit looked into his friend's eyes and could see similar tears forming. Peter was one lucky man. It wasn't often that Paul Blaisdell cried for someone out of love and fear. Kermit turned away, unable to watch Paul's pain. Unfortunately, his movement drew Paul's attention. "And you. Don't you dare walk away from me. You're as much to blame for this as he is."

Kermit turned back to his friend and wisely, said nothing. "I risk everything to save your butt on Monday, and you go and try to get it shot off on Saturday. Hell, why'd I even bother?" In all the years Griffin had known Paul, he had never seen this kind of uncontrolled anger. But the fear of the past week had slowly eaten away at Paul's resolve, and the eruption of anger was the result. Kermit watched the older man walk away and then stop, still angry. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of car keys. He looked at them and threw them on the ground. "Here. You can drive yourself home." Before Peter could reply, Paul had disappeared into the woods.

The remaining group was stunned. Never in all the years Frank had worked with Paul had he witnessed a total breakdown of control. The Chief shook his head and looked at Peter. "We were searching the dirt road, looking for you when we heard the gunfire. Paul was certain that you two had been killed. He took out running through the woods, following two sets of tire tracks. We followed. He found the Stealth stashed in some bushes with the keys in it." Frank looked back at the Oldsmobile. "We followed the second set of tracks which led us here." Frank looked at the two men, "I don't know how you keep doing it, but you scared the shit out of him…again."

Skalaney walked up to her partner, "We called for backup. They should be here any minute to take your friends into custody." Peter nodded absently, still shell-shocked from his foster father's attack. The woman looked at Kermit, noticing his discomfort, "Are you okay? Do we need to get an ambulance for you?" Kermit said nothing, only shook his head. He walked over to Peter and put a hand on the young man's shoulder. Peter flinched at the contact and pulled away.

Peter, Kermit, Mary Margaret and Frank walked back to the Stealth in silence. The bank robbers had been taken into custody, the money had been recovered from a deserted cabin a half-mile away, and there was nothing left to do but fill out the reports in triplicate.

The Stealth was crammed into bushes, but was otherwise undamaged. Peter climbed in and backed it out carefully. He offered a ride to the other three, but all, including Kermit, wanted to walk. He shrugged his shoulders and slowly eased the car down the path and back to the dirt road. Several police cars were parked on the road, the officers milling through the back woods, gathering evidence. Peter noticed Paul sitting by himself in his sedan. His forehead rested on his arms, which were draped over the top of the steering wheel.

Peter took a deep breath and approached the driver's side. Paul didn't look up. In fact, the only movement Peter could see was the slight shaking of Paul's shoulders…he was crying. Peter started to back away, but Paul looked up and made immediate eye contact, stopping his foster son in his tracks. Peter stood frozen in place, not knowing whether he should stay and confront Paul's anger or walk away. Before the decision could be made, Paul exited the car. He looked drawn and tired, not wearing the normally controlled façade of a police captain, but the worried, haggard face of a parent.

Paul stood in front of his son and said nothing for a moment. Peter, started to turn away, afraid of another confrontation. Paul grabbed his shoulder, but this time it was not in anger, it was in love. "Don't go," was the simple request from his father. Peter stopped. "I…I didn't ask whether you were hurt. Are you okay?" Peter nodded, not able to answer. "Peter…Peter I'm sorry…not for what I said, but for how I said it." Peter didn't know how to respond, so he said nothing. "It was just that…I was so scared. I thought I lost you…again. All I could see was you lying dead…it was the same vision I had earlier this week. I guess that I just snapped."

Peter looked into his father's eyes and finally found his voice. "I don't know what else to say but that I'm sorry. I never wanted to cause you that kind of pain." Peter paused, searching for words, "We didn't plan on having things happen the way they did. We were going to call for backup, but were caught before we could do anything." Peter shrugged, knowing that it all sounded like another hot shot cop excuse.

He was surprised to see a smile creep up on Paul's face. "So the bad guys got the drop on Kermit, huh? Bet that really ticked him off."

"Didn't do much for me either," a smile matching Paul's appeared on Peter's face now.

"So how'd it end up that the robbers were the one's tied up?"

Peter grinned proudly, "Hey, I've learned a few things from Pop…and you…not to mention, Kermit gave me some very sound advice."

Paul looked confused and Peter chuckled, "Don't ask." The older man shrugged his shoulders, the grin returning and suddenly, without warning, he threw his arms around his son and held him in a tight embrace.

Sunday morning, Lo Si prepared two place settings at the breakfast table, knowing that Peter would arrive shortly. Within minutes, the energetic young man bounced into the apartment.

"Lo Si, you here?"

"I am outside, young Peter." Lo Si responded.

"Isn't it a beautiful morning?" Peter's voice was chipper, a great deal different from the tone used 24 hours earlier.

"You are alright?" Lo Si frowned at the young man. "I heard that you and Kermit Griffin were held captive by men who robbed a bank."

Peter nodded and sat down at the table. Lo Si also sat, reached for the teapot and poured tea into the two cups. "Yeah, but it was no big deal."

"Then you were not hurt?"

"Nah. Kermit's not feeling great; he reinjured the shoulder, but otherwise we came out virtually unscathed."

"So Captain Blaisdell rescued you in time?" Lo Si asked, already knowing the answer.

"Nope," Peter beamed. "We rescued ourselves."

Lo Si smiled and decided to inquire further, "What happened?"

"We were stuck in the bottom of a pit. We both thought it would end up being our grave. But I was able to focus my…chi…and gather the strength to climb out."

"Without assistance?" Lo Si looked surprised.

"Without assistance. I didn't think I could do it…I didn't think I had the strength. But I did it." The look on Peter's face was that of a four year old child who rode his bike for the first time without the training wheels. It spoke of success, accomplishment and pride; feelings that had been lacking in the young man just a few hours before.

Peter drank the rest of the tea. "I'm sorry I can't stay, but Paul invited me out to the house for breakfast…sort of a celebration. You're invited too."

"Oh, thank you Peter, but I have work which I need to finish here. You need to be with your family today." The elderly man stood and followed Peter to the front door. Then suddenly he reached out and grabbed the young man by the arm, "Peter, I am very proud of you. You showed great courage yesterday. You have done well."

Peter beamed at the praise and started to walk out the door, then he stopped and looked back at the Ancient. "Hey, Lo Si, I wanted to ask you for a favor."

"Anything, my friend."

"Since Pop left I've been ignoring my Kung Fu. I guess I figured that after he was gone, I could just go back to being a cop...dealing with cold hard facts and a gun. I guess it was my way of getting back at him for taking off. But after yesterday, I realize that I'm only hurting me. I'm ignoring an important part of me by pretending that it's not there. I have a lot to learn about what's inside…my emotional and mental strength…you know, the intangible stuff." He paused as if searching for the right words. "I realize now that by ignoring those intangibles, I've only been living half a life." Lo Si nodded in understanding. "I was wondering…would you be willing to instruct me in Kung Fu while my Dad is gone?"

The elderly man smiled proudly, "Of course young Peter. I would be honored." Peter smiled in return, gave the man a quick hug and then waved good-bye.

Lo Si turned back into the living room and closed his eyes. His contact with Kwai Chang Caine was immediate. "You understand now, Kwai Chang Caine?"

The parental pride was obvious in Caine's response, "I understand. Thank you, Master."

The End!!!!