The ambulance ride was quick. Peter continued to send out his chi to Kelly, cursing himself for forgetting parts of what Lo Si had taught him about healing. Watching her color turn from ash-gray to pale was an improvement. He took it to mean that he was, in some way, helping her.

True to his word, Kermit met them at the emergency room entrance. "Pete, let the doctors work with her, OK?"

Peter tried to shrug Kermit's hands off his shoulders. The tightening pressure from Kermit's hand made Peter jab out his fist quicker than Kermit could react.

The blow sent the older man to the wall, his breath knocked out of him. It didn't take him long to recover, but he also knew that a hospital was not a place for a fight. "Peter, listen to me, kid. You know the drill; they have to work on Kelly if they are going to save her. Now, come on, let's go sit down. I'll call the station and get someone to pick up Annie."

The channeling of his chi to Kelly left Peter weak after his small bout with Kermit. He was led willingly to the waiting room, berating himself for all that had happened and for his inability to stop the violence that had visited his family.

"Jessie's going to get Annie. I thought it best to let her explain what had happened when she got there instead of telling your mom over the phone," Kermit explained when he stepped back into the waiting room. He noticed Peter sitting in the same chair and in the same position as he had been before Kermit went to use the phone. "You hear anything yet?"

"Who's here with Ms. Blaisdell?" a doctor asked, standing at the entrance to the room.

At the mention of his sister's name, Peter's head jerked up as he stood. Weakness caused him to lose his balance. Kermit caught him, concern for his friend making him check the pale features that were normally tanned.

"I'm her brother. H-how is she?"

"We are prepping her for surgery. She's had a lot of internal bleeding and her lung collapsed from the blood that filled it. She's young and strong. I believe she'll make it. The surgery will last about two hours, and then we'll put her in a room. You may want to go and grab a snack, or lie down." Peter's pallor had not escaped the doctor's notice.

"I'll take care of him. Thanks," Kermit answered as the doctor nodded and turned to leave. "Come on, let's go get some coffee."

Peter didn't move until he felt Kermit's grip tighten on his shoulder. Self-doubt and incrimination filled his mind as he was led to the hospital cafeteria. He didn't hear Kermit leave a message with the desk nurse for Annie and Jessie, didn't see the pictures that lined the corridor. Instead, he saw the accusatory glances of the other visitors. He shielded himself against their thoughts and felt himself unworthy of his brands, his friends, and his family.

Peter's withdrawal into himself had Kermit even more worried than he had been at the scene of the shooting. Before Peter had become a priest, he would have been exuding wave upon wave of anger, intent on going after the person responsible.

Jessie Flying Eagle Dakota walked into the cafeteria, leading Annie Blaisdell with ease. Peter's foster mother had been blind since infancy and was used to being led when needed. Her previous visits to the hospital had led her to memorize the waiting rooms on the medical/surgical floor and ICU. Finding the cafeteria had been one of the more difficult routes to learn.

Her escort was a social worker who had become involved with the 101st and Peter Caine. Her brother, James White Cloud Dakota, had filled Peter's empty desk months after Peter had resigned to begin his new path as Shaolin Priest. Both were direct descendants of the Dakota Indian tribe. Their parents remained on the reservation, though they had given their children their blessing to move to the city.

Meeting Peter had been an accident. A child had been abandoned by her mother because she was not of pure Asian descent, the infant's grandparents only willing to take back their own daughter. Peter had found the child in a dumpster, and finding out who had placed her there, called Child Services.

"Annie, here's a chair." Jessie held out a seat next to Peter, and guided the older woman to it.

"Peter?" Annie asked, slowly stretching out her hand and arm for her son.

He couldn't resist the movement, the offer of safety that Annie had always given him. Reaching out, he touched her fingers, closing his eyes against the onslaught of tears that threatened to fall.

"How is she?" Annie asked as she leaned toward Peter, caressing his face and hair. Her own face was a rock facade she had become used to wearing when either her son or husband had been injured. The only evidence of her true feelings was the red rimmed eyes hidden behind her dark glasses and the splotchy skin on her cheeks.

When Peter didn't answer, Kermit offered, his own emotions too complicated to figure out, "They took her to surgery. Doc said he thought she'd pull through without any problems." He watched as Annie's grip on her cane loosened, and the lines of her face softened.

"What happened?" Jessie asked, concerned by Peter's lack of either communication or the usual controlled energy that emanated from him.

At her question, Peter's head came up, fire burning in his eyes. The dark hazel pools were livid with the self-loathing he had applied to himself. "I let her get shot, that's what happened!" He didn't scream the words, but spit them out between clenched teeth. "I should have known…" Pushing his chair back, Peter stood quickly and briskly walked out of the cafeteria, leaving the other three sitting in their chairs, stunned.

"I'll go get him," Kermit offered, reaching over to touch Annie's hand.

Annie enfolded his hand in hers. "No. Let him go. He'll come back when he's calmed down."

'What happened? You screwed up, Caine. That's what happened!' Peter pushed his way through visitors, toward the sliding doors that separated the antiseptic environment from the rest of the world. 'You can't even figure out when someone is going to get shot. Damn, I never should have become a priest. What good am I?' He stopped his thoughts long enough to look down the sidewalk that ran beside the hospital.

A figure turned the corner at the end of the street. A figure Peter had thought to never see again, though he had been promised he would. "Paul?"

Peter ran down the walk, following the white haired figure wearing a long trench coat. Rounding the corner, Peter stopped as the man in question held a gun level with Peter's chest.

"You're not Paul." The words fell from his lips, disappointment evident in his voice.

"No, I'm not, but if you want to see him, you'll come with me," the man said, gently waving his gun toward the dark sedan parked next to the walk.

Peter recognized the car. It was the one he'd seen earlier, the one that had driven by when Kelly had been shot. "You son of a b…" Peter started, then turned and impacted the abductor's stomach with his foot from a spinning sidekick.

His anger had clouded his mind and his eyes as all he wanted to do was take this man down. He didn't see the other man behind him; instead, he only felt the blow to the base of his skull for a brief second, then only darkness.

Waking up seemed to be the hardest thing to do. Peter couldn't focus his mind. Dreams of Paul holding a gun on him and thoughts of anger, jealousy, and betrayal swam through his mind as the darkness of unconsciousness turned first to gray, then to light.

The room he was in was dimly lit. A window high above let in the fading sunlight, barely illuminating the small room. Trying to focus his eyes, he looked around, though unable to move his head. It hurt to even think about moving it.

Paul cradled his son's head, gently stroking Peter's forehead with his thumb, never losing contact with Peter's skin.

"Not supposed to be like this." Peter breathed out, exhaustion pulling him further into the darkness. In the back of his mind, he thought Paul was a dream, an apparition without substance.

"Not supposed to be like what?"

Licking dry chapped lips, Peter tried to focus his eyes in the direction of the familiar baritone voice. "Supposed to…be able to…feel evil."

"How long do you think your father worked with his - skills - before he was able to do what he does?"

Peter was quiet, silently thinking of the answer. "Don't…don't know."

Paul watched Peter's eyes close, listened as the young man's breathing evened out in sleep. He felt the lump on the back of his son's head. It hadn't occurred to him that Peter didn't know he was real. Fear for Kelly and Peter's lives occupied most of his thoughts.

While Peter slept, Paul thought about his predicament. Only yesterday he had been leaving Alexa's home. The motel manager had delivered a message to him when he was checking out, a message as ominous as the first that had been planted in his room earlier that day. It was another manila envelope that contained a picture of Kelly. Across her face was a red 'x'. There was no note; the only message was the photo.

Contacting Kermit wasn't possible. He was not in the office and, from what Broderick had said, the ex-mercenary was taking a day off. Something was strange with that idea. Kermit didn't take days off.

Thankfully, Broderick didn't recognize Paul's voice. It wouldn't do for it to get around that the former Captain was making contact with Kermit. At least, not until the Blaisdell clan could be told first by its patriarch.

Paul had arrived in town late yesterday. His plans were to go to his home and beg forgiveness from his wife and maybe share a happy reunion with her. Instead, a gentleman in a dark suit with dark glasses and a gun concealed in a rolled up newspaper, met Paul at the baggage pickup.

The choice between attacking the gunman and him possibly shooting innocent bystanders or going along quietly until a better offer came up was not hard to make. They left together, Paul's luggage continuing to go around on the luggage carrier, unclaimed by its owner.

Kermit sat with Annie at Kelly's bedside, both waiting for the young woman to wake up. Looking outside, he noticed the sun's fading light. He watched as Annie flipped open the crystal on her watch and felt the time. It had been hours since Peter had left.

"You want me to go see if he's gone back to the apartment?" This question had been demanding to be asked, but Kermit had hesitated. He knew Peter would have been back before the two hours of surgery were over. Something was wrong, very wrong. It was Peter's nature to take the blame, shoulder the world's problems, but he would not have left the hospital voluntarily.

Jessie's brother, James Dakota, was the detective in charge of investigating the shooting. So far, nothing had come up. Peter had only seen part of the tag of the car; its physical description fit most of the cars in the state.

"No, he would have answered the phone if he'd been there," Annie replied, exhaustion battering the shield of strength she had erected. Feeling Kelly's hand, she said what was in her heart. "I wish Pa…" As she took a breath, the last of her strength left. "Damn it, Kermit! Why did he leave? He's slowly killing this family by leaving, then not even calling us. Is he dead? Has he met someone else?" Her frustrations over her youngest daughter's condition, her son's disappearance, and her husband's departure came out in waves.

Letting the woman vent caused Kermit to wonder many of the same things, though he kept his thoughts to himself. He kept his knowledge to himself. Not once in the past two years had he told Peter or Annie of Paul's plan, though he knew how much they all suffered. Cursing Paul himself, Kermit walked to the door. "I'll be back. Gotta go call someone."

Annie was left alone with her silent daughter and the sounds of the IV pump as it delivered fluid and antibiotics to the sleeping woman.

In the corridor, Kermit walked to the waiting room to use the pay phone. "Peter hasn't come back."

Captain Simms listened as Kermit updated her on what was happening. "It's almost 5. I'm going to stop by there after I leave here. I'll swing by the lake and have someone go by his place to see if he's there."

"Karen, there's no way in hell Peter would leave without knowing how Kelly is. We need to put out an APB on him."

"You know I can't do that. Not until we search everywhere possible. If we don't find him before 9, I'll issue the bulletin. How's Annie holding up?" Karen asked, wishing she could do more.

Sighing heavily, Kermit replied, "Not so good. She's had enough of everything and Peter disappearing hasn't helped any. I need to take her home, but I don't want to leave Kelly alone. Carolyn won't be back until tomorrow. I called her, they are taking the next available flight home."

Moments later, they both hung up, wishing they were together - needing to be there for each other.

After hanging up, Karen Simms stood in her office doorway, surveying the people who worked under her command. To anyone else, the constant murmur of the officers talking on phones, to one another, or to visitors would have seemed like the drone of a beehive. To Simms, it was the sound of a well-oiled machine working at full power.

Her eyes stopped at the detective whose desk sat near her office. He was of a dark tan color; his sharp cheekbones and angled nose told of his Indian heritage. The ebony hair glistened to almost a blue tint.

"Dakota, do have you have anything on the shooting?" She knew the question was redundant. Dakota had proven to be an excellent officer as much as the officer he had replaced. The only difference in the two was Dakota was as much a stickler for following procedure as Caine had been laid back and bent the procedure book to his way of thinking.

"Not yet, Captain. Skalany is following up with the owner of the restaurant. He was too shaken up this morning; we couldn't get anything from him. She took Chin with her as an interpreter." Meeting his Captain's gaze, he saw her lips drawn into a worried frown. "Anything wrong, Captain?"

Slightly shaking of her head to clear her wayward thinking, Karen answered, "No. Thank you, Detective. If you get anything, let me know." She then walked back into her office, retrieving her purse, and left the building.