"Peter?" Ray asked quietly, glancing out of the corner of his eye to look at the morose psychologist seated beside him in the Ecto-1. Peter had been looking out of the passenger window since they had left the hospital, and the silence was already uncharacteristically long. Peter would've said almost a hundred different things, trying to get Ray's mind off of Egon, as well as help Ray to feel a bit better about the situation, and to have a bit more reassurance that everything was still okay. For the psychologist to have let the silence stretch… it was enough for Ray to start worrying, even more so than he had been.

Dark green eyes continued to stare out of the window before turning to the redheaded occultist. "Yeah?"

"See anything interesting?"

"Not really."

The short answer brought a slight frown to Ray's usually cheerful face. It was a pretty open line… Peter was sure to have taken advantage of it by saying something about women in bikinis on the beach even though they were still in some heavy New York traffic.

With a slow sigh, Peter's eyes slowly closed, hoping to escape Ray's inevitable questions. The kid was full of them, he was positive, but he didn't have the strength to deal with them right now. <Egon's lying unconscious on a hospital bed, and I'm not there. If Egon wakes up without me there… Nope. Don't think about it, Petey. >

And if he didn't… if Egon *never * did… No. <Whoa, too much, too soon there, Petey boy. Just keep your eyes shut and it should be smooth sailing from here on out.> There was a long pause. <Yeah, right.>

Peter didn't know how long he had his eyes closed, but when the car stopped, he felt Ray nudge his shoulder. "Peter, we're home."

The psychologist opened his eyes to see the familiar garage and gave Ray a slight smile. "Thought I recognized the place."

Ray smiled back a bit more cheerfully. "Why don't you take a load off? I'll see about making something for dinner."

Peter grimaced before heading for the stairs. "Can't we order out tonight?"

"We've been ordering out for the past three days, Peter." Ray replied, following Peter to the stairs. "You just worry about getting some rest. You've had a rough couple of days."

Peter flashed the engineer a tired smile over his shoulder. "Does that mean you'll clean out the fridge?"

"They haven't been THAT rough." Ray chuckled.

"Can't you have a little pity?" Peter prodded for another chuckle.. "What's Igor without his mad scientist? However will I endure?"

"Whining and complaining, like always." Ray answered, a smile evident in his voice.

"Cha-ching." Ray could see Peter mark a one in the air as they got to the rec. room. "Point for you, Stantz. Nice one."

"Sure, Peter. Just go ahead and sit down. Maybe there's something good on TV."

"When have you ever found anything good on? Well, except for Newhart."

Ray put his hands on his hips. "Peter, either sit down or take a shower."

"Okay, okay. I'll go to bed." Peter held his hands up in an 'I surrender' pose. "G'night, Mom."

Ray rolled his eyes affectionately. "G'night, Peter."

***

Dr. Peter Venkman inhaled slowly, laying one hand on the door, feeling the soft wood underneath his fingertips. Exhaling just as slowly, he took another deep breath as his hand reached for the doorknob and opened the door.

The workshop was still the same as it was a day or so ago. Tools and such lay strewn on a lab table, a strange-looking machine sitting in the center of it. It was a half-finished skeleton, with wires and circuitry spilling out of the framework. After staring at the work of metal and parts, the psychologist turned to look over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear.

<Good. Ray's still downstairs.> He thought, a bit relieved. <Hell… He'll need something to keep him occupied.>

Turning his attention back to the lab, Peter stepped inside and closed the door behind him gently, so as to not alert his friend in the kitchen. The sound of a door closing probably wasn't going to carry down the circular stairs, but it was better not to take chances.

If he had thought he could overcome the rush of sensations that filled the room, Peter was sorely mistaken. Everything here was pure Egon. The walls were still the same, the shelves were almost overflowing with god-knew-what. The window let in the inky darkness and the artificial moonlight from a street lamp to settle on the hard floor. The wooden drawers set in the lab tables were old, the handles worn down a bit from frequent use.

And the smell… Peter closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Mold, machinery, all the stuff that Egon loved… His heart gave a little jump and his eyes stung as he crossed his arms over his chest to warm them. For a moment, he could almost feel the scientist's arms around him when Peter had woken up before that bust. They were warm, wrapping around him in a blanket of affection. They made him feel protected, safe from demons and ghosts out for blood. A helluva lot safer than he ever felt before he met the quirky physics major all those years ago.

He opened his eyes with a sharp shake of his head. <Nope. No way, Venkman. You aren't getting out of this that easily. Spengler said he was working on something that he wanted to get done, and dammit, you're gonna finish it since he can't now. You owe him that much.> He turned to the device, straightening his shoulders, and stopped.

<God…> Peter shook his head as he examined the contraption with an increasingly worried frown. <Spengs, what the *hell* is this thing?>

The work of metal and parts waited there, revealing nothing except that it was woefully far from finished. There weren't any notebooks or schematics nearby, Peter realized after a quick and dirty search of both lab tables. Egon had a habit of being absent-minded, but it normally didn't extend to his new pet project of the month.

"How the hell can I finish it if you don't leave me instructions, Spengler?" Peter asked partly frustrated, partly remembering Egon's absent-mindedness wistfully, all held together with an almost palpable sense of loss. "C'mon, 'gon… I know you have the schematics around here somewhere. Just tell Uncle Peter where they are…"

While no voice answered his murmured monologue, his hands worked feverishly, yanking open drawers and roughly pawing through the contents before shoving it closed again. His speed increased alarmingly as the number of drawers he had searched grew.

"Dammit, Egon." Peter snarled. "You have something to tell me, and I'm not stopping until you do!"

With a vicious yank, a drawer came free, almost flying as it came out completely, hitting Peter a glancing blow to his leg and causing the psychologist to unleash a string of curses as he rubbed the injured area. He blew out his breath in frustration as he knelt to replace the drawer, and stopped.

In the slot where the drawer was supposed to go, there was something in the back wedged between the top and bottom of the drawer slot, pressed up against one side. Slowly, Peter reached in to discover it was a book of some kind.

A few quick jerks got it free, and he pulled it out slowly, trying not to get it caught on the drawer track. Absently dusting it off, the psychologist saw it was a thin book, with Egon's spidery handwriting on the front. The ink was faded to the point of near unintelligibility, and the cover itself was old, looking like it'd suffered a bit of abuse.

<Pretty beat up… Egon must've written in this a lot, if his loafers are anything to go by… It's gotta be the schematics.> He stood, forgetting all about the removed drawer as he went to the table with the dohickey on it and opened the journal to the first page. <He was probably working on whatever the hell this is and it must've fallen between the cracks or something.>

What was sketched on the first page, however, didn't look recent. The page itself was a steadily darkening yellow, and the drawing appeared to be a prototype for a proton pack. Peter shook his head, flipping forward through the pages. There were more inventions, as the psychologist expected, but most of them were inventions that looked unfamiliar. Noticing words in capital letters at the bottom of the pages, they all seemed to be useless or failed equipment. About the only recent thing Peter saw were what looked like preliminary sketches for an early model of the destabilizer. There was also a steady increase in the amount of Egon's handwriting, most of it dating back to college.

Idly stopping at one page, Peter read over the methodical handwriting, peering at the small letters and absently leaning back against the lab table behind him as he did so.

//I have some misgivings about using an old journal of mine to detail my thoughts and emotions, but as Ray believes, this may prove useful in the event that I act in such a way that even I myself don't understand and require clarification.//

Peter shook his head with a sad smile. <Leave it to Spengs to give Faulkner a run for his money.> He read on for a few more lines, slowly coming to a halt when what he was doing had sunk into his brain. This was Egon's journal. This was somewhere where Egon felt safe in revealing himself and his feelings. Sure, Peter may have felt quite at ease manipulating people and reading into their personal lives from the dark time before he met the physics major, but now that he held the very thing that Egon had worked on (if the sketches were any indication) diligently for years… he couldn't.

Peter closed the notebook gently, turning his gaze away from the sandblasted marble cover for long minutes, absently setting the drawer back in place before his pensive green gaze returned to the journal.

<I can't,> Peter told himself. <That's *Egon* on that desk. I can't read through a diary of his.>

His hands reached for the book and gently picked it up again.

<Yeah, Petey. You're right. This *is* Egon we're talking about here. Egon, who's lying unconscious in some bed at the hospital. I want to see him roll his eyes… hear him laugh. He can't talk back to me, but hell, it's better than nothing.>

<And Egon? What if he finds out you've just blatantly betrayed his trust?>

It gave Peter pause before he returned with, <If he's gonna yell at me, he better get his ass outta that bed, come over here and do it!> There seemed to be no more objections as Peter opened up the book and leafed through to find where the impromptu diary entries started. He didn't find the entry that he had found before, but another that was dated two or three days later.

//I can't lie to myself. I could blame a hundred different things for what has transpired, but each scapegoat would be a lie. To see him now is more trying each time, but I must maintain my resolve. Peter is both infuriating and intriguing, but I cannot face him now. After his harrowing experience against one of the players from Georgia Tech, I am at a loss as to what I would do upon seeing him.//

//Truly, I do not know whether I would strangle him for his utter and complete stupidity or take him passionately in my arms and kiss him with an enormous amount of relief for the fact that he is still alive.//

Peter froze. <Egon…?>

***

"Peter?" The door opened with a soft creak, allowing a red shock of hair to poke into the bunkroom. "You hungry?"

Peter lay on the bed, using one of the four posters on his bed to lean against as he unleashed a nearly fanatical attention on a book held in tensed, almost white-knuckled hands. Green eyes were riveted on the pages of a marble covered composition notebook, quickly flicking here and there as his speed-reading lessons took over. Those eyes were still extremely tired, but the renewed energy from reading the book seemed to fuel him to turn the page and continue on. More than once, Peter would read over the pages again and again, not pausing for a second. His slumping shoulders and still disheveled hair obviously showed the man hadn't gone to sleep since they arrived. It shouldn't have been surprising considering this was Peter.

Dark brown eyes took in the disheveled form with more than a little concern, and after a second of internal debate, Ray opened the door wider and walked in. "Peter?"

"Hmmm?" Let it never be said that Peter was never aware of his surroundings, though at the moment, he was more than a little distracted by the notebook and its contents.

"Did you hear me?" Ray joined the dark-haired Ghostbuster at the side of Peter's bed, peering curiously at the notebook. "Hey, what's that?"

Suddenly aware of the 'somebody's behind you' feeling Peter was getting, the psychologist clamped the book shut and turned to face the younger man. "What's what?"

"That notebook," Ray said patiently, pointing at it. "What's so interesting?"

"Nothin'," Peter said a bit too quickly as he pressed it to his chest and crossed his arms over it. "So, Tex, what's up? You call for a pizza yet? And don't forget the extra pineapple this time."

Ray frowned, his dark brown eyes pinning him in place. "Peter."

"Geez. You're almost as bad as Egon." Peter groused, feeling a tiny shiver run through him as his thoughts returned too quickly to the vision of the usually strong man lying on a bed as weak as a kitten.

"Egon knows how to keep you in line," Ray smiled a little. "Did you… ummm, wanna talk?"

"Somethin' bothering you, Tex?" Peter put the notebook down on the side away from the redheaded engineer as he sat up to give Ray a concerned look.

Ray shook his head. -Peter always does this… Dammit, I want to help him, but he won't let me!- "No, I thought that you might need someone to talk to."

Peter smiled and leaned back on his bed, allowing himself to thud softly against his rumpled pillow with his hands behind his head in a carefree fashion. His eyes, however, told a completely different story. "Nah, Tex. You know me. Tough as nails and all that stuff. Don't worry about me."

"It's stuff like that that makes me worry even more," Ray replied with a smile, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to know that he was serious. "Peter, you need to sleep."

"Ray--"

Ray frowned. "No, Peter. You're gonna indulge me just this once. You're not the only one who's worried about Egon." His voice grew quieter. "We all are. And you're scaring me."

"Scaring you?" Peter raised his eyebrows in surprise before a carefree smile spread across his face. "Since when has the great Ray Stantz ever been scared?"

"Since we almost lost you on that bust." Ray told him straight. "Peter, you haven't been taking care of yourself. Heck, you're so worried about Egon that if he woke up, he would've passed out from the smell."

"Oh, hit me where I live." Peter pantomimed taking a hit to his chest with a smirk. <God, Ray. What would we do without you? Still…> "And where'd you pick up that gem?"

"I think Egon might've said it once." Ray told him.

Peter snorted, his indolent pose marred by a tightening around his eyes and a slight furrow in his eyebrows. "Well, the great Spengler doesn't know his ass from his elbow when it comes to looks. I mean, look at his hair. Need I say more?"

"But I am right," Ray pointed out. "You *really* need a shower, Peter."

"I'll take one in the morning, Tex." When Ray gave him a stern look, Peter returned it in equal measure, dark green eyes staring up at the younger man. They held an almost pleading look, mingled with a deep weariness and firm resolve. "Promise."

It was obvious to Ray that Peter needed sleep more than anything right now, but telling from the look of almost manic resolve, he knew the psychologist would be keeping the TV company downstairs throughout the night if he didn't do something.

"Peter, you need to sleep." Ray said gently but firmly, reaching out to smooth the bangs away from the psychologist's brow and looking straight into shadowed green eyes.

"I'll sleep when Egon's back."

Ray sighed. He agreed with Peter wholeheartedly, but it was more important that the man rest. "He'll get better, Peter. I know he will. Please try to sleep. For me?" Ray didn't like trying to use his sad puppy eyes as a way to coerce Peter into well-deserved rest, but if that's what it took...

Peter snorted at the blatantly pleading look and gave Ray a faint smile. "I'll see what I can do, Tex. That's about the best I promise right now."

Ray sighed and gave him a rebuking look. "Peter, go to sleep."

"Yes, Mom." Peter's smile grew a little as he turned on his side, cradling the notebook to his chest. He could feel Ray pull his blankets over him to cover up to his chin and smooth it down gently.

"Good night, Peter." Ray whispered before placing a soft kiss on Peter's head. There was the sound of soft footsteps moments later, followed by the sound of the door closing softly.

Peter sighed to himself. <He's a good kid, but does he possibly think that I could possibly sleep?> He glanced down at the notebook cradled in his arms. <Egon…>

Before he knew it, his eyelids were drooping and he fell fast asleep.

To Be Continued...