Part 22
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Annie turned her head in his direction, cocking an ear for a moment before sniffing. She smiled. "Kermit, come in. He's awake."
Kermit walked in shaking his head. "I will never understand how you are able to do that." Edging closer to the bed, he saw that Peter was watching him quietly, eyes glazed with the combination of pain and medications.
"Peter, I..." Kermit could get no more past the lump in his throat.
The younger detective feebly offered a hand to him and Kermit gripped it tightly, trying to express his emotion without words.
"Didja get the bad guys?" Peter asked weakly.
A grim smile came to Kermit's face. "They're all exactly where they belong," he assured Peter, eyes glittering with malicious satisfaction behind his protective lenses. {Especially the bastard that shot you.} "How you feeling today, Kid?"
"Tired. Like I been run over by a steamroller. The therapist just came in and ran me through some breathing exercises. I've had torture that hurt less."
Kermit's smile faded and he said seriously, "Don't ever do anything like that again, Peter. The way I butchered that operation, I deserved to get my head blown off."
Peter's mouth twisted in a weak attempt to grin. "If I let anything happen to you, who else could I find to cover my ass?" He tightened his grip on the hand he held before releasing it. "Kermit, do me a favor?"
"Name it."
"Take Mom home? She looks about all in, and I can't talk her into leaving."
"Now, Peter, I'm fine," Annie insisted, patting his hand to reinforce her words.
Kermit peered closely at Annie and saw the lines of fatigue etched around her mouth and eyes. "Pushing the envelope a little, are you, Annie?" he teased in a voice tinged with concern.
"Mom, please go home," Peter requested wearily. "I'll be all right. I just wanna sleep. If you stay, I'll only worry about you and I won't be able to rest."
"That's blackmail, Peter," Annie said indignantly.
"Learned it from the best, Mom. You and Paul used to throw that kind of guilt trip at me all the time."
"Oh." She smiled wryly. "That's right, we did."
"I only missed my curfew once, and that was enough for me." Peter yawned sleepily and continued in a dreamy voice as his eyes closed. "You were both waiting up for me and you told me you couldn't sleep until you knew I was home and safe." He yawned again and burrowed his head in the pillows. "Felt like...such a heel...didn't go out...for two...weeks." He dropped off into a sudden sleep.
"Is he sleeping?" Annie asked.
"Out like a light," reported Kermit. "Come along, pretty lady. Your chariot awaits."
"Oh, no, Kermit, I want to stay," she demurred.
They both jumped at the voice that said, "I will stay with him now."
"Jesus, Caine," Kermit commented with a half-grin. "Can't you make a little more noise when you come into a room?"
The priest bowed in his direction. "I will try."
"Caine, is Kacie feeling better?" Annie's voice was thick with concern.
"She has been sleeping peacefully for several hours. She will be released in the morning."
"Oh, I'm so glad." Annie tried to stifle a yawn.
Caine took her hands in his. "Annie, you must go home and rest. I will stay with our son."
"When will you rest?"
"I draw strength from being near my son." He kissed her hands and stepped back. "Kermit will take you home. I will see you in the morning." As the pair left the room, Caine seated himself on the floor, relaxing into a meditative trance and feeling his life energy renew along with his son's.
Kacie fidgeted anxiously as she sat waiting for McClanahan to give her his OK to leave.
There was a soft knock at the door, and the doctor stepped into the room. "Well," he said in a pleased tone. "You look like a new person today." He moved closer and began to examine her.
"I feel like a new person," she told him. "Caine's teas have some amazing qualities."
"If I'm not careful, he could put me out of business." He took her pulse and looked at her sharply. "Hmmm, your BP is up and your pulse is awfully fast. It could be tachycardia." His eyes twinkled. "Or could it be you're anxious to get out of here to see another one of my patients?"
She blushed at the teasing and ducked her head shyly. Looking up at him through her eyelashes she asked, "Does that mean I can go?"
"Get out of here," he growled. "We save these rooms for sick people."
Kacie's smile lit up the room and she hugged him fiercely. "Thanks!" she whispered quickly and disappeared through the door.
Kacie quietly let herself into Peter's room, her heart thumping madly. She saw Caine sitting cross-legged in a full lotus position on the floor beside the bed and smiled at him as he immediately opened his eyes and smiled at her. Her eyes shifted to Peter, who was still pale, but not the pasty white she had remembered. Approaching his bed slowly, she drank in the sight of him. "He had a good night?" she asked softly.
"Yes."
"Has he been awake yet today?" She reached Peter's side and touched his arm, reassuring herself he was alive.
"No."
She caressed Peter's face and ran shaking fingers through the hair at his temple. "He really is going to be all right, isn't he?" she choked tearfully.
"Yes."
She laughed through her tears. "No one will ever accuse you of talking too much, will they?"
"No," he chuckled.
Peter's head moved under her hand and he stirred uneasily. Opening his eyes and blinking slowly, he focused on the face above him.
"Hi," she said shakily, a smile starting to form on her face.
The smile faded away before it could fully form when he jerked away from her touch. "Get out."
Her hand froze and she looked stunned. "Peter, don't you know me?"
"I know you. I just don't want you here. Get out." He turned his head away.
Caine stared uncomprehendingly at his son. "Peter..."
Kacie's face was deathly white. "Peter, what's wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with me is that I told you to get out and you're not going. I said get out! I don't want you here!" His voice rose angrily and he wheezed as his breathing became more labored. "Out! Get out!" he shouted.
Alarms began to squeal and a nurse responded immediately. She took one look at the monitors and stabbed the intercom button, speaking rapidly. "Page McClanahan to Room 520, STAT." As she turned to tend to Peter, she firmly ordered, "The two of you are going to have to leave."
Caine took Kacie by the arm and they exited, standing outside Peter's room in bewilderment for mere seconds before McClanahan came flying down the corridor. The doctor didn't even glance their way before crashing into the room.
Kacie's face was ashen and she would have crumpled to the floor had Caine not been holding on to her. "What happened?" she gasped. "Why did he act that way? I don't understand."
"I do not know."
They sat down in the waiting area and Kacie held Caine's hand tightly with both of hers.
Minutes later, McClanahan emerged from Peter's room and came to stand before them. "I had to give him a sedative. He's calmer now and his breathing is back to normal." He nodded at Caine. "You can go in."
Kacie started to rise, too, but he laid a restraining hand on her arm. "I'm sorry," he said gently. "Peter said not to let you back in. He's given orders that you not be allowed in the room. I have to abide by his wishes."
She stared at him, eyes huge in her chalky face. "Why?" she whispered in a voice thick with tears.
"He didn't give a reason, and he was in no condition for me to push him."
Caine took her chin in his hand. "I will talk to him," he promised.
She nodded dumbly and blinked, a single tear splashing onto the back of his hand.
Peter's chest ached fiercely, and the amount of oxygen being delivered to his system had been increased. The sedative had taken the edge off his pain and he was beginning to feel drowsy. {Good. I want to sleep. I don't want to think.}
He felt his father's touch on his face. "Peter..."
"Don't, Dad," he whispered tiredly. "I don't want to talk."
"All right, my son. Rest." The gentle hand traced his cheek and his jaw before resting on his shoulder.
He floated away into the familiar sea of blackness.
After two more days, and agreeing to convalesce at his foster home, he was released. He was given a full set of post-op exercises both for his lung and his healing muscles. Annie and Caine vowed to hold him to the routine.
Pale and gaunt, he folded himself stiffly into the large four-door sedan Kermit had borrowed for the trip home. They traveled in relative silence, and Peter's answers to questions were monosyllables and grunts. By the time they reached the Blaisdell home, he was more than ready to take a pain pill and get into bed.
Annie tucked him in and brushed the hair back from his face. She kissed his cheek and said in a wobbly voice, "It's good to have you home, Sweetie."
He relaxed under her soothing touch and sighed. "I'm glad to be here, Mom."
After he had fallen asleep, she went downstairs and found that Caine had made them both some tea.
"I did not think you would mind," he told her.
"No, I'm glad you did." She felt for the cup and took a sip. "I need something to calm my nerves. Caine, why is he doing this to Kacie? The girl is devastated."
"I do not understand, either. And he will not talk of it."
"What do we do?"
"Wait."
The doorbell rang late one afternoon. Annie went to answer it, finding Kacie at the entryway.
The young woman's voice was shaky but determined. "May I come in?"
Annie reached out for her and held her close. "Oh, Sweetie, you're always welcome here."
Kacie remained stiff in her embrace and Annie sensed her tension.
"Could I please see Peter? I...need to talk to him."
Annie chewed her lip nervously. "He's on the couch in the living room. I, um, just remembered something I need to do upstairs." She started up the flight of stairs as Kacie headed toward the living room.
Kacie walked down the hallway with hands thrust into her coat pockets. When she entered the living room, she cleared her throat and spoke tentatively. "Peter?"
Peter was watching a television program and didn't take his eyes from the screen. "What are you doing here?"
"Peter, we need to talk."
"There's nothing more to say. I told you. I don't want to see you any more."
She stalked over to the television and punched off the power button before standing between him and the blank screen. Her jaw was clenched as she challenged him. "I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that what we had is over."
He stared at her coldly. "All right. Whatever it was you thought we had is over."
"What *I* thought we had? You were the one who started talking about a future together. You were the one that said 'I love you' first!"
He shrugged offhandedly. "You were a challenge. I figured saying that was the only way I could get you into my bed."
She caught her breath in a shocked gasp and her face turned ashen. "You're lying."
"Hey, a man has needs. All I could get out of you were a few kisses. You kept waving your virginity in front of me like a red flag. I got tired of the game."
"I don't believe you. Before you were shot, you said you loved me. You were ready to marry me."
"See? That's the game I'm talking about," Peter sneered. "You were forcing me into marrying you, just so I could have you. I decided the price was too high. Game over."
"Game? That's all it was to you?" She closed her eyes and flinched, a shudder running through her body. When she looked at him again, her eyes were cold. "Fuck you."
Laughing rudely, he sniped, "That was the idea. You wouldn't cooperate. But that's OK. You probably wouldn't have been any good at it anyway." He relaxed back into his pillows and dismissed her with a wave. "You mind turning the TV back on on your way out? I was in the middle of a program."
Another shudder ran through her body. "You son of a bitch," she said hoarsely. "Deceitful, manipulating, cold-hearted bastard! All your feel-sorry-for-me talk about being abandoned by your father, and by Paul, and everyone else? And I fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. What a joke." Reaching out a trembling hand, she fumbled for the power button. The screen flickered on and she stood a moment, leaning her head against the cabinet. "Damn you. God damn you." Her breath caught harshly in her throat and she spun on her heel, stumbling blindly from the room without a backward glance.
He heard the front door open and close. As it slammed shut with the finality of the lid on a coffin, he rolled over on the couch and buried his face in the cushions, hands clenched into fists that pounded the upholstery.