"I am not staying in Chinatown with my father! What I need is to be in my own apartment, Grandfather. You don't understand."

"You are absolutely correct, Peter, I do not understand. Perhaps you would care to elaborate?"

Poised to step across the threshold, Rykker stopped in his tracks. Peering through the partially open double doors of the library, he quickly evaluated the seriousness of the conversation his brother P.T. Sinclair and his great-nephew Peter Caine were about to embark upon. A conversation he had no intention of interrupting. Of course a little old-fashioned eavesdropping never hurt. Positioning himself to allow for a clear view of the two men inside the room, he slouched back against the door jam.

"Well, son?"

Shifting uneasily in the deep leather chair, Peter gazed down at his sock-covered feet. "It's kind of hard to explain."

Crossing his arms high on his chest, Sinclair leaned back against the wall next to the large picture window overlooking Lake Muir. "I'm listening."

Rykker immediately recognized his brother's "this damn well better be good" stance. <Well I do believe the immovable object is about to meet the irresistible force. Okay, kid. I may not be a Shaolin priest or have the extraordinary connection that you and your father enjoy, but I sure as hell recognize guilt when it rears its ugly head. What grand trespass have you indicted yourself for this time?>

"I'm not going anywhere, Peter, until we have established what it is that's tearing you apart. I am curious, though, as to why you feel you cannot stay with those who care most about you and want nothing more than to see you fully recovered as soon as possible."

The young cop kept his head down, intensely studying his feet.

Rykker well knew his nephew's inability to tolerate silence for any length of time. Waiting, as did Sinclair, both men were soon rewarded.

"I just…because bad things will happen."

Moving away from the wall, P.T. walked over to the chair opposite his grandson and sat down. "What do you mean bad things will happen? What makes you say that?"

Staring across at the man he now called grandfather, the young cop's voice filled with emotion, "Because it always does. Bad things happen. People leave."

"Peter, what the hell are you talking about? Is this about your father? I know his six-month disappearance was difficult for you, but now he's back. He did return."

"It's not that!"

Sinclair gazed at his grandson with obvious skepticism.

Sighing, the young detective spoke, "The problem is not my dad, Grandfather. It's me."

Sinclair frowned. "What?"

"Every person I have ever loved and needed most in my life has, in the end, left me, willingly or not."

"I won't even venture a guess as to why your father chose to disappear for six-months, Peter, but he did return."

"For how long?" The whispered words were laced with pain. After gazing out the window for several seconds, the young cop turned back to face his grandfather. "When we were reunited, I actually believed that my father would want to stick around and be a part of my life. I thought there would be plenty of time to get to know each other again. Guess I was wrong. Pretty dumb, huh? Chalk it up to another one of my stupid utopian visions."

"I don't know what to say, son, except that your father loves you more than anyone or anything."

"Don't worry, Granpop, it's not your problem, it's mine. I had a lot of time to think while good old dad was off finding his path."

"And?"

"I finally figured out why he left."

"Why do you think he left?"

"I once asked my dad what he had been doing during those fifteen years we were separated. He told me that he had been searching for the essence of his son. That wasn't exactly the truth."

"And you see the truth as being what?"

"What my father was really looking for was a replica of that twelve year old kid he thought he had left buried back at the temple."

"Go on."

"Instead, he found a man practicing Western ways instead of Eastern philosophies. Kwai Chang Caine suddenly came face to face with a son who is a gun carrying cop and spends his days knee deep in bloodshed and violence." Peter's eyes glinted with anger and betrayal. "He couldn't handle it! My Shaolin father fled the city because it was easier for him to accept that his son was dead than it was to accept the son he found - me!"

Even from where he stood, Rykker read the pain registering on his brother's face at his grandson's words.

"He came back, Peter."

"Only because he was obligated to rescue that author. The night my father made his grand entrance was the same night that the shadow assassins almost killed Paul! That would not have happened, if Paul hadn't been trying to help me with all that mystical crap. My dad came back for Cooper, Grandfather, not for me and not for Paul. Guess I should thank the guy. If not for him, Kwai Chang Caine wouldn't have bothered to show up at all and I would have been left to face those killers alone."

"How do you know that is true, Peter?"

"Because I asked him and he told me that he would not have returned so soon, if not for his obligation to protect Cooper."

A shroud of sorrow settled over the young cop. "People died at the hands of those bastards simply because they knew me. Eventually, they would have killed me, too, and he wouldn't even have known."

Rykker winced at the raw pain in his nephew's words.

"I am sorry, Peter. If I could change what's happened between you and your father, I would. He loves you and that is an indisputable fact. You need each other as much as the air you both breathe. Please, don't let your father's mistakes tear you apart. Talk to him, son."

"I can't. I made a promise. I really screwed up this time."

"In what way?"

"Everybody thinks I'm some sort of hero because I went undercover and broke up Tony Laureano's organization, but I'm not! Turns out I failed to get the information needed to put his entire empire of low life drug dealers and car thieves behind bars."

"Peter, he almost succeeded in having you killed and you think that's your fault?"

"Yes! I am the one who infiltrated his organization. It was my job to obtain enough information to put his entire gang behind bars, to get them off the streets!"

"Undercover work is dangerous and it does not always go according to plan. I should know, I've been on more than a few undercover assignments, myself. You managed to gather enough evidence to put Laureano behind bars. You caught their leader!"

"And he got out on bail!"

"Yes, but only after he had his henchmen push you and your car over the side of Miners Peak overlook. He gambled and, thank God, he lost. You could be dead!"

"What if they had gone after Mary Margaret, or Jody?"

"They didn't."

"But they could have and it would have been my fault! Paul calls me 'the hotshot cop.' Usually right after one of my screw-ups. He says I go charging in without stopping to call for backup, or thinking about the possible consequences. He's right. Sometimes, Grandfather, people get hurt or even die because I didn't do my job well enough."

Rykker held his breath. <Tread carefully big brother.>

"Peter, has the possibility ever occurred to you that more people are alive today because you were there? You're not God, kid, and I think it's time you recognized and accepted that fact. Sometimes things don't go according to plan. We all screw up. Not because we're weak or inept, but simply because we are human, and that includes your father."

<You handled that rather well, P.T. I am impressed, concluded Rykker.>

"Please, son, just give it some time. That's all I ask. Will you at least do that much for me?"

The young cop remained silent for several seconds and then nodded. "Yeah, okay."

"Good. Now what about this promise you mentioned?"

Peter did not respond.

Rykker saw his brother's concern suddenly shift from the young cop's mental state to his physical condition. In the last few seconds Peter's face had paled. Considering he had been released from the hospital only a few days ago, he wasn't particularly surprised. The ex-mercenary shuddered at the memory of the three days his nephew had spent in ICU, his life hanging in the balance. Almost as harrowing had been the race to find the exact location up on Stone Mountain where Laureano's men had pushed Peter's Stealth over the cliff with the young cop still inside. Luckily, the kid had been ejected from his car just below the spot where it had been pushed off the mountain. Had he rode the car to the bottom of the canyon, another 300 feet, the outcome would have undoubtedly been considerably different. He had sustained a concussion, broken right arm, cracked ribs and deep bruises from being thrown from the car, but in the end it had been pneumonia that had almost claimed his young life. Rykker was just grateful that the kid was alive and would make a full recovery.

Four days ago, Dr. Reider had released his nephew from the hospital straight into the waiting arms of his family, much to the young cop's chagrin. His mouth twitched into a smile as a vision of himself standing outside his nephew's room listening slid across his mind's eye….

"Where are my dads and my grandfather, Kermit?" Peter sat down on the foot of the hospital bed. This seemingly endless waiting just to check out was sorely testing his limited patience. He needed to get out of here posthaste before anyone discovered just how exhausted and weak he really felt. His battered body needed to be in a horizontal position!

"They stopped in to speak with Dr. Reider. They should be here soon."

"Great! Just great! They are probably getting a long list of instructions for me to follow."

Entering the room, closely followed by Sinclair and Kwai Chang Caine, Paul concurred. "That's right, kid, that's exactly what we've got - doctor's orders."

"Come on Paul! Three against one isn't exactly fair!"

"Oh, think again, son. I believe your count is a bit off."

"What do you mean?"

"You need to add Kermit, Annie, and Lo Si to your list, not to mention Jody and Mary Margaret, who will ensure you do not attempt to involve yourself in any cases at the station during your recovery."

"Shit!"

"What was that, Peter?" P.T. suppressed his urge to smile.

"Nothing, Granpop. Sorry."

"Would you care to hear the plan, my son?"

"I can hardly wait, Pop."

Ignoring the dreaded 'pop,' Caine felt a momentary twinge of guilt. They were in fact ganging up on his stubborn, hyper son.

At that moment, Rykker walked into the room and positioned himself next to Kermit.

Seeing the gathering storm on his foster son's face, Paul strengthened his resolve. At least this time he had backup. "The doctor has given explicit instructions that you are to get plenty of rest, Peter. We are simply here to make sure those orders are followed to the letter. We have worked out a schedule."

"A schedule! In case you haven't noticed, I am a grown man and I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself! Don't I have anything to say about this?"

Paul thought it best to ignore that particular question. "You will spend the first week out at the lake with your grandfather, then a week in Chinatown with your father, and a week at the house with us."

"That's three weeks! I need to get back to work. There are bad guys out there!"

"Wrong again, kid. The doctor will not give you a medical 'return to duty' clearance for a full six weeks. Those are doctor's orders and Dr. Reider is adamant."

Glancing around the room and seeing nothing less than steadfast determination in every single face, Peter hung his head. What he wanted to do was jump up and down and tell them all to go to hell, but this war of words was depleting what little energy reserves he had left. He desperately tried to hide his exhaustion, knowing it would only lend credence to his foster father's words.

Catching P.T.'s eye, Rykker gave him a wink. "Oh by the way, kid, just so you know, I'll be around to drive you wherever you need to go. That includes doctor appointments and the changing of the guard every week. Once you are back in your own apartment, I will be more than happy to stop in and check on you; see if you need anything."

Peter's head dropped a little lower.

His brother's concerned voice brought him out of his reverie.

"How are you feeling, Peter? You okay?"

"Yeah, fine, I'm just a little tired. I think I'll go lie down for awhile."

"Good idea. I'll let you know when dinner is ready. Wouldn't want you to miss one of Ricco's meals. He can sometimes be cantankerous, but he certainly makes up for it in the food department. His dinners are practically a work of art."

Rykker watched P.T. stand up and extend a hand to his grandson. Due to his bound ribs and the cast on his right arm, the young cop was struggling to lever himself out of the chair. Finally gaining his feet, he slowly turned toward the partially open door. Melting back into the hallway's deepening shadows, Rykker waited. Peter walked through the doorway and headed in the opposite direction, away from his position.

"See you at dinner, Uncle Rykker." Making a quick left, he disappeared from view.

"Well, I'll be damned. Now how the hell did he know I was standing here?" Shaking his head, the ex-mercenary entered the library. Crossing the room, he lowered himself into the chair just vacated by his nephew.

"You look like someone who just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar." P.T.'s smile became more pronounced.

"You know what the problem is with your grandson? That kid gets more like his father everyday."

P.T. gave into his urge to laugh.

"If you can contain yourself for a damn minute, I came in here to give you my compliments. I thought you handled that rather well."

P.T.'s expression sobered. "I hope you're right. Sometimes I wonder what gets into that kid. He is intelligent, capable. He has strengths he hasn't even tapped into yet. He also has a loving family, not to mention a long list of friends. Even that favorite snitch of his, what's his name?"

"Donny Double-D?"

"Yeah, him. I believe the man would do just about anything for his friend the cop."

"Peter has had a lot dropped onto his plate over the last six months, P.T. First, his father calmly walks out of town and disappears for six months without so much as a lousy postcard to let the kid know he's okay. Now he's back and they aren't exactly having a warm and fuzzy second reunion. In the middle of that mess, you pop out of the woodwork and introduce yourself as his long lost grandfather, one he obviously didn't even know existed. Too bad Caine never felt the compulsion to discuss his wife's father with their son. Certainly would have made the introductions go a bit more smoothly."

The memory of that evening, four months ago, suddenly cascaded over Sinclair. He well remembered the emotions that battered him as he sat in the Blaisdell family room about to reveal his true identity to his grandson. The prospect of Peter's anger and rejection had made his palms sweat and his heart race….

"You don't get over losing your soul mate, Peter. I felt dead inside for a very long time after Alex died, but at the same time I had my little girl to consider. I was forced to make important life decisions when I felt least able to handle making them. I did know that I wanted a family for my daughter and I was in no position to provide one. I was a mercenary. I had to be away from home, often out of the country for several months at a time. So, as hard as it was, I made the decision to place my daughter in the care of my older brother, Jack. He and his wife had lost their only child two years prior. They loved my daughter as their own. They were crazy about her, especially Mary. I knew they would provide her with a stable home and a warm, loving environment. They could give her stability and security. I fully supported my daughter and spent as much time with her as possible. You have to believe me, Peter, I loved her with all my heart and soul." Sinclair looked into his grandson's eyes. "Her death was absolutely devastating."

Peter hadn't moved. Neither had Annie or Paul. Peter's eyes narrowed in thought. Quietly he asked the question that everyone else in the room had been anticipating. He had finally reached that last and highest hurdle, which had flashed across Paul's mind at the start of the conversation. Tension in the room had reached an almost intolerable level. Very softly, Peter asked, "What was your daughter's name, Mr. Sinclair?"

The room was deathly quiet. Annie and Paul waited with bated breath. Sinclair could hear Peter's breathing, which had increased in cadence. He could also hear his own heart pounding in his ears. Two sets of expressive eyes bored into each other. "Laura," whispered Sinclair, and then more forcefully, "My daughter's name was Laura Katherine Sinclair. Her married name was Laura Katherine Sinclair Caine. Your mother, Peter. I am your grandfather."

"Let's give him the benefit of the doubt. Who knows, maybe he intended to tell the kid when he was older. The sudden destruction of their temple would have pretty much derailed that plan. And there was my occupation. I seriously doubt Caine was any too keen on explaining 'the life of a mercenary' to his twelve year old son back then."

"Yeah, you've got a point. Unfortunately, we have a much more immediate concern in the form of Tony Laureano and his group of penny ante thugs. My gut's telling me they will be coming after Peter again."

"Paul's got half the precinct working on it. Something will break soon."

"Let's hope. Peter won't be safe until that little bastard is convicted and serving a nice long prison term. I'd like to push him over the nearest cliff like he did Peter. Be a lot easier and cleaner."

"Yeah, well get in line." Anger was evident in Sinclair's voice. "I suppose you heard what he said about not wanting to stay at his father's place. That could become a real can of worms."

"One best left unopened, in my opinion. That little problem is Caine's to solve. Like I said, this second reunion is not going well. Can't say I blame the kid. I'll make a stop in Chinatown later tonight and let his father know about the schedule change. I'm guessing that Papa Caine will be none too happy about this turn of events. I got the distinct impression that he was counting heavily on their week together to make peace with his son, or at least start the process."

"I wish I could do something to help. It's tough sitting back and watching the kid fight his demons alone."

"You are helping him, P.T. You are here for him and that is very important to Peter. I think maybe this conversation you two just had might help him to see things in a different light. Of course, it may take awhile. He can be stubborn as hell. My guess is, we will simply have to wait him out."

"I will be keeping a close eye on him."

"We both will."

"By the way, Rykker, in case I haven't mentioned it lately, I really appreciate you watching his back all these years. I am just beginning to realize what that job actually entailed. I thank you from the heart."

"No thanks needed. The fact is, Peter means every bit as much to me as he does to you. He's all we have left."

"Yes, I know." There was a profound sadness in Sinclair's quiet words.

"I must confess, though, that there have been more than a few times over the years that I have wanted to reach out and slap some sense into that stubborn grandson of yours."

"You know, I am growing quite alarmed regarding your penchant for violence toward my only grandchild. As of late, I've even lost sleep worrying about it."

Staring across at his sibling's widening grin, Rykker shook his head. "Very funny, P.T. You know something? Kwai Chang Caine is not the only one that kid takes after. Isn't it enough that he just challenged my mercenary skills and found them wanting? I still can't figure out how he knew I was standing back there without so much as glance in my direction. I must be losing it!"

"Relax. My grandson comes from a long line of Shaolin. Just remember who fathered him."

Sighing, Rykker shook his head. "There is no winning with either of you. I keep my nose to the grindstone and what thanks do I get? A comedian for a brother and a smart ass for a nephew."

"Not to change the subject, but are you sticking around for dinner?"

"Absolutely. It would be downright criminal to deliberately miss one of Fredricco's meals. I better let him know to set an extra place at the table."

"Don't bother. I'm sure he has already set a place of honor for you. After all, you're his biggest fan."

"Listen, if it wasn't for, and I quote, 'That Mr. Peter very handsome young man, but much too skinny. I fatten him up! He will become like Adonis,' I would steal old Freddie-boy from right under your nose."

P.T. laughed. His brother's imitation of his chef was perfect, gestures and all. "He wouldn't leave me. I treat him good and pay him very well. You wouldn't stand a chance with Ricco."

"Your over confidence astounds me. Peter is the only one keeping Fredricco here. Could be he likes the view."

"What are you saying?"

"What I am saying is, it might be wise to warn the kid about walking around in his skivvies."

"All that will accomplish is to make him paranoid and I seriously doubt that he is in any danger of my chef making a pass at him. Tell you what, if he starts walking about in the all together, I'll say something. Otherwise, let it ride."

"Yeah, maybe you're right."

"Of course I am." Glancing across at the antique grandfather clock sitting against the far wall, Sinclair rose from his chair. "Well, dinner is still a couple of hours away so if you will excuse me, I think I will take my grandson's lead and catch a little nap. You'll be okay, if I leave you here all alone in the library?"

"I think I can manage. I am sure I'll find something on those shelves to catch my fancy."

"Okay, see you at dinner. Enjoy."

"Absolutely. Sweet dreams."

Waving a hand in reply, Sinclair left the room.

"Well now, let's see, where does one start? So many choices and so little time." His gaze traveled lovingly over the ceiling-to-floor shelves across one wall containing books of every size and title.

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