The cold air of the morgue cut through Paul's overcoat. He and Peter Caine walked down the corridor, past the rows of small metal doors that sealed the dead from the living. The only noise was that of their echoing footsteps and those of the attendant ahead of them.
Pushing the platform ahead of him, the young attendant stopped at a row of doors and hesitated placing his hand on the handle.
Paul watched the young man's features go from pale to green. As the handle was pulled, the odor of formaldehyde filled the corridor. The older man heard Peter's offhanded remark to the coloring attendant, "Get out much?"
Rolling his eyes as he gave a brief smile, Paul watched as a metal slab was pulled out. A body lay on the slab, covered with a long sheet. He nodded for the attendant to pull back the sheet, again noticing the young man's face as it turned a shade of green the city had contemplated painting the fire trucks. 'Chicken-shit green is not the color for the huge machines.'
Peter leaned over to get a better look at the dead man's face.
"You make him?" Paul asked as the attendant covered the face again and replaced the slab back into its hole in the wall.
Stuffing his cold hands into his pants pockets, Peter nodded. "Jimmie Ho. He was Tan's shooter. Almost as good as me." Peter shrugged, then an idea flashed through his mind. "Hey! This could be the break we've been looking for."
Paul's attention was still on the young attendant, wondering if the man was going to pass out or get sick. 'Maybe both.' "What are you talking about?"
Turning around to leave the building, "You need a man undercover in Chinatown. I speak Chinese. I know the culture and I can shoot the eye out of a sparrow." He sensed Paul beside him, following him toward the double doors that sealed them off from the offices of the coroner's building. "Can I have that job?" Peter cocked his head back down the corridor from the dead man's body.
Paul stopped; he felt the cold of the room even more now as his heart slowed. "Out of the question."
"Why? Because I'm family? I'm not." Seeing the hurt on his foster father's face, Peter tried to make amends. "I mean, I am, but I'm not. I'm a good cop on our squad with the right qualifications for the job."
"Too dangerous…" Paul interjected, keeping his fears pushed to the back of his mind. He agreed that Peter was a good cop and an excellent marksman, but he also knew the man before him.
"Give me a shot at this, Captain. Don't play favorites." Peter played his ace, staying away from the family aspect. He couldn't twist the knife of words he had stabbed into Paul's soul; the pain would kill both of them. Best to use motives that were safe, like the avoidance of nepotism. "Someone's got to get close to Tan and prove he's flesh and blood and can be taken down. I want that chance."
"Why's it so important to you? He's screwing with your Chinese heritage?"
"Give me a break. My mother looked like Rhonda Fleming." Peter answered back, not sure of how to answer Paul's question. It seemed so stupid to want to go after Tan for no other reason except he was there.
"And your father?" Paul asked, knowing Peter kept the memories of his real father at bay. In the fifteen years he had known Peter, Kwai Chang Caine had been a mystery. Peter wouldn't talk about him. He only had a picture of his mother, who had died when Peter was two.
Looking off to the many doors in the wall, giving a brief thought to the many lives that had ended and the bodies behind the metal doors. "His looks were enigmatic. What I can remember of them." Peter wanted to end this line of conversation. He could handle the nightmares, they disturbed his sleep less and less as long as he didn't think about the man he loved and lost so many years ago. "Tan's a criminal. This is police business."
Understanding what Peter really meant, Paul gave his consent. "No, it's family. It's in your blood."
Paul couldn't help but smile as Peter's downtrodden face brightened. The dark hazel eyes instantly brightened, "Is that a yes?"
***
The scene of only two days ago played out in Paul Blaisdell's mind as he sat beside his son's bed. Looking at the young man who was so energetic, now so still, sent sirens off in the older man's head.
The call to him that Peter was at the hospital had Paul rushing from the attempted assassination of the mayor in front of the burned out brownstone to the medical facility. It was a building who's floor plan Paul had learned over the past few years. Being Captain of the 101st had him visiting with wounded officers, bereaved family members.
"Oh, Peter. I know you had to do this, both for your heritage and as a cop." Paul spoke softly as he ran his fingers through Peter's dark hair. Reassured by the warmth of Peter's skin and the steady breathing that Peter would recover, Paul again thought of the memory at the morgue. "But, if you ever do anything like this again, I'll...I'll still be here beside you, son."
The door opened enough for Paul to see the tall stranger that had saved Peter's life. Paul recognized the gray haired man as the one who rescued the Ancient from the burning building just the other night.
"I want to thank you for saving my son." Paul said quietly. He felt the serenity that surrounded this stranger. Something about this man worried Paul, though he couldn't quite put his finger on what. "I don't even know your name."
The stranger came into the room, watching the man beside the still form. Bowing slightly, he answered. "I am Caine."
Paul felt the blood drain from his face. The hand that had been caressing Peter's face stopped as fear gripped Paul. He recognized they eyes, the same eyes Peter had. And the last name…"Caine? Don't suppose you know anything about Peter's father? He was killed in an explosion when Peter was twelve."
Caine moved closer to the other side of the bed. 'This must be Paul Blaisdell.' Seeing the shock slowly evolve on the other man's face, "His father is alive, though he did not know his son had survived the destruction. You are his…father?"
"Foster father. I'm Paul Blaisdell." Paul never lost contact with Peter's skin. Instead, he used the unconscious man to center himself as he prepared himself for the truth. Swallowing hard, "You're his father."
"Yes." Came the simple reply. "He did not tell you of our meeting?"
Looking down at Peter, Paul felt a tear escape from his eye. "He was undercover. He couldn't talk to me. When we found out that the assassination was taking place somewhere else, I knew Tan had made him." Paul nodded at Peter.
"Tan was the man responsible for the destruction of our temple so many years ago. Peter did not know that until last night."
Silence and tension stood between the two men. Finally Caine reached out and touched Paul's hand. "You thanked me for saving your, our, son. It should be I who thanks you."
Paul looked at Caine, not understanding what the man meant and fearful that now that his father was back, Peter would stop being his son. "What for?"
"You took my son in when he needed a home. You gave him love and family, for that I am eternally grateful. I do not wish to take him from you." Caine answered Paul's unasked question.