Seasons of the Winds

*Author's note This was the first KFLC story I ever wrote. I'd been writing Equalizer stories up until this point, and one day my editor asked me if I ever watched this show. I think I'd seen it once or twice, so I said yes. Her response? Start writing. So here is my first effort for the genre. It's not my best because in all honesty, I really didn't know the characters all that well and I had only begun to study Chinese culture and folklore. Still, I have a certain fondness for my first effort. Enjoy!

Peter Caine made a small sound of frustration, trying to maintain the rein on an already short temper that was only getting worse. It couldn't end like this. It just couldn't. Five weeks of hard work. Five weeks of continuous surveillance and investigations, all just blown to hell in a matter of a few minutes. If just wasn't fair.

"Don't blame yourself, son," a friendly voice consoled, placing a cup of coffee in front of him. It was easy to see that Paul Blaisdell was no happier with the conclusion of the investigation than Peter, but the odds had been against them gaining anything out of this at all. They had to salvage what they could out of it and be satisfied. What Peter needed now was not recriminations. He was doing more than enough of that on his own. A friendly ear, though, would not have been amiss under the circumstances. A cup of coffee in a quiet booth at the back of the local coffee shop was the ideal setting in which he could express all of that pent-up anger and frustration. "You did the best you could."

"Well, that wasn't good enough, was it?" Peter snapped. "Another couple of days and we could have had them nailed clean. They won't even spend the night in jail, and you know it!" Blaisdell nodded, feeling that same disappointment. Hell, didn't the kid think it galled him that those punks would be out as soon as bail was set? What they had been hoping was a chance to break a major weapons ring would now be bumped down to a relatively minor charge. Couldn't the boy see that his own frustration? If those punks did any jail time at all, it would be a damn sight less than what the original charges would have demanded.

"Well, it's better than nothing." Blaisdell mused, as much in response to his own thoughts as to his foster son's observations. "You did a good job."

"But we were so damn close!" Peter snarled. "I could have had them!"

"Peter, it just didn't work out." Paul stated flatly. "You couldn't have anticipated your informant blowing it like that. That was out of your hands. At least you were able to salvage something out of the situation." You did a good job."

Peter shrugged, not at all convinced by Blaisdell's insistence. They knew that the Dragon Fires had become a major supplier of weapons and drugs to the gangs of Chinatown in the past few months, but proving it had been another matter.

It had been hoped that this investigation could have broken their hold for good. The key to the whole operation had been their informant, a lieutenant in the gang who had been willing to testify and aid in the investigation in exchange for a reduced sentence.

It had been their only opportunity to succeed in this investigation. While the Dragon Fires were mostly a bunch of kids, they were too street wise to be tricked by anything less that a betrayal where they least expected it -- from within their own ranks. Having someone on the inside seemed to be their one real chance of shattering the gang's hold on the Chinese underworld.

What they had not anticipated was their ace in the hole panicking in the middle of the operation and blowing the whole deal. Oh, the gang had been arrested. As soon as Peter had seen something going wrong, he quickly moved in and made the arrest -- without the huge shipment of semi-automatic assault rifles they had been waiting for. At the most now, the members of the Dragon Fires arrested would be charged for the illegal weapons already in their possession, and probably would not see any real jail time at all. All of his work had just been shot out of the water, and damn it, he was going to feel pissed off if he wanted to!

Blaisdell shook his head, wishing that Peter wouldn't take it so hard. He should know at this point that not every investigation ended successfully. It was a constant battle, and sometimes ground was lost rather than gained. It was all part of the war, and any victory, no matter how small, helped put the odds a little more in their favor the next time. The had to hope that by busting one gang, that the others might think twice about their actions in the future. Unlikely, but they had to hope. Otherwise their work had no meaning at all.

"Look, Peter. Go home. You've got the sick time. Take a couple of days and cool off. I don't want to see you back at work until Monday. Is that clear?"

"I'm all right, Paul. I'm... "

"Peter, tomorrow is Christmas eve. It'll be the first one you've spent with your father since you were a little kid. Go home and enjoy yourself." He forced a tired smile onto his face and tried to joke. "The bad guys will still be there when you get back."

Peter looked up at him with a look of disgust on his face. "I guess that's the problem, isn't it?"

Paul patted him on the shoulder. "You want me to make it an order? Go and enjoy yourself. Forget all about this. You made special plans for the holiday. Don't let this ruin Christmas for you."

Peter looked up at him, visibly considering the thought. "You don't mind that I won't be spending it with you? I mean... "

The smile on Blaisdell's face froze for an instant before he could quickly rally, shaking his head. He was not going to allow Peter to know his misgivings. The kid had enough problems as it was.

"No, I don't mind." he fibbed, hoping that Peter couldn't detect his conflicting emotions on the matter. "You need to be with your father. I got to spend a lot of holidays with you that he missed out on. I don't begrudge him this one."

He hoped that the half-truth sounded convincing, but to his own ears, it seemed weak. He couldn't help from adding "If you feel that badly about having neglected me lately, you two can join us for breakfast on Christmas morning. But I think the two of you deserve a couple of days of peace and quiet together."

The younger man nodded, smiling his appreciation that his foster father seemed to be taking the matter so well. "Thanks. I really appreciate it."

Blaisdell smiled, patting him on the shoulder. "Go on. Get out of here before I have to find something for you to do."

"You sure?" Peter asked, a wry smile brightening Peter's face.

"Out!"

Kwai Chang was somewhat perplexed by the festive mood on the streets as he wandered about the city. He was well aware that Christmas was supposed to be a religious celebration, but in his eyes it seemed to have digressed into a glut of flashy commercialism and secular festivities that had little, if anything at all to do with the original spiritual meaning of the day. There was not a single storefront left undecorated with artificial snowflakes and cardboard cut-outs of Santa Claus and snowmen. The oddest thing was the unnaturally high level of good spirits found in the people on the street. Everyone seemed to be in a festive mood, almost to the point of being annoyingly cheerful and completely at odds with their normal dispositions. All in all, the decorations, the cheer, and the noise was a little much to take.

But, it had been clear that this day meant a great deal to Peter and he was determined that it would be a happy time for his son. He knew that Peter had gone to a great deal of trouble to make special plans for them, and wanted to show that he appreciated his son's efforts. Finding the perfect gift was not an easy matter.

Shopping for Peter's present had confirmed a difficult and uncomfortable concept that had rooted itself since he and his son had first stumbled their way back into each other's lives. In spite of the leaps and bounds that they had made in their relationship in a relatively short amount of time, he had to admit that he really didn't know his son as well as he wanted to. He knew the boy he had been, but had little real understanding of the man he had become.

He considered all that they had gone through in the past months, having thought that he had begun to understand to some degree just what sort of man Peter was. They had survived hardship and danger together, learning to depend on and trust one another. But, while shopping, he quickly found to his distress that he had little idea of the young man's likes and dislikes, what he might want or need. He did not even know such a simple thing as what Peter's favorite color might be. For any other parent, it would have been considered a minor matter, and one quickly remedied with a few carefully chosen questions and a bit of observation. But how could they overcome what had built up over years of separation in such a short amount of time? It was not a pleasant feeling to comprehend that his son was little more than a complete stranger.

No, not completely a stranger, he reconsidered as he paused at another window front. Caine had been pleased to see of late that in spite of everything Peter had gone though in his young life, Peter had not forgotten all of his heritage or training as a boy. Deeply buried perhaps, but it was there. It was something that he shared with his son. A precious heritage that Kwai Chang hoped to pass on to future generations, and it was a great relief to see that what he had already imparted to his son had not been completely lost. More important than even that, though, it gave them a common bond. It had become the slender bridge that spanned the vast gulf years and separation had caused. He hoped that this special day that they were to spend together would strengthen the bond between them and reestablish the closeness they once shared.

Returning to the brownstone, he placed the gift he had finally selected for Peter down on the table and reminded himself to check the answering machine that his son had bestowed upon him several weeks ago. With Peter's hectic career, and his own involvement in teaching and taking a hand in community matters, it was difficult to keep track of one another. More, Peter believed that being out of communication could place his father in danger. It had done so before.

Peter fully believed that Kwai Chang could lead as spiritual and austere an existence as he wanted, but refusing basic communication capabilities seemed just plain stupid to him. Especially since, as a police officer, he needed to be in constant communication with his superiors. He let it be known in a few very poorly veiled hints that Kwai Chang's insistence on not keeping a phone could lead to fewer visits by "his one and only offspring" in the future.

The telephone Peter insisted on being installed and the accompanying answering machine hadn't turned out to be the monstrous technological intrusions that Caine feared they would become. Most of the time, he could ignore the fact that they were even there. That didn't mean that he liked them, though. The ringing sound of the telephone was quite irritating when he was busy on something until he learned to turn off the ringer if he did not wish to be disturbed.

He eyed the machine with a frown of supreme distaste, but noted that the red light was blinking. At least whoever called had the good manners to make sure that he was out first.

Pressing the playback button, he removed his coat and hat, listening to the message. In spite of his feelings towards the answering machine itself, he felt a slight smile tug at the corners of his mouth when he heard Peter's voice.

"Hi Pop. Guess you're not home. What am I saying? You're never home. Well, everything's set for tomorrow night. Why don't you meet me at my place at about eight. I found this little restaurant... You're going to love it. And Paul invited us over for breakfast on Saturday. Well, I'll see you tomorrow. Bye-bye."

Caine shook his head with the tolerant fondness that all parents must feel towards the exuberant youth of their offspring. Even over the machine, it was easy to sense his son's eagerness and joy at the prospect of spending Christmas with him. This would be a wonderful day for the both of them, and he would be happy to join the man who had raised his son for breakfast. Christmas was supposed to be a day spent with family. He could hardly think of a better family for a man to have than his beloved son and a friend he both liked and respected, if not totally agreed with all the time.

The one thing he truly wanted was for Peter to be happy. Despite whatever misgivings he might have about the day himself, he would see to it that it was a joyous one for his son.

"I did the best I could, Paul," the judge insisted, shrugging off his robes. "You know that."

Blaisdell didn't know why he should be surprised all of the suspects arraigned were already out of jail. Not even twenty four hours after being arrested, they were back on the streets, business as usual.

"I know you did, Neil," he sighed. "But that doesn't help things, does it? Couldn't you set the bail higher, or..?"

"Look, Paul. I set it as high as I legally could. Most of those suspects are minors! Even though they're being tried as adults, I couldn't set it for them as I can an adult."

"Most of those so-called kids have records dating back to kindergarten. They were out in less than a day!" Blaisdell spat, unable to hide his disgust with the entire situation. He had made sure to sit in on the bail hearing at Judge Neil Dyer's court. The entire process lasted less than an hour, with the whole lot of them were free men less than two after that. Hell, they just wrote a check out as soon as the fee was announced.

He didn't have to express how it appalled him that a sixteen year old kid could post twenty thousand dollars without even blinking to Dyer. The judge had seen it too often himself. They had discussed it too many times over glasses of beer late at night how the criminals were getting younger and more violent as the years since they had first began their respective wars against crime passed. Blaisdell had in the force for more years than he really wanted to admit to and seen a lot of changes.

He wished that Peter would not be so hard on himself. As young as he was, he had one of the most successful records in dealing with the Chinese gangs. He understood the people living in Chinatown. He spoke their language. They trusted him, and that fact alone gave him a great advantage that few cops could claim. Blaisdell knew that Peter was disappointed in himself and the investigation that they had not succeeded as well as he had expected. But then, Peter was still retained a measure of youthful idealism, tempered with a healthy dose of realism. Blaisdell would hate to see the day when the young man was hardened and lost sight of the good that was still out there. They needed his fresh outlook and enthusiasm, and he dreaded the day when that was lost.

"How's that boy of yours?" Dyer asked, interrupting his line of thought. "Saw his name on the report. He's still determined to follow in his old man's footsteps, huh?"

Which old man, Paul thought, and nearly said aloud before catching himself. "Yeah, he's made quite a name for himself at the department. A name for what I'm not sure about," he chuckled, happy to drop the previous line of conversation for something more pleasant. He smiled to himself, thinking of all the times he had to assuage the wounded feelings of Peter's chief every time his foster son did something dangerous or foolhardy. He seemed to be doing a great deal of soothing nowadays.

A tiny spark of pain bit at him, reminding him that it was no longer he that Peter ran to every time he had trouble or was bothered by something. More and more often now, Peter was turning to his natural father.

It was never a pleasant feeling for any parent to realize that their child was no longer dependant upon them for support. But this was not a case of a young man asserting his independence. Peter had found another wellspring of support and affection to tap. He did not want to admit to jealousy, but it was true. As much as he wanted to like Peter's father, he could not help the feeling that this man was taking Peter away from him.

He and his wife had spoken about it many times. He knew that it was natural to feel that way. Peter certainly expressed no desire to exclude the Blaisdells' influence from his life. Caine, himself, had made no effort to come between the two of them. If anything, he encouraged their friendship. He seemed to understand that Blaisdell had seen his son through some very hard times and held a very special place in his son's heart. If he was at all uncomfortable with the situation, he gave no sign.

Maybe when they were all together on Christmas morning, they would find out. It was certainly a preferable alternative to losing the boy altogether. He loved that boy as if he were his child by blood as well as by spirit. No matter what happened, that would never change.

"Well, you take good care of that kid," Dyer grinned, patting his friend on the back. "I'm looking forward to seeing more good work from him in the future."

"So am I," Blaisdell smiled. "So am I."

Caine arrived at Peter's apartment exactly at the appointed time. Under his arm he carried the basket containing Peter's present. It seemed as if it were decreed from above that this night be special. It had lightly snowed that afternoon, dusting the ground with a layer of fresh white snow that seemed to turn the city into a picture from a story book. The city was clean and beautiful, as he had never seen it since he first arrived here. He almost found himself liking it. Almost.

He rang the buzzer to the front door and was a little surprised when there was no answer. No trouble, he thought to himself. The two of them had long ago exchanged sets of keys so that they could let themselves into each other's abodes when the other was not at home. Peter must have left to attend to some errand. Digging into his pocket for the ring of keys Peter had given in for just such an occasion, he opened the door and walked upstairs to Peter's apartment.

As expected, he found a note taped to the front door. Had to run out for something. Be back in a few minutes. P. Smiling ruefully, he opened the door and let himself in.

Placing the basket down on the table, he saw that Peter had decorated the apartment in full anticipation for the holiday. A small tree sat in the corner of the living room, decorated with colorful, store-bought ornaments and garland. Beneath it sat a few brightly wrapped presents, waiting for eager hands to tear away the colorful paper and reveal what was hidden within. For once, the small space had an air of warmth and welcome about it.

Kwai Chang had never considered himself and unduly curious man. He had always believed that a man's privacy was something to be respected and he was not comfortable with the idea of nosing about Peter's apartment without permission. But, the temptation that Peter's absence presented, especially when coupled with the deep need to learn more about his son was simply too much for even a man with Caine's control and discipline.

He wandered about the small apartment, a small frown of uneasiness curling his mouth. It was no fault of the apartment itself that warranted that reaction. On the surface, it seemed to be a perfectly suitable habitat for an unmarried young man. It was stylish enough for Peter's young modern tastes without being overly opulent. But there was a strange sense of emptiness about it, a coldness that clung to the walls and the very air. If he had stepped into it without knowing anything about who lived there, he would almost suspect that no one really lived there at all. There were a few pictures of the apartment's occupant and his family scattered about, almost as an afterthought. Peter's beloved toy train set occupied a place of honor. But otherwise, there was little else that would have made the space uniquely and personally Peter's. It was dark and empty and strangely sad.

It was easy to see from his son's lifestyle that he spent very little time here. He always seemed to be so busy with his work, or socializing with whatever pretty young woman had caught his eye that week. He mostly used this place as a base of operations, or simply a place to sleep when his investigations allowed him the time to rest. Even his cell, back at the temple, had more of an air of intimacy than this place. This might be Peter's apartment, but it was certainly not his home.

A small noise caught his attention. He turned about, seeing that Peter's Christmas present was trying to climb its way out of the basket holding it. The little tiger stripped kitten gave another small squeak as it finally made its way to the table. Caine smiled and picked up the kitten, scratching it under the chin and saying softly, "Shame on you. You know that you are supposed to be a surprise. You must be silent."

The kitten merely purred loudly, looking up at him with huge blue-green eyes that seemed to dominate its entire face.

Shaking his head, he placed the kitten back in its basket and placed it underneath the tree. Hopefully, the little cat would fall asleep and not ruin the surprise. Then again, he could hardly imagine how better to surprise Peter than if the kitten were to stumble out of its basket and meow at an inopportune moment.

Seating himself on the couch, he awaited his son's return. It had been several minutes since he arrived, and he wondered at what could be keeping Peter. It wasn't likely to be anything important, or Peter would have certainly left more of an explanation. He tried not to grow concerned as time was passing by. If Peter was going to be delayed for an extended time, he would call. He knew that his father was waiting for him. Peter would not want him to worry.

He gave a small sigh of relief when the telephone did ring. Picking up the receiver, he said, "Hello?"

"Caine? This is Paul Blaisdell. Is Peter there?"

"No, he is not," Kwai Chang answered.

There was an instant of silence on the other end that suddenly worried Kwai Chang. Almost as if Blaisdell had been hoping that Peter would be there to avoid some other alternative. But, the police captain quickly rallied and said, "When he gets in, will you please have him call me? I'm at the station."

"Is there something wrong?" Caine asked.

"No, I don't think so." The answer was a little too casual to be totally believable. "Then, why are you concerned about Peter's whereabouts?"

Another pause on the other end of the line, as if Blaisdell was considering what to say. "Peter's wallet and badge was found a little while ago on the street. I don't know if he lost it or was robbed, but I was hoping he would be home and put my mind at ease. I'm sure that there's nothing the matter."

This time it was Caine who paused, judging how to voice his own thoughts. "He was supposed to have met me here nearly an hour ago. He left me a note, but has not returned."

Blaisdell knew that Caine was not a man who showed concern for no reason. Kwai Chang knew that the same could be said for Blaisdell. It did not take psychic abilities to sense one another's apprehension over the line. "I'm sure that it isn't anything serious. I wouldn't worry if I were you. Peter's a big boy. He can take care of himself. Do me a favor though? When Peter comes back, have him call me."

"Of course," Kwai Chang answered. He hung up the telephone, the feeling of concern and apprehension not abating at all.

Peter did not return that night.

Christmas morning came and went, with no word at all from Peter. It did not take long for Blaisdell to realize that something was seriously wrong. Peter had moods, but he wouldn't just run off without word to anybody. If it had anything at all to do with work, he certainly would not have gone in alone, no matter how headstrong he could be. He might be reckless, but he wasn't that stupid. Hell, he was taught better than that.

He'd gotten no sleep that night when there was no comforting telephone call from Peter to assure him that he was all right. Breakfast Christmas morning had been a disaster, with the entire family knowing that something terrible had happened concerning their adopted member. Blaisdell quickly left for the office to see if there was any news. He just couldn't sit home and do nothing under these circumstances.

Peter hadn't checked in. He hadn't called. Aside from his wallet and badge being turned in, it was as if the young man had just disappeared off the face of the earth. He called Peter's apartment three times in less than an hour, growing increasingly frustrated with the answering machine picking up each time. There was a sick churning in his stomach as he made the necessary calls to the local hospitals and morgues, calls that -- to no small measure of relief -- proved equally unenlightening. By noon, with Peter missing for nearly eighteen hours, Blaisdell officially reported him as a missing person and ordered out an APB.

His imagination came up with all sorts of reasons why Peter would be missing, none of them pleasant. As a cop, Peter had made a lot of enemies on the streets, any of whom would have little hesitation at taking out a police officer. Every instinct within him screamed for him to break down every door in the city until he found Peter. He forced that feeling down with a grunt of frustration. While he was sitting there, bound by rules and bureaucracy, Peter could be hurt or even dead. It just wasn't right that even when a loved one's life might be on the line, he still had to fight with one hand tied behind his back.

Aside from the fruitless telephone search, spent the morning going over Peter's records, trying to find if any of those with grudges against Peter were out on the streets. His case load had been extremely light in the past few weeks, Peter having devoted almost all of his time on the Dragon Fires investigation. His guts tightened at the thought of the gang possibly being involved.

He was not at all surprised to see Kwai Chang Caine walking into the office, his face an unreadable mask.

"Has there been any word?" he asked with a calmness that was unnerving in its quiet strength. Blaisdell shook his head. "No. Nothing. I've got every man in the city looking for him."

Caine nodded slowly, knowing too well that there were limits to what the police could do. "What happened? Was Peter investigating something particularly dangerous?"

Paul shook his head. "No, he just closed a case. There isn't anything pending that could explain something like this."

Caine considered his words silently for a moment, and then asked, "What did this case involve?"

That the Dragon Fires might have had something to do with Peter's disappearance was something that Blaisdell had not wanted to consider. That a bunch of dangerous children could be responsible chilled his blood. But nothing else seemed to fit.

"We had just busted a gang that was supplying weapons and drugs into Chinatown. The investigation hadn't gone smoothly, and while we were hoping to get them on some serious felonies, all we were able to charge them with was the possession of illegal firearms. It isn't even a serious charge to them. They could plea bargain it down in a minute, with the way the courts are overloaded."

"Would they go after Peter?" Caine asked gravely, his eyes betraying no hint of emotion. At that moment, Blaisdell wished that he had half of the other man's control.

He shrugged. "It's possible. They were trying to set themselves up as major players with this deal we blew for them. They lost a lot of money, and their chance of making it to the big league. They might try to save face by going after the cop who busted them. But they just had one nasty run-in with the law. I don't know how fast they'd be to risk it again."

Caine nodded. He would only consider the option that Peter was alive and being held somewhere out there. He could not conceive Peter being dead. Not when he had so recently been reunited with him. It took only a small glance at Blaisdell to know that he was thinking the same thing. Neither could bear the thought of Peter being taken away from them.

"Will you accept my help?" Caine asked.

"You're a civilian, Caine. I can't allow you to become involved."

"If we do nothing, then he will certainly die," Caine said softly. "I can talk to the people. They trust me, and will speak freely."

That was something that Blaisdell had to agree with. The gangs and triads held the people of Chinatown in a grip of fear. The people knew too well that to turn on the gangs could have fatal consequences. It was Peter's unique understanding of the people that had made him such a valuable police officer in that area. Much of that acceptance, Blaisdell admitted silently, stemmed from the young detective's relation to the Shaolin priest.

"All right," he said reluctantly. "But, if anything serious goes down, you have to stay out of it! I don't want to have the mayor breathing down my neck that I let a civilian get killed playing amateur detective on an official investigation."

"Who found the wallet?" Kwai Chang asked. So far, it was their first and only clue to Peter's possible whereabouts.

Blaisdell was not comforted with Caine's apparent ignoring of the warning he had just been issued, but that did not stop him from imparting the other man with what little information he had. He knew that this was Peter's best chance for coming out of this in once piece. "I don't know. It was turned into the local precinct, but the person left before we could get a statement. All the duty officer can tell us is that it was a young Chinese man, about seventeen or eighteen years old. And there are only about five thousand young men in the immediate area fitting that description."

Caine nodded slowly, accepting the information. It wasn't much to go on, but it was a start. "I will see what I can find out." He turned to leave.

"Caine," Blaisdell said, an edge of insistence in his voice. The silent man turned around. "If you learn anything at all, tell me. Don't try to take them on yourself. It would kill Peter if anything happened to you."

Caine's face was transformed by the smile he gave Blaisdell and he bowed to the police captain.

In spite of the fear that chilled his bones, Blaisdell had to allow a slight smile to touch his face as he watched Caine retrieve his hat and leave the office. There was an air of deep and unshakable serenity about the priest that somehow put him oddly at ease. In spite of his fear for his foster son, he was somehow comforted by Caine's presence.

The area where the wallet was allegedly found was in the outlying districts of Chinatown. Caine had no idea if the wallet had just been dumped there. If so, it was possible that Peter had disappeared in some other area of the city. He had no choice but to follow this cold trail.

He began his search by questioning the shop owners, asking if any had seen his son. But there was not a single positive answer. He could not be certain, but he had the feeling that some of these people might be lying out of fear. No matter how he pressed or phrased his questions, hoping to lull the people he spoke to he got no answers. Their fear of retaliation of the gangs was too great.

As the hours went by with no progress, he began to consider other options. He was almost certain that he was being deliberately lead off the path. What were the odds of finding Peter's wallet intact so soon after he turned missing? It was far more likely that it had not been found by chance. In most cases of robbery or kidnapping, the assailants would go through at least some trouble to hide the evidence of their crimes. They wouldn't just leave it on the streets for someone to find, especially if it was easily identifiable.

That could mean that it had been deliberately left in the open to be found and whoever had taken Peter had wanted it known that he met with foul play. It was even conceivable that the mysterious young man who had brought the wallet to the police in the first place had been involved in the crime itself. If this had been the work of the gang seeking to retaliate against the police for daring to arrest them, it would fit into that youthful arrogance of not bothering to hide the crime. Indeed, it would be very like them to deliberately allow the police to know that one of their men had been taken. If that was the case, the next piece of evidence they would find would likely be Peter's body.

What Caine lacked in this was time. He knew that he would be able to track down whoever had taken Peter... eventually. The key was to find them before whoever had him killed him.

Peter woke with a raging pain that seemed to swallow up his entire head. For a little while after consciousness slowly returned to his aching body, he considered whether it was worth the effort to open his eyes. It really did seem like a lot more trouble than it was worth, and would take more energy than he possessed at the moment. After several minutes of darkness, he accepted the fact that if he wanted to find out where he was, he's best open his eyes before he passed out again.

The total darkness nearly caused him to think that the clouts he had taken to his head had rendered him blind. All he saw was black. No hint of light coming from any direction. Just a light swirl of painful colors that faded from vision any time he tried to focus on them. A few minutes later, when his head cleared as much as it was likely to and the colors faded, he realized that the room he was in was completely devoid of light. Sighing in relief, he began to take stock of his current situation.

He could not tell how badly he was hurt. Aside from a raging headache, there was the unpleasant taste of blood in his mouth, and it felt as if one of his teeth had been knocked loose. He knew that he had taken the blows to his head hard, and he felt extremely dizzy and disoriented. He had no way of knowing if he had suffered any real harm, and he could only hope that whatever injuries he had suffered would not prevent him from acting when the opportunity presented itself.

He tried to remember what were the symptoms of serious head injuries, but it was difficult to think clearly. The headache and nausea were consistent with concussion, but being in complete darkness, he was not able to tell if his vision was being affected. He made a low moan of pain and frustration, the sound echoing eerily in his ears, as if it had come from a hundred miles away.

To compound his problems, he was tied quite expertly in a manner that prevented anything but the smallest movements. From what he could feel, the cord had been looped around his ankles and up to his wrists, effectively keeping him in a kneeling position. The dizziness he felt made it impossible to even attempt to guess at how he might free himself.

Biting back a wave of nausea that threatened to empty his stomach, he tried to think. It was so hard to keep his thoughts clear with them continuously washed away in surges of pain. The last coherent memory he had was of the hand grasping his shoulder to spin him about, the hard butt of a rifle smashing into his skull. More blows had followed, then blackness. There had been a lot of dreams and distorted visions since as he worked his way back towards consciousness, few of them pleasant. He could not remember if the faces in them were those of his captors, or figments from his nightmares. The only thing clear was that wherever he was and whoever was holding him, he was in a great deal of danger.

Peter had no concept of time passing. There was no way to tell how long he had been locked in wherever he was being held, or even how long it had been since he woke fully. He had no idea of who was holding him or why. All it all, it was a hell of a position to find himself in.

He inhaled deeply, hoping to hold back the sickness enough to move even a little bit. He tried to pull his arms forward, trying to see if the knots would give any. The experimental tugs on his bonds proved that they would not come away easily, and kneeling made it difficult to balance himself enough to force the ropes. Indeed, all that his attempts accomplished was to pull the knots even tighter.

Even these slight movements were more than his injured body could bear. There was no holding back the sickness this time as everything he had eaten the previous day resurfaced, noisily, messily, over him and the floor. Bound as he was, he could do nothing to stop it, merely weaving dizzily when it was finished.

It quickly became obvious that he would not be able to free himself easily. He was alone. He was injured, possibly seriously. And he had no idea of why this was happening.

He did the only thing he could for the moment. He closed his eyes and tried to gather his strength. He waited.

"Nothing?" Blaisdell asked, trying to hide his impatience as Caine poured him a cup of tea.

Kwai Chang placed down the delicate porcelain teapot and sat down across from him. "Peter was not taken from Chinatown. The wallet was brought to you deliberately."

"Damn," Paul muttered. That was the possibility that he had been afraid it. That meant the wallet could have come from anywhere. His own queries had been equally useless, his sources turning up dry. But it was impossible that Peter would just drop off the face of the earth with absolutely no one to see it happen. Someone knew where he was and who had taken him.

"We're not having any better luck. There were no fingerprints on the wallet besides Peter's. Nothing seems to have been taken from the wallet. His money and all of his identification is there. I've gone over the records for any recent arrests or releases that might have a grudge against Peter, but nothing checks out. It doesn't make sense."

Caine inhaled deeply before speaking. "Peter has just arrested the Dragon Fires and humiliated them. He has ruined any chance of them being taken seriously by the Triads."

"So you think they kidnapped him and plan on killing them out of revenge?" Blaisdell asked. "If that's true, what makes you think they haven't killed him already? The longer they hold him, the more risk there is. They'd know that we'd be turning the city upside down looking for a missing police officer."

Caine shook his head, taking up a small, mewling kitten into his lap and stroking it's body absently. "They will only kill him when they can gain the most benefit from it."

"Somehow, that thought doesn't comfort me," the police captain said softly.

"You are afraid."

Blaisdell nodded slowly, trying to put incoherent feelings into words. "Yes, I am afraid. These... these are just kids, most of them. Half of that bunch should still be in high school. They're playing a adult game without any rules. They care nothing about life or even each other. They would have absolutely no compunction about shooting up a store full of people to kill one person. And they would have no reservations about killing a police officer."

Caine sat silently, staring unblinkingly at the other man. "Then we must teach them the value of a man's life."

Blaisdell sat back to consider the idea. They had no choice in this but to play the game out as best they could. No choice at all in the matter. "Well, we'd better get started then. And there's one way we might find out if the Dragon Fires are behind this for certain. Danny Pei-Tao."

"Who?"

"He was Peter's informant inside the gang while he was investigating them. The kid was going to turn in exchange for a reduced sentence, but it never got that far. He panicked and blew about a month's worth of work. He's out on bail, but he won't be with the gang. More likely, he's in hiding himself. I'm sure the Dragon Fires would like to get their hands on him too, but if we can find him, he knows all of their hideouts. He might be able to help us figure out where they're holding Peter."

"You know where we can find him?" Caine asked.

Blaisdell nodded. "I've got a pretty good idea." He paused for a long moment, trying to figure out how to voice his thoughts. "Caine, you know that if we're guessing wrong on this... "

Caine shook his head. "We cannot be wrong."

Blaisdell sighed, telling himself firmly that he had to trust that Caine was right. They had to be right on this. Neither of them wanted to consider the alternative.

The beeper on Blaisdell's belt began to sound. Pulling the little device free, he checked it and saw that the department was trying to reach him. "May I use your phone? They might have found something."

"Of course."

Blaisdell picked up the picked and dialed the office. "This is Captain Blaisdell."

"Captain, this is Michaels over at the front desk. We just got a call from the head office of the National Bank. An ATM card belonging to Peter Caine was found in a cash machine at one of the local branches."

"Wait a minute. It was found inside the machine?"

"Yes sir. The branch manager just contacted the head office to put a protective lock on the account. They guessed that the card might have been stolen, but the account's intact."

"What was the address of that branch?" Blaisdell demanded. He wrote it down, noting sickly that its location was only a few blocks from Peter's apartment. "Contact the head office and tell them that this is part of an active investigation. We're going to need to look at the security camera tapes. I'll take care of the warrant. Have the bank close off that branch and send a team down to pick up evidence. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir. I'm on it right now."

Hanging up, he looked to Caine's expectant face and said, "We've got our first solid lead. You're right. He wasn't taken in Chinatown."

Caine was already grabbing his hat and coat and moving towards the door.

"We wanted to thank you, Mr. Ramos," Blaisdell said as the Chief of Security led them into a viewing room.

"Well, that's what the tapes are for, Captain Blaisdell," Ramos said, trying to be as cooperative as possible. "We don't normally view them as per routine. That's simply not feasible with the hundreds of hours of tape we get from the branches every day, but we do keep them on file in case a crime was reported to help provide information and evidence."

"Is there any reason why Peter Caine's card was not found sooner?" Blaisdell asked, sitting down at the monitor, moving slightly so Kwai Chang could sit. "It must have been stuck there all night."

"We checked the machine, and there appeared to be an electrical problem. That prevented Mr. Caine from coding in his PIN number, and kept anyone else from cleaning out his account." He found the correct tape and popped it into the player. "There's about twelve hours worth of surveillance on there. Do you know around what time you're looking for?"

"Somewhere between seven thirty and eight thirty p.m.," Paul answered.

Ramos nodded, punching the time request into the computer. A soft hum sounded as the tape was rushed though the system until it reached the correct time. He pushed the play button and the screen flickered on, the image of the interior of the bank's ATM section coming into view.

Blaisdell and Caine watched intently as the small clock at the bottom on the screen marked as time progressed. People walked in and out, doing their holiday transactions and leaving without incident. Both were wondering if this was a dead end as well until Peter appeared on the screen, dressed in his recognizable black leather jacket and a bright red scarf. "This is it," Blaisdell said, barely hiding his excitement.

With the bank closed for the holidays, Peter had no option but to use the ATM machines to complete his business. They watched as he walked up the malfunctioning machine, apparently completely at ease with his surrounding and not expecting danger of any kind. He dug into his pocket for his wallet and inserted his card, trying to punch his identification code into a machine that refused to accept it. He tried three times without result, growing visibly frustrated.

He seemed about ready to give up and try the other machine when two men entered the station and moved to the other machine. Peter looked up only briefly, seemingly not concerned by their presence. One of the suddenly moved behind him and grabbed his arms. Before Peter could react, the other shadowy figure drew from his long coat a sawed off-shotgun. Blaisdell winced as the mysterious figure smashed the butt of his weapon down hard on Peter's skull, dropping him like a pole-axed steer, while Caine watched in stony silence. They watched as the two figures then quickly grabbed Peter and dragged him from the bank and out of the camera's reach. The whole abduction took only seconds to complete.

Both men sat quietly for a long moment before Blaisdell could be certain that he could speak clearly. "We're going to need a copy of that tape," he finally managed to say. "You'd best alert your bosses that this is an active investigation into an assault and possible kidnapping of a police officer."

"Of course, Captain Blaisdell," Ramos agreed, hoping to clear the matter as quickly as possible. He didn't know what the board would think if they had to worry about customers being kidnapped right out of their banks, police officers or not. It would not help business at all. "The organization is ready to cooperate in any way we can."

With a copy of the tape safely in their possession and the knowledge that the team heading over to the bank at that moment would be sure to collect any fingerprints or other evidence that might have survived, the two men left the bank headquarters with their first concrete evidence that Peter had been taken and might still be alive.

Still it was little comfort, only confirming their fears that he had been hurt and violently taken away. Kwai Chang pulled the collar of his coat up about his neck to guard against a winter chill that suddenly bit sharply and deeply. Blaisdell was silent, only the haunted look in his eyes reflecting his own inner torment.

"First thing is to get this tape to the lab techs," Blaisdell stated eventually. "They can do some pretty amazing things with computers nowadays. They'll be able to clear up the picture enough that we might get a clear shot of their faces. We have to know exactly who took him to be able to find him."

Caine nodded, but remained silent, his expression revealing none of his own anguish. He could not see how the video tape would be of any help. They now knew what had happened to Peter and that he was still alive, at least at the time he had been taken. But the image had come from the odd angle of the camera's position, the faces of Peter's assailants blurred. A positive identification would be difficult, if not impossible. But often an objects worth was not seen at the first glance, and video technology was hardly his area of expertise.

After dropping off the tape at the police labs, the pair returned to the car to hunt down another possible lead.

"I'm hoping that Danny Pei-Tao hasn't hidden himself too well," Blaisdell said, pulling the car onto a less traffic laden street and hopefully picking up a little time.

Caine merely looked out of the car window, his eyes seemingly searching for any sign of his son. Blaisdell had the uncomfortable feeling that he was quite likely talking to himself, but better that than the complete, oppressive silence of the car.

"He's a bit of a rat. When he thought that the Dragon Fires were going down, he was very quick to make it known that he was willing to cut a deal with us. I think he's going to be very eager to help, since the gang is probably after his skin as well now."

Caine nodded absently, giving the intimation that he'd heard the conversation but found little to comment upon. Blaisdell looked at him with a hint of irritation, wishing that he'd say something. Anything to make his presence a little warmer. He knew that Caine rarely spoke, and when he did, it was always something worth listening too. Now, he not only needed the other man's sage advice, but the warmth of companionship, in a trail shared. Caine's remoteness was doing nothing but help to alienate him even further. Peter might find his father's manners endearing, if somewhat frustrating at times. He was starting to find them extremely annoying.

He could not help from wondering at how a man like Caine could have possibly fathered a child like Peter. He had never seen two people more unalike in his life. Even when he had first taken Peter into his home, the boy had a warmth about him -- hungry for all the love and attention that his family was quick to lavish upon him. He was perplexed by Caine's apparent coldness and remoteness. If this was his own child...

But it was. Peter was his son as much as he was Caine's. He'd raised that boy to manhood, teaching him and loving him. He was certain that Caine was feeling every ounce of the fear and turmoil building up inside of him, despite the calm exterior. He had to be.

It was just not humanly possible for him to seem so apathetic when someone he loved was in danger.

A small, still rational voice inside him insisted that he was being quite unfair, trying to apply western standards of emotion and love to a man who they could never apply to. Caine was without question the most... the most enigmatic man he'd ever met. Just because Caine refused to show outward emotion didn't mean that he did not possess the same passionate feelings he son so often exhibited. The bitter truth was that Peter's death would destroy him. That was the one thing of which Blaisdell was certain.

There were very few things about this investigation that he could be certain of -- That Caine would be ready to act when he was needed was one of them. If he had to be confident about one thing in the world, he had to believe that.

The apartment building they arrived at in the heart of Chinatown was dilapidated and ancient, making Blaisdell wonder at how city inspectors could have possibly missed it for condemnation. It was just a few short steps away from being completely uninhabitable. The stairs that they walked up to the top floor on were creaking and threatening to give way with every step.

But this was supposed to be the building where Pei-Tao's mother lived. If anyone were to know where her son was hiding out, she would be the one. He only hoped that she would still be there. From what he understood from Peter's investigation, Yun Pei-Tao was an illegal immigrant. Part of the bargain that Danny Pei-Tao struck was that she would be allowed to remain in the country legally. It was entirely conceivable that with her gangster son out of favor and in hiding that she would have lost her only protection and income and gone into hiding herself.

Arriving at the scarred wooden door to the tiny apartment, he knocked at the door and called out "Mrs. Pei-Tao?"

There was no answer. He banged on the door again, calling out more insistently this time. Silence.

But Caine did hear someone moving around in the apartment, the sound stopping suddenly when Blaisdell knocked at the door. He touched Blaisdell gently on the shoulder. Paul nodded and stepped back, allowing him to try. Caine knocked on the door, more softly than Blaisdell did and said gently in Chinese "I am Caine. We are here to help you and your son."

A moment passed before they heard the sound of a chain lock being unlatched and the creaking door swung open just enough so that the apartment's occupant could peer out. A small woman with a lined face and tired eyes looked up at them, dressed in a cheap cotton house dress. She may only have been forty years old or so, but her eyes were ancient from too many years of back breaking labor and little ease in her life. She looked up at the pair with an expression of apprehension and poorly hidden fear.

Caine smiled softly, trying to put the woman's mind at ease. "You do not have to be afraid," he said softly.

"I... I have heard of you," she said meekly. "They say you are a good man." Stepping aside, she opened the door so that he and Blaisdell could enter.

The two room living space was cramped and cluttered with all of Mrs. Pei-Tao's worldly possessions. But it was clean, and it was clear that in spite of her hard lot in life, the woman had made some attempt to keep the place livable. She motioned for the two of them to sit down on the lumpy couch and made the customary offer of refreshment. Caine shook his head, indicating that it would not be necessary and motioned for her to sit down.

"Your son is in great danger," he said gently in Chinese, trying to put her as at ease as possible.

She sighed with great inner sadness. "I know. I did not want him to join the gang, but he is like so many of the young ones. They do not listen to their parents. They want money and fast cars. He did not listen to me. There was nothing I could do to stop him.

Caine nodded with gentle understanding. "I know how it can be. I have a son as well. Your son tried to go against the gang."

"He was growing afraid," she said. "He is not a bad boy. Since his father died, he has had no one to help guide him. I was not enough. They enabled him to work and support us. But he says that they do things that hurt our own people. They kill. He did not want to be part of that any longer. He talked to the police."

"He is hiding from them now?"

She nodded, a soft sob escaping. "Yes! What else is he to do? They would kill him if they found him." She drew a deep, shuddering breath, trying to control her fear.

Caine paused, allowing her to regain her composure. "A police officer is now missing. I must to speak to your son."

"I cannot tell you!" she cried out. "If they find my son, they will kill him! He is my only child! I cannot allow him to come to harm."

"The officer missing is my son."

That shocked her into silence, looking up at Caine with dismayed, sympathetic eyes.

Caine turned to Blaisdell and said "She is afraid."

Blaisdell nodded. "Promise her anything. I'll make sure that he's safe."

She looked over to the other man, trying to gage how much she could trust them. Caine knew that they were asking a great deal. Every instinct in the woman screamed for her to protect her son at all costs. But this was a good woman. She would not want another human being to suffer if she had to means to offer help.

Yun Pei-Tao had lived in Chinatown for two years since her son had bought her way from China. She had heard in the past few months from some of the other residents of the ShaoLin priest who had appeared in their midst several months ago, always willing to aid those in need. To cause such a man suffering would be unconsciable. Not when the means to help him were at hand.

Blaisdell had remained silent through the entire conversation, allowing Caine to handle the woman as he saw fit. But it was obvious that she was reluctant at best to risk her son to help them. He wanted to burst in on the conversation, but he knew that all his interference would serve to do was terrify the woman into silence. He had to allow Caine to take the lead here.

It was several minutes before she finally asked "You will make sure he isn't hurt?"

Caine nodded, gently taking her hand in his, offering his own special strength. "We will do everything we can to protect him."

She knew all to well that she had little choice but to accept, despite her fears of the authorities. At the very worst, she might be deported. But she would be able to save her son. She would not get a better offer from the gang. Giving the address, she said softly "I hope that you can find your son, Mr. Caine. It is a terrible thing to lose one's child."

"Thank you."

She forced a tight smile onto her face. "Take care of Danny for me?"

Caine nodded.

"Where now?" Blaisdell asked, rising to his feet.

"He's hiding in a warehouse by the waterfront."

"Let's get going, then."

Peter was blinded when the door swung open and light flooded into the tiny room he was being held in. He had spent most of the past few hours -- at least he thought it was a few hours -- slipping in and out of consciousness, sickened by the pain in his head and the reek of vomit that permeated the cramped space where he was being held. Waves of nausea continued to crash over him in despite the fact that he had nothing in his stomach to come up. No one had bothered to check on him until now.

He heard voices talking, but it was impossible to understand what they were saying. It was all just a blur of light and color and sound that filled his head to the bursting. A dim thought made it through the aching mass of pain that his mind had become. I'm not getting better, it said with sick finality.

He knew he had to concentrate. If he was going to make it out of this, he had to know who was holding him and why. He blinked his eyes, hoping to clear them just enough so that he could see who was looming over him.

"Bring him out of there. God, it stinks!" a voice ordered. The injured man was grasped by his collar and dragged from the closet and thrown gasping to the floor. Peter groaned in pain at the impact, rolling over until he lay groaning on his side.

Steven Hwang looked down at disgust at the police officer, his nose wrinkling in disgust at the reek of sickness coming from his clothing. He was no doctor, but even he knew that this was more than just the aftereffects of a knock in the head. In spite of the cold that was enough to frost their breath, Peter was sweating like he just ran a marathon. He bent down and turned the man's head, carefully feeling at the huge discolored lump at the officer's temple. He didn't know why he was bothering -- he wouldn't be able to detect any kind of injury. But he didn't like the looks of the bloody fluid that was leaking out of his ear. Even with his lack of medical knowledge, he knew that was not a good sign.

"You morons!" he shouted, ignoring the cringe coming from the huddled figure at his feet. "The boss wanted him alive. What the hell did you do to him?"

"We didn't do anything!" the first man, Jimmy, protested. "We haven't touched him since we brought him in."

"They must have hit him harder than we thought when they first grabbed him," the second insisted. Bobby Hei ran a hand through his short cropped hair in frustration. "We didn't touch him!"

"You guys are responsible for keeping an eye on him." Steven yelled, throwing the newspaper he was carrying across the room. "This whole deal is going to be blown to hell if this guy dies before we're ready,"

"He didn't look this bad off when they brought him in here. I swear, Jimmy, we didn't do a thing to him," Bobby maintained. "They must have hit harder than they thought."

Jimmy looked down at the injured man, trying to judge just how badly he was hurt. He didn't think that the cop was faking it. No way he could fake looking that awful.

Seeing the silent inspection, Hwang spoke again, his voice hard with anger. "You'd better make sure that he holds out until tomorrow night. If he bites it before the little show the boss has planned, we're all in deep shit. You got that?"

"Yeah... no problem," Bobby muttered. "I'll watch him like he was my own kid brother."

Steve nodded, pointing his finger at the two of them. "You'd better," he warned. "He'd better be in one piece, or I'm gonna come back here and kick your asses myself!"

Peter felt two pairs of hands grasping him under his bound arms and drag him back into the confines of what he now realized was a closet. They settled him back down, being extremely careful for his injuries. But their concern was limited. They made no move to loosen his bonds, or even to give him the sip of water that he would have committed murder for.

His head had cleared enough that he could make out at least a little of the conversation. He still couldn't tell who his captors were, but he did know that they intended to keep him alive. For a little while, at least. That nudged the odds ever so slightly more in his favor.

He knew that he couldn't count on any kind of rescue. If he was going to make it out of this, he was going to have to engineer his own rescue.

It was not going to be a simple matter by any stretch of the imagination. He was alone and hurt, locked away in a darkness that in his confusion, frightened him as much as the bright light and colors did. He couldn't let this fear and hurt control him. He had to master it. After all, his foster mother lived her entire life in the dark. If she could do it, he was certain he could handle it. He had to maintain at least that control.

The first thing was to get himself moving. It was not going to be easy, but he remembered something that his father had showed him. Something about how the body could be controlled, to act even when action was impossible. Another lesson ignored and forgotten. He groaned in frustration and pain. God, how could he have been so stupid as a kid to ignore those lessons? They had seen so unimportant then, so meaningless.

He had to remember. He had to.

"You guys don't get it. I don't want to help you cops, and I don't want to cut a deal. It's your fault I'm in this mess in the first place!"

Blaisdell was not going to lose his temper. He absolutely refused to let this little troublemaker get to him. He had to keep his objectivity if he expected to help Peter. What he had here was a scared seventeen year old kid who had obviously gotten himself into a situation well over his head and could only be concerned with saving his own skin. "If I remember right," he said tersely "the reason that you're in this fix is because you blew a police operation that you agreed to help with. You approached the police, not the other way around. And because of what you did, a police officer is in serious danger. Now I am giving you a chance to help us out, or I'm going to bust you right here."

"You can't do that," Danny insisted. "I haven't done anything wrong! I tried to help you guys!"

"What you did was get your little playmates royally pissed off with you. The way I see it, you don't see you having a whole lot of options left. You can help us, or you can face them. And you know that sooner or later they will find this little hiding place of yours."

The young man felt silent, withering beneath the gaze of the two men. Blaisdell looked back at Caine, judging just how intimidating the priest would seem to a frightened young man. The thought nearly brought a smile to his face -- Caine would intimidate half the officers on his force, he wouldn't have to utter a word to do it. He shrugged and turned away from Danny.

"Personally, I don't give a damn what your old friends do to you. Anything you get you more than deserve. But the officer who's missing is that man's son." He gestured at Caine standing impassively behind him. "Guy has a bit of a temper. Trained with some serious martial artist types, from what I understand. I've seen him kill a man with one touch. I don't know how forgiving he's going to be towards you not wanting to help us. Come to think of it, you might do better with the Dragon Fires than you would with him."

Danny looked from the police captain to the silent man standing behind Blaisdell. Caine's face was completely impassive, betraying no hint of emotion. Danny sat back, hoping he could decipher something from Caine's stance, and to his horror, found that he couldn't. He was not experienced enough at reading people to recognize the man's distress. All he saw was a cool, emotionless stare that he didn't think would have any problem with beating the life out of him.

"You guys can't do that," he insisted. "You're a cop! You can't just go around threatening people!"

"Oh?" Blaisdell smiled coolly, seemingly completely unconcerned by the young man's insistence. "Now, who are the cops going to believe if I left you to the lions? A veteran with twenty years and an unblemished record, or a snot nosed punk that's been in trouble since he was twelve? Especially if that officer we're looking for turns up dead. How charitable do you think they're going to be when they find out?"

He gave Danny several minutes to stew and consider the consequences before driving the last nail in. "The way I see it, you've got two choices, kid. Either help us get Officer Caine out of the jam he's in, and we'll do what we can to protect you and your mother." He paused for added effect before he finished with, "Or we leave you to the Dragon Fires and let them decide what to do. It's all up to you, kid."

He turned his back on the young man and motioned for Caine to follow him out of the room. "We'll give him a couple of minutes to think it over. If he's smart, he'll see that at least with us, he'll come out of this alive." Blaisdell rubbed his forehead, wishing for an entire bottle of aspirin the ease the ache of a monstrous tension headache. "It's a gamble, though. I just hope that kid sees the situation the same way that we do."

Caine turned away and moved towards the stairwell, feeling all at once the fear and anguish that came with having a child in such danger. He had known that losing Peter was always a possibility given his dangerous line of work. He had always dreaded that one day, that awful telephone that Peter had foisted upon him would ring with the message that he had been killed in a shooting somewhere.

Blaisdell looked up at the other man, lost in thought. There was no mistaking the specter of loss on Caine's face. "Caine?"

Caine looked to the police captain, quickly cleansing his face of any distressed expression. "I am fine," he said slowly.

"Caine. It's all right to be afraid. God knows I am," Blaisdell admitted, looking down at the floor.

Caine stood silently for several minutes before asking "And would acting afraid be beneficial to our hunt?"

"No," Blaisdell conceded. "But it's the natural response when someone you love is in danger. Holding it in and pretending it doesn't exist won't make it go away. You know the old saying. 'Pain shared is pain halved.'"

"You must embrace your fear as your would an enemy, only then can you overcome it," Caine said with a tiny shrug of one shoulder.

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of a third pair of footsteps, this one muffed by sneakers entering the hall. Danny Pei-Tao did not attempt to look either man in the eye when he said softly "All right. I'll do it."

Blaisdell sighed in relief and patted him on the shoulder. "You're doing the right thing, Danny. We'll make sure that nothing happens to you." Now that they boy agreed to help them, he could afford to be a little more generous towards the kid.

The kid nodded, not looking any more certain about his decision. Caine nodded in sympathy. They had not really given the boy a choice. But under the circumstances, they would not afford to.

"I've got to go back to the precinct and see if we have anything from that tape," Blaisdell state quietly as they left the warehouse. Caine would be responsible for Danny's safety, a decision that had been made without words. The priest had already taken the young man in hand when they reached Blaisdell's car.

Peter had used his time well, gathering his strength as best he could and was ready to strike. He had never felt worse in his life. His stomach churned, his head felt as if it were going to explode at even the tiniest movement. But he could handle it. He had mae an attempt to use his father's techniques of meditation, and had drawn what little comfort and strength he could from the effort. He had convinced himself that if he could just get free of the ropes for a minute, he could fight his way out and get to safety before that carefully reserved pool of strength gave out.

He did not move when he heard the door open. He knew that if they wanted to keep him alive for any length of time, they were going to have to feed him, and give him water. And these jokers didn't exactly strike him as the kind who would feed him with their own hands. Especially since they seemed convinced that he was so badly injured that he would never even be able to attempt escape.

He felt their hands on him, heard their muttered curses about the stink of the closet and dragging him out. He let a moan escape him, knowing that if he convinced them that he was hurting more than he really was, they might drop their guard. He needed any advantage as he could possibly engineer if this was going to work.

Yes! He felt their hands on his wrists and ankles, the ropes loosening and blood rushing back painfully into his hands and feet. He forced them to move just a little to force some feeling back into those extremities. His eyes being closed, he did not see that what he thought were small, carefully controlled movements were nothing more than spasmatic twitches.

He felt them step away, then one came close again. He was turned over onto his back, one hand cradling his head while the other brought a glass of water to his lips. Once he had drunk, they would tie him up again. As parched as Peter was, he would have to forgo the water now. He could drink a river of it once he was free. This was his best and only chance for escape.

He jerked suddenly, smashing his elbow into the face of the man holding him. The guard gave a hoarse cry of shock and pain as Peter's blow made contact. The hands holding him fell away and Peter scrambled to his feet, staggering with the effort to hold is balance.

Exit. He had to find the way out before the other could react. If he could get down to the street, he could get away. He had to get to where other people could see him. They wouldn't touch him then. His blurred vision scanned the room as he shuffled forward towards the single door. He forced his body to move, to run as fast as he could. To his distorted comprehension, what he believed to be running was merely a slow stumbling gait that sent him weaving around the room.

Something struck him in the back of his legs. The other guard had reacted a lot faster than he had anticipated and tackled him. Peter cried out as he felt himself falling to the floor. The breath was knocked from his body, and seemingly all of that carefully harbored strength with it. He couldn't move. He struggled to get his arms beneath him so he could make it back to his feet, but his body refused to obey even that simple command.

He felt the man who had caught him grab his arms and drag him back to where his companion was struggling to his feet, one hand cupped over his broken nose that spilled blood over his fingers and onto his shirt.

"Son of a bitch," he groaned, looking down at Peter with a look that promised murder. "Broke my God damned nose!"

Peter could only stare at him blankly, seeming not to understand what had just happened. His wits, his concentration had fled with his lost strength. The empty, dazed look in the captive's eyes infuriated the injured young man.

"Son of a bitch!" With a snarl of pain and rage, he drew his leg back and kicked out violently, the toe of his boot contacting hard with the bruised point on Peter's temple where he was aiming.

Peter cried out in pain as a wave of black washed over him, drowning out the world.

Danny found Caine's home to be a fascinating place. He had left China with his father when he was a little boy and had few memories of the country. Even the few that he had managed to maintain held nothing like this. The scent of beeswax candles and incense teased his nostrils. The graceful, unearthly figures of oriental gods held places of honor. The atmosphere was one of great peace and tranquility that would take far more than mere mortal efforts to disturb. He had never seen anything like it before in his life, and was drawn to it as nothing before.

"This place is amazing," he called out to Caine, admiring the works of art that decorated the space. A small kitten appeared and meowed up at him. Grinning, he bent down and picked up the kitten, holding it in his arms as he continued his explorations.

Caine left the boy in the main room to eat and explore. He realized that the Danny was likely getting his first taste of what was good and strong about his culture. He had already seen it at its worst. He could now begin to understand the joys of being what he was. Perhaps this could lead him in an entirely new direction, one that he had never considered before

. Caine had his own preparations to make for what was to come. He had to center himself, to confront the fear and hurt that could cripple his efforts to act. Long minutes passed as seconds, and Caine was already rising when Danny's voice reached him.

"Hey! Priest! The cop's back," Danny called out from the other room. Caine took a deep breath, confident that he was ready. The hour he had spent meditating had served him well. He walked into the room where Blaisdell was waiting, holding a large manila envelope in his hands.

"Well, I hope everyone's ready for fun and games," he said, sitting down and opening the envelope. He drew out several large still photos taken from the video tape. The images were far clearer than before, having been computer enhanced. It was now possible to see the faces of the two men in the room with Peter.

"Recognize these boys, Danny?" Paul asked, placing the photos down in front of the young man.

Danny picked up the pictures and studied the faces for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. Johnny Li and Gerald Tam. They both work real close with Steven Hwang, and he's the boss's right hand."

"Well, word on the street is they're planning a big show for the Tong they're trying to cozy up too, but the big leaguers aren't biting. They're not overly impressed by the way the Dragon Fires have handled this mess. That puts Peter in a very bad spot."

Caine nodded, understanding too well. If Peter's tenuous value to the gang was eliminated, there would be no reason for them to keep him alive.

"So, what are you going to do?" Danny asked.

"What I was thinking of was for you to introduce the Dragon Fires to a new player. Someone trying to make connections in the city, who has no present associates locally. Someone with big connections all the way in China. Without the Triads interested, this would be their last chance to hit it big."

"Who?" Danny asked. "You?"

Blaisdell shook his head. "Oh, no. Not me. Do I look like I would have connection in China? I can hardly manage the menu at the take-out place."

Caine sat silently for several seconds before saying "It will not be easy. They will be watching for trouble."

"That's why I want you to do it," Blaisdell maintained. "If there's anyone here who'd be able to convince them, it's you. You'll know what they're looking for and can play up to it. There's no one I'd trust more to do it."

Danny nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, it could work. I mean, you don't know how bad they want this. And Dexin hardly spends any time in Chinatown. He doesn't give a shit about any Shaolin priest. He sure as hell wouldn't recognize Master Caine."

Caine sat thoughtfully, considering how they could pull it off. Perhaps if he did an imitation of Tan at his most intelligent, subtle best, it would be enough to convince the fledgling gangsters.

Caine offered a silent nod of agreement.

"Your role would be just as important, Danny." Blaisdell explained. "They know that you're scared and desperate. Introducing them to a new... contact would do a whole lot in getting you back in their good graces. Think you can pull it off?"

The kid looked uncertainly and shrugged. "I don't know... Maybe."

Blaisdell patted him on the shoulder, knowing that they were asking a lot. "You don't have to worry. We're going to have you wired the whole time. If anything goes wrong, I'll have men there to pull you out. We're not going to let anything happen. But I really think this will work. Okay?"

Danny thought it out a little. This time his nod was more confident.

"Good boy," Blaisdell complimented. "Now, here's what we've got to do..."

"You can't be serious." Dexin Feng shook his head in disbelief. "When I heard that you wanted to come back to us, I thought Steven was joking. I mean, I know you're just not that stupid."

Danny swallowed deeply, feeling his pulse racing a thousand miles per minute. He was never more scared in his life, the only connection with the police protecting him was the slim wire they had taped to his abdomen. The patting down he had been given missed it completely, thank God. Squaring his shoulders, he pressed on.

"Yeah, well the police dropped me like a hot potato as soon as the charges against the boys fell through. They wanted nothing to do with me. And then when this guy came up to me, I knew that it was too important to keep to myself."

"Ah, yes. This all important contact of yours from China. What makes you think we need him?"

Danny grinned. "Because I know that all of the Triads wouldn't trust you to watch your own asses, let alone handle any of their stuff. You need this guy. He's really serious about starting operations in the city."

"Oh, is he now?" Dexin asked. At the age of twenty five, Dexin had been leading the Dragon Fires for three years. He didn't get to his position by making mistakes. As much as he wanted a big deal, he just didn't trust this little weasel. He knew that if push came to shove, Pei-Tao would be the first one to bail out. He did not want to risk it.

"This guy is a major player in China. He's looking for a bunch with balls enough to handle business. We're talking about something even bigger than any of the Triads here. None of them have the connections this guy does."

Dexin paused for a second, then asked "And give me one reason why I should trust a little rat like you?"

"Because I'm the one who can make this deal for you. He came to me first. If I'm out, then this guy walks. And there are plenty of other gangs in the city that would kill for this guy's operation." Danny leaned back in his chair, radiating an aura of self-confidence, a satisfied grin on his lean face.

He saw that Feng was interested. He had not exaggerated to Caine and Blaisdell just how hungry Feng was for this deal. And if the Triads weren't interested, he'd just dangled the right bait in front of Feng. Now he just had to hope he'd bite.

The first rule of any battle, Blaisdell considered, was knowing when it was time to fight, and when it was time to step back and wait for the next opportunity. The battle itself could be terrible and dangerous, but he always hated the waiting part far more. It was draining, taking all of one's concentration on not acting when all of one's instinct were crying out to something. Anything. Especially when the one at the center of the battle was a loved one.

He had never admitted to Peter the misgivings he had about his foster son following in his "father's" footsteps and become a police officer. He was well aware of how dangerous the job was, and the last thing he wanted in the world was for Peter to come to harm. But there had been pride there as well, pride that Peter had chosen a profession where he could follow his natural instincts to protect those around him. But he had always known that one day, Peter might not come home from an assignment.

That he could accept. It was the risk that every police officer faced. But to lose Peter for something so stupid and senseless... no, that he would not allow. This was not some shootout on a city street. This was not an officer falling in the line of duty. This was a brutal, premeditated attack... a deliberate act. And all he was able to do was watch the building where Caine was meeting with the gang. If he wasn't able to convince them that he was the real thing...

He was not ready to lose Peter. Not yet. And certainly not for something like this. If he'd known that this would happened, he never would have sent Peter after the Dragon Fires. Not after having come so close to losing him once before for something equally senseless. And he had been equally helpless to prevent it.

Paul Blaisdell gently laid his hand upon the boy's forehead, feeling how hot and feverish Peter was. He had been woken out of a sound sleep by the boy's hacking cough and came rushing into Peter's room to find him in the grips of this fever. This was more than just a cold. Peter was barely coherent, his head tossing back and forth over the pillow, his dark hair damp with sweat.

"Paul, what's the matter?" he heard his wife ask. Annie had navigated her way from their bedroom to Peter's when she heard her husband rise. "Is it Peter?"

He had to get Peter to a doctor. He didn't care that it was nearly three in the morning, or that it was still snowing outside. All that mattered was that his son was extremely ill and needed help.

"Annie, I've got to get Peter to a doctor. His temperature's gone up again. Get me his robe."

She quickly rushed to Peter's bedside, feeling the heat of his skin, her sensitive hearing picking up the panting sound of his breathing. Paul was right. She did not know what was wrong with Peter, but it was obvious that he needed a doctor desperately.

They quickly dressed Peter as warmly as they could, pulling his arms into the warm, thick bathrobe, then wrapping him completely in the warm quilt. Paul elected not to wait for an ambulance after taking a quick look out the window. He would be able to get Peter to the hospital faster himself in this weather.

Lifting the feverish child in his arms was no easy task. At the age of thirteen, Peter was getting long and lanky and was a good deal heavier than he looked. He carefully cradled the boy in his arms and carried him down the stairs. Upon reaching the bottom, he gently laid Peter onto the couch. "Stay with him while I get the car," he ordered, grabbing his own coat from the closet before rushing out to the garage.

The roads were more treacherous than he's anticipated. Paul was barely able to make out the road a few feet ahead of his slowly moving car, the ice slicking the road making traveling at even this slow speed hazardous. He had to devote his full attention to his driving, but could not help being fully aware every second of the desperately ill boy occupying the seat next to him.

Peter's feverish head rested against the cold window, each uneven breath fogging the glass. "Father..." he murmured, not opening his eyes.

Paul diverted his concentration on the road for just and instant, taking one hand from the wheel of the car to grasp his son's hand. "I'm here, Peter. I'm getting you to help. So stay calm. Everything is going to be all right.

" Peter did not react as if he heard him. His heal lolled about, the cry more insistent. "Father! Look out... Dao... he's back... Father..."

It wasn't he that Peter was calling for in his delirium, Paul realized sickly. It was his mysterious father who had died so long ago. "Peter, don't worry. I'm here," he reassured the boy, hoping that his desperate words would reach him. Blaisdell was not a superstitious man by any stretch of the imagination, but the thought of his feverish son calling out to his dead father chilled his blood.

Peter began to cry out in Chinese, his voice increasingly desperate and incoherent. Paul maintained a tight grip on his fingers, desperately trying to hold onto his life with that touch. "Hang on, Peter. Just hang on. It's not much longer. I'm here."

It was with a great sigh of relief that he saw the lights to the hospital just ahead.

The memory still brought a chill to Blaisdell. What had begun with a chest cold had evolved into pneumonia, likely caught while Peter insisting on playing out in the snow while still sick. If they had not caught it in time, Peter could have easily died.

He had not been ready to lose Peter then, and he certainly wasn't ready for it now. He shook himself from his memories and made ready to act when he had to. But one thought from that night so many years ago nudged at him, biting deep.

Even then, in his delirium, the father that Peter called for wasn't him.

"Well, Mr. Tseng. Danny here's been telling me a lot about you," Feng greeted as the older man was lead into the room.

Caine had dressed in a stylish suit and wore his grey hair combed back away from his face. To anyone else, he would look like a conservative business man. No one would suspect him of being a ShaoLin priest impersonating a major figure in the Chinese underworld. Feng certainly was not seeing through the disguise.

"I have heard a great deal about you, also," Kwai Chang said softly. "Danny had told me that you can handle business. That's not what I have heard elsewhere."

"Oh? And what have you heard?"

"That the bunch of you cannot act in a professional matter. That many of your people were arrested just a few days ago. I need people that are experienced and can deal with the high level trade that I want to institute."

Feng nodded. "And what sort of trade are we talking about?"

"Several things," Caine said, seeming to inspect the condition of his fingernails, while in reality he was examining the young man whom he was speaking to. "Heroin, weapons, girls. My network operates primarily in Europe, and I want to begin operations in this country.He paused dramatically before dropping the hook, "Those I choose to employ stand to make a great deal of money."

"Well, you came to the right people," Dexin Feng insisted. "This is the kind of widescale operation that we've been looking to get involved in."

Caine looked up at the younger man, his eyes measuring and finding what he saw lacking. "Your involvement has not yet been decided upon. All I have seen so far from you is a bunch of children who cannot manage a simple weapons transaction."

"A lot of the other gangs are already affiliated with established networks. The rest are strictly small time and fall under the domination of one of the more established gangs. Right now, the Dragon Fires are the only ones poised for anything bigger. And the police won't be bothering us again. Not after today."

Caine paused, cocking his head in cultivated interest. "You have some plan concerning them?"

"Yeah, we've got plans. They're going to find the body of the cop that busted us down at the landfill. We were saving him for a little show with the other Triads, but since they're not interested, maybe you'd like to see what we had planned. It should be interesting, at least."

This is what Caine had been waiting for. They'd taken the bait. Now to carefully test the line. "What is it that you want me to see?"

Feng smiled coldly. "How we handle business here. This, if nothing else will show you that we're not playing around."

Caine snorted in disgust "I do not have time for amateur theatrics. What I need are adults ready to handle a serious job, not school boys who need a baby sitter."

Feng bit his lip, betraying his irritation. It was easy to see he wanted this deal so badly, he could taste it. "Trust me, Mr. Tseng. Come to our little demonstration. It's going to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that we're the ones you've been looking for."

Blaisdell placed down the headphones for the surveillance equipment and picked up the radio. "We've got them. I'm going to be following them when they leave the building. We're going to need major back up. Is that clear?"

"We read you, Captain," the controller on the other end affirmed. "Just radio us your location as soon as you're ready. Back up is set to go."

Blaisdell waited impatiently for the group to exit the building to a waiting car. Caine had done it! And they were on their way to Peter. He waited until they were half a block away before following, keeping his attention focused on the black sedan that cruised on ahead.

Just hang in there, Peter. Just a little longer.

Caine sat silently in the car, ignoring all of Feng's efforts to draw him out into conversation. He was playing his role to the hilt, his only deviation being a quick glance and nod to Danny, reassuring him that all was going well. The boy nodded back, able to mask his sigh of relief.

It was a brief trip to the abandoned building on the east side of town. The car pulled in along the curb and its occupants exited. Caine saw Blaisdell's car further on up the block, reassuring in its presence. The authorities would not be far behind them.

He was lead into the boarded up building and up the stairs to the top floor as Feng explained "A lot of these old buildings are still in good shape on the inside. We've been using them as safe houses and places of business. Most of our drug operations are carried out in places like this. And the police leave them alone. The last thing they want is to get into a gunfight in a maze like this."

He sounded like a child explaining the rules of a game to an inexperienced player, Caine thought as he continued to allow the young man to take the lead in this. Feng obviously expected some sort of compliment on his cleverness, so Caine responded. "You will have to learn to diversity. Most of my clients are not burned out junkies. They would not be seen in areas such as this."

Feng nodded. "We're ready to handle that kind of business."

Arriving at the correct room, Caine's nostrils quickly picked up the scent of blood and sickness. In the dim lighting of the room, he spotted two young men, no older than eighteen lounging about on broken down furniture. One was of medium build, completely unremarkable in looks. The other, with a broad face and stocky body had obviously just been in a scrap of some sort. Both of his eyes were blackened, and a bandage was bracing the bridge of his broken nose. Both got to their feet immediately as Feng entered the room with someone of obvious importance.

"Well, how is our police friend holding up?" he asked of the two guards.

Both looked at one another before answering. "Fine. He's been quiet all day."

Feng smiled coldly, motioning at the other man's broken nose. "Not completely, I see, Bobby."

"Yeah, well... he tried something this morning. But we took care of it."

"Bring him out."

Caine watched with rising alarm as the door to a closet at the back of the room was opened. One of the guards reached inside and grabbed Peter by his arm and dragged him out into the open. Peter was unconscious and seemingly lifeless as he was pulled out across the floor where he was carelessly dropped. Caine fought down the urge to go to his son; all too conscious of what a fatal error that action would be.

Only the slight rise and fall of his chest suggested that Peter was still alive. The entire right side of his head was deeply bruised and blood ran down the side of his face from a recent deep wound in the skin of his scalp. The skin beneath the bruises was pasty white, and he appeared to be in shock. Caine knew instinctively that they had to work fast -- Peter was not going to last much longer.

Feng drew out from his jacket a small revolver and said "This is what's going to happen to any police who get in our way. By the time we're done, none of 'em will set foot in Chinatown."

Caine made no visible response, merely waited.

Feng grinned and cocked the hammer on the revolver. "I like to keep my hands in the business. I don't mind getting them dirty. So if you don't mind..." He aimed the weapon down at Peter's defenseless form.

"I do mind," was the barely audible reply. Caine quickly struck, his first blow knocking the gun from Feng's hand. The second strike sent the young man flying across the room. He smashed into the wall, where he rolled to lay dazed and bruised.

Caine spun about, turning his attention to the young man flanking Danny. Before Steven Hwang could respond to the suddenness of Caine's attack on his boss, Caine landed a solid kick into his solar plexus. Hwang fell back, gasping for breath.

That left the two guards. Both had shaken off the shock of Caine's actions and had their weapons out. The one with the broken nose dove behind a broken table and opened fire.

Caine quickly shoved Danny aside and turned to Peter. Moving with a stealth reminiscent of the Chi-ru master he had defeated months earlier, Caine had the young man gathered into his arms in seconds. An instant later, they joined Danny behind the meager protection of a broken down couch.

At the first sound of gunfire, Blaisdell shouted "Follow me!" The police who had arrived as back-up quickly leapt to action and followed him as the man charged into the building and up the stairs.

Having left Peter as safe as their situation would allow, Caine moved away from the two vulnerable young men. He was now attempting to circle an get behind the two men. He could see that they were positioned badly. The wall which would have protected their backs was several feet away, giving him enough room to move. He had seen that their weapons were automatic pistols. They were not expecting trouble. It was possible that they didn't have spare ammunition. If he could force them to empty their weapons before getting behind them, they would be able to avoid bloodshed.

He saw that Danny had Peter covered as best he could, and was hovering about the unconscious man like a frightened child. It was entirely up to Caine to see that they escaped further harm.

Charging forward, he attacked the nearest man. The one who's face was intact was startled by the sight of the unarmed man coming at him, completely unfazed by the gun in his hand. He raised the gun, aiming at the charging figure, only to have a solid blow to his hand knocking the weapon away. A second kick struck him in the jaw, knocking him unconscious.

The last man left standing, the one with the broken nose quickly realized that he was outmaneuvered. Hwang was struggling to his feet, trying to mount his own attack. Caine did not miss the intent.

When the man with the broken nose rose to fire, Caine quickly grasped his arm and twisted it back, easily breaking his grip on the gun. At the same time, he dealt easily with the second attack from behind with a roundhouse kick. Not releasing his grip on the second man's arm, he kicked again, striking Hwang in the head. The young man fell to the ground, unconscious.

Turning his full attention back to the man before him, it took only a light blow to the injured face to send the man screaming to the floor.

He turned about in time to see Feng rising to his feet and reaching for his fallen weapon. Caine quickly rushed at him before he could retrieve the gun. In only a few minutes, it was all over.

He quickly rushed to where Danny and Peter were huddled, and knelt at his son's side. Danny looked up to him with a look of awe on his face

. "That was amazing," he breathed. "I mean, you just kicked all their butts! You were incredible!"

The police charged into the room, with Blaisdell leading the way. As seeing all of the suspects incapacitated, Blaisdell quickly turned his attention to Caine and Peter. "You couldn't wait?"

"There was no time."

"How's Peter?"

Caine did not respond immediately as he quickly examined Peter. His son's skin was clammy to the touch, the muscles beneath the skin slack. His pulse was thready and weak, his breathing uneven and shallow.

"He is badly injured. We must get him to a hospital," Caine said, trying not to move Peter. In his condition, any mishap could be fatal.

Blaisdell turned to one of his people and ordered "Get an ambulance down here right now!"

Caine took his son's hand in his, gently holding it as if he could transfer his own life essence into his Peter's body. The member was ice cold to the touch, as if Peter had been kept in a refrigerator. In Peter's condition, the unheated room he had been held in was little better than if he had been left out on the street. Blaisdell knelt next to him, shaking his head and the sight of the injuries he had suffered. Both men were too well aware that these injuries had not come from the blows had he taken during the kidnapping.

Danny sat near them, ignored in their concern for the fallen man. "Hey, he's going to be all right," the young man insisted.

Blaisdell and Caine both looked up, seeing genuine concern and sympathy in the young man's eyes. He had risked his own life to help them. Perhaps there was some hope for the kid yet.

Blaisdell nodded, gently reaching out to brush a lock of blood drenched, tangled hair from Peter's forehead. He then patted Caine on the shoulder, trying to offer a measure of comfort and empathy.

A slight smile tugged at the corners of Caine's mouth as he accepted that solace. They sat there together, carefully watching over Peter until they heard the ambulance siren.

The two of them sat impatiently in the hospital waiting room as they waited for any word on Peter's condition. It had been nearly three hours since Peter was first brought in, quickly examined and x-rayed, then rushed into surgery. His skull had been fractured at the temple and bleeding was putting pressure on his brain. The surgery would be necessary to relieve the pressure and prevent permanent, if not fatal damage.

The surgery was not taking a very long time, Blaisdell knew. Given the severity of his injuries, he told himself silently. He knew that any surgery when they had to open the skull could take several hours at least. There had been no question that Peter had been severely injured. Now they would just have to see if he would come through it in one piece.

There was no need for conversation, no need to express the fear and anguish that both men were feeling so profoundly. This whole horrible episode had brought both of them to the point where they had developed a deeper understanding of one another. There was no need to express that shared fear verbally.

Both men were on their feet in an instant when they saw the doctor that had examined Peter arriving in stained surgical scrubs. "We just finished the surgery and he's been brought to recovery. We'll be moving him to the intensive care unit once the anesthesia wears off."

"How is he?" Blaisdell asked.

"He came through the surgery without any problem. Aside from the fracture in his skull, he suffered a subdural hematoma. He was bleeding inside of his skull, and the bleeding was putting pressure on the brain itself. We relieved the pressure and we braced the crack in his skull so it will knit whole without any problem. There was no permanent damage done to the brain and all of his scans are good. We're not expecting any problems and I think that with time and proper care, we can cautiously predict a full recovery."

Blaisdell gave a deep sigh of relief while Caine merely closed his eyes, the tension on his face finally easing. Blaisdell patted him on the shoulder, the grin on his face speaking volumes.

"Will we be able to see him?" Blaisdell asked.

The doctor nodded. "In a little while. Let us get him settled in. Don't be frightened by all the monitors and equipment we've got him hooked up to. It's all standard for someone who's had the kind of surgery he's had. Aside from the trauma to his head, he's also dehydrated and suffering some effects of exposure, so we have to keep a close eye on him, at least through the first twenty four hours." After delivering the prognosis, the doctor decided to leave the two men alone to whatever conversation they deemed necessary while waiting to see Peter.

After several moments of uncertain silence, Caine spoke, his voice soft and reflective.

"While we were waiting, I was reminded of a story that my master told me many years ago. About two men who were fighting over a hunting dog. One had raised it from a pup to adult. The second man had found it wandering in the woods and taught it to hunt. They brought the matter to their master and asked him to decide who rightly owned the hound. The master drew a circle of chalk on the ground and placed the dog at the center. The two men stood outside the circle and each called to the dog."

"And what happened?" Blaisdell asked, wondering what direction the story was taking.

"The hound lay down and fell asleep."

Paul suddenly laughed, getting the moral of the story. It was so clear that they did not need to be in conflict over this. Both men had contributed into raising Peter. Caine had brought him into the world and set the foundation for his life. Blaisdell had seen him into manhood. But in the end, Peter belonged only to himself. Both could love and take pride in him. Both shared that right.

He had to admit that in spite of all the jealousy and apprehension he had felt in the past months, a small feeling of kinship kindled within him towards this strange, enigmatic man. A kinship embodied in a rash, hardheaded, so very special young man. "Master Caine, thank you."

Caine smiled, nodding. His eyes were at peace for the first time in days.

"I can't believe you let them do this to me!" Peter exclaimed, throwing down the small mirror onto his bed in disgust. "I look like Yul Brenner!"

His father and Blaisdell both had grins on their faces, happy to see that the most serious thing that Peter had to complain about was the fact that for his surgery, the doctors had shaved his head.

"Why did you do this to me?" Peter moaned, rubbing at the spot around the bandages that protected his incision.

"We... did not do anything." Kwai Chang said with a tiny shrug.

Peter rolled his eyes and looked over to his foster father. "See what I mean? He does that all the time,"

"He's right," Paul said, shrugging. "We had nothing to do with them shaving your head. Personally though, I think it looks... interesting."

"'Interesting' never got a guy a date on Saturday night!" He rubbed his shining scalp again. "I haven't looked this stupid since I was ten!"

"You never complained when your head was shaved at the temple," Caine reminded him.

"That's because everyone else there looked like a cueball too. Besides, I was too young to know better. I just hope somebody brought me a hat, because I'm not walking out of here looking like this!"

"Well, if you're done complaining about the new haircut, I thought you might want to know about what happened to the gang." Paul said, seating himself on the side of the bed.

"That would be nice."

"Well, Feng and his little friends are looking at about twenty years in prison each for the kidnapping and attempted murder of a police officer. This time, the DA has no intention of accepting a plea bargain. I don't think we're going to see that bunch for a very long time."

"What about Danny Pei-Tao?" Peter asked. "I head he finally came through for you guys."

"With flying colors. I've already talked to Dyer. He's giving Danny a suspended sentence. And we've already gotten Immigration to issue his mother a green card so she can stay in the country legally. They'll have a chance to make it now without the gangs interfering."

Peter smiled. "Good. I'm glad about that. I'd like to thank him when I get the chance."

"Well, the big question now is what we're going to do with you." Paul laughed. "You're turning out to be a lot more trouble than you're worth."

"Oh, thanks," Peter said sourly. "Nice to know that you're wanted."

Both men looked down at him with the tolerant fondness that only parent could manage. Peter looked from one to the other, seeing the exact same expression on both their faces, causing him to wonder exactly what had passed between the two of them while he was out of it.

"I'm really sorry about all this, Pop."

Caine raised a finger, his eyes issuing an unspoken warning.

Peter winced. "Sorry. Dad. I mean, this really screwed up our plans for Christmas." Peter said with some genuine remorse.

"Well, it's not too late," Paul said, motioning to Caine. The Shaolin priest looked about, making sure that there were no hospital personal about to interfere. He opened his jacket and withdrew a double handful of striped fur, which he planted in his son's lap.

"Oh no. You're kidding."

"Merry Christmas, Peter," Caine said solemnly, his eyes betraying a twinkle of merriment.

"We thought it might be a good idea for you two to finally get acquainted." Paul explained. "Your father will watch him for you until you're able to go home."

"Great! I love it." Peter scratched the kitten, which was promptly christened Tigger under the chin. "But I don't have anything for you. All of the stuff is still at home."

Caine shook his head, obviously disagreeing. "I would say that we got our present already." he said meaningfully, patting his son fondly on the head, careful to avoid the bandages. "Would you not agree?" he asked Paul.

The police captain nodded in agreement. "I would say so. We both got what we wanted for Christmas."