The heavy green lenses were a blessing. Here in the bright morning sun they were a necessity. Kermit Griffin sat quietly on a worn park bench and used one finger to press his shaded armor more securely in place on his nose. Sleep wasn't able to win the battle with his over-active reasoning during the night. Pros and cons had stomped up and down beneath his eyelids, forcing them to snap open time and time again.

Now, he was here in the park, hiding in the eleven o'clock cover of daylight. <You shouldn't have left her standing there like that, you moron.> Indecision could have been a nice explanation for his behavior at Delancey's. Karen had called his bluff and he'd snatched up his cards and fled, but not before retrieving the protection of those cool green filters and plastering them back into position. Indecision was a convenient haven. That particular con on his mental list concerning Karen Simms was a prominent marker. He was still deciding, gathering information, analysing their chemistry. <Yeah, right.>

Indecision was less embarrassing than stone cold fear. He'd stick to that alibi for now.

His paper cup held only the stale remains of his morning coffee and he tossed it neatly into a nearby garbage can. The crumpled paper landed with a dull thud that rumbled inside the metal can and drew the attention of several children playing nearby. Kermit bent his mouth into a smile to soften his appearance, which was most certainly intimidating the four waifs standing a few feet away. They eyed him carefully, betraying little by way of acceptance or rejection. Three boys and one little girl --all under ten and all obviously too young to be safely left alone -- bore the tattered, dirty clothing of neglect.

Kermit watched their expressions flow past fear and then to indifference as the group of children sized him up, deemed him harmless, and returned to kicking a nearly deflated ball over their playground acreage. Lots of these street kids had this park as their only nanny. Parents scrounging for work or drugs or the next shelter that would hold them for the night left them here to roam the park in packs until they could be reclaimed. It was a dangerous solution to the lack of daycare.

The group of children had been there when Kermit had arrived at nine and he'd followed their movements, keeping an eye out for trouble that never came. He should call social services, probably would later. But, under his watchful eye, they were safe. <Let them play for now. At least someone here is happy.>

Inch by inch, the game of catch was rotating it's way toward a busy ice cream stand on the edge of the green. The sweaty attendant swabbed his face and snarled a warning to the tattered children. "I TOLD you kids to stop hangin' around. You bother the customers!" Accustomed to being moved along, the kids stared blankly in response to the harsh rebuff and moved away. The oldest boy gripped the dirty hand of the little girl and lead the group a safe distance across the grass to sit in the shade.

Each step he took toward the vendor bounced with anger. Kermit covered the distance slowly, fighting the urge to vent on behalf of those children. <One good threat and he'd piss in his pants.> It would be so nice to relieve the pressure with a little vengeful distraction.

Luckily, judgment won out over exhausted outrage. By the time the detective reached the ice cream stand, reason was once again in control. Waiting his turn, Kermit stood in line until he drew the vendor's attention.

"What'll it be, mister?" the man said, anxious to unload more inventory.

Kermit slid several bills from his wallet and put them into the man's hand. "Call those children, who you treated like crows, back over here and tell them today is Kid Appreciation Day and they can eat ice cream until they turn blue....on the house."

Annoyed, but not sufficiently enough to turn down cash, the vendor snapped, "Fine, but why don't you just give 'em the cash and get your Good Samaritan buzz?" Wiping the gleaming stainless-steel doors of his prized cooler, the man avoided Kermit's heavy green glare.

Quietly, in a tone low and lethal, Kermit explained. "Because they need to have someone be kind to them. That someone should be a man they see every day." Leaning over and offering an unsavory grin, he whispered, "Who knows, you might even enjoy not being the park asshole for a day and I might enjoy not having to rip you a new one if you're less than gracious to those children again."

With a patronizing pat to the man's white cotton shirt, Kermit turned back toward the parking lot. He hesitated just long enough to hear the ice cream man call the children over, noting with satisfaction the change in his voice and manner. <Happy Saturday, kids.> The momentary satisfaction faded away as his feet hit the concrete.

Last night was still there. The indecision was still there. A night of celebration for Karen had lead to that all important first move. She had been warm and witty and personal. Kermit met her approach with retreat. <Moron. Chicken shit, moron. What the hell is wrong with you?>

With the raging doubt pounding through his mind, Kermit approached his vehicle. Jamming the key into the door, he suddenly felt a warm breeze of perfume, a scent that greeted him every morning at the precinct. Not overt or brash, the aroma was a light breath of sweetness and woman. He didn't turn immediately, allowing himself to enjoy the sensation of Karen Simms.

"Would you buy me an ice cream cone if I were left alone in the park?" Karen's voice blew softly over his shoulder.

"How many cones would it take to equal a decent apology?" It was a lame attempt at atonement but the best he could muster.

"You know, Detective, until last night I had never actually seen a deer caught in headlights." Karen leaned her long frame backward, resting on the lime green door and preventing Kermit Griffin's escape. "I should apologize to you. I didn't mean to scare you with my brazen behavior. Chalk it up to euphoria at my new found freedom."

She wasn't angry. When Kermit finally focused on her eyes, there was no harshness there at all. <I left you standing there after you practically asked me to visit your bed and you aren't angry. Why the hell not?> Calm blue eyes met his own. A smile lay below those eyes. "You have nothing to apologize for....Karen." Reaching out one finger, he thought to stroke her hand, then stopped himself. The pros and cons of last night vaulted back to mind. <Don't risk it.>

But Karen Simms was evidently deaf to his inner voice. "So, to summarize, you're sorry and I'm sorry and we're all sorry. Forgiveness all around. All done."

"You should have been a diplomat," Kermit said, returning his keys to his pockets and taking a position beside her. He faced away, staring at the scenery.

"No thanks, married one once." She slid her hand into his and he didn't pull away. "Pompous asses, all of them."

"So, I'm finally going to be privy to the dark, sordid details of the mysterious life of Captain Simms," Kermit said, smiling as the tattered children walked by with their ice cream.

"We could trade secrets."

"Some of my secrets could get you killed."

"We can just skip those...for now."

For a moment, they stood in silence, hands their only contact. When she spoke again, it surprised him. "Do you want to tell me about the woman who left you this way?"

<No, I don't. I don't want to say her name or bleed another drop.> The the thought mangled itself before reaching his tongue. Daring to look in her eyes, he took a leap of faith. "What makes you think it's a woman?"

"It's always a woman." She squeezed his hand once again and began walking back to the park. Kermit followed, lacing his fingers with hers.

*****

Karen covered her surprise at his hand in hers with a calm blanket. Not that he hadn't held her hand once already, but this was different. That day, the worst day of her life, he was there gripping her fingers to stop them from shaking. Now, her hand was the still one. All her anger was gone. <He expected you to be angry and you should be, you wimp.>

They walked in silence toward a small concrete fountain. Karen cast a furtive glance toward Kermit every few steps. His eyes were fixed on their goal and his mouth tipped slightly toward a frown. Something was about to happen.

<Yes, well, that's what you thought last night, lady.> She had been so certain, so high on her own vindication that all those formalities and chains of command had cracked wide open. The banter between them wasn't unpredictable. "Do you ever take off those glasses?" had seemed such a subtle cue. <Subtle like a brick through a window, you moron.> His response, the obligatory sexy counter to her thrust.

Then something went terribly awry. For a few seconds after Kermit's borderline-panicked escape, she had simply stood stunned in her embarrassment. She had assumed they were of like minds. <What do you get when you assume?> The scenario would involve sliding those green glasses into her purse, paying her tab, and vandalizing her employer/employee relationship.

On the long ride home, Karen had performed a heated recitation of each and every foul and profane noun she had committed to memory. Kermit Griffin's parentage had been dissected and defamed with much gusto in time to soundtrack from 'Tommy.' By the time she'd reached her driveway, she had been reduced to referring to him as that "fucking Muppet" and found her own rage just a touch ridiculous.

After a good night's sleep, the fury had smoothed enough so that finding Kermit AWOL from the office left her concerned instead of enraged. Upon witnessing his performance of 'The Good Humor Man Meets the Ill Humored Man', the hurt and anger gave way to curiosity and caring. As they both reached the gray stone fountain, she sank down beside him and held on to Kermit's hand. Somehow, the contact seemed right, natural for sharing.

The silence remained intact. <All right, smart girl. Your job to keep this ball rolling.> Karen settled herself and watched as the black-clad shoulders slumped slightly. He was wrinkled and he was _never_ wrinkled. "Was it one of your wives?"

Kermit's body shook with the jolt of one grunted laugh. "So it's 'wives' now, is it? If I had half the prowess with women the precinct has awarded me through the rumor mill I'd be one busy man."

"Ah, so there are no multiple Griffin nuptials." She slid just an inch closer. "The plot thickens."

Kermit released her hand and leaned forward on his elbows. "Mrs. Griffin, singular....for about a nano second."

"Author of the famous 'Dear Kermit Letter' I presume." Karen watched as a mist of sadness, far too evident for the private man she'd come to know, settled around him.

Another short burst of mischievous laughter. "Made a great story, but not exactly accurate." He turned his head sideways to look at her and smile. "She skipped the letter."

<Now we're getting somewhere!> The sun was beating down on them and the wall had fallen prey to one tiny hole. "So this woman broke your heart and sent you off to join the French Foreign Legion."

"Not hardly." Kermit ran a hand through his rumpled hair. "Finding her gone was like a birthday and Christmas rolled into one and I'd never make a Legionnaire because I refuse to wear that stupid hat."

The urge to stroke his back tingled down Karen's arm and into her hand. She held it back. The caring was a forgone conclusion. She wasn't exactly sure when it had started. Maybe in a falling elevator. Maybe when she was being handcuffed and he came in flailing a sword to defend her. Maybe it was one late night in the precinct when he brought her coffee because "it was on his way." The origination didn't matter anymore. "So if it wasn't the wife, it must have been someone else."

"Yes."

"How long ago?"

"Ten years."

"And it still hurts this much?"

"More."

*****

The pounding of his heart began to rattle up through his ears. <It's been so long. Why is this still so strong?> Kermit suffered for a moment in silence. Karen was beside him. She wanted, no deserved, an answer. He wanted to answer. <Damn....no one knows this. Not even Paul.>

Then, she touched his back. Gently she tried to soothe him, even in the middle of her own mystery concerning his predicament. "You do know you can trust me, don't you, Kermit? If you aren't certain of anything else, you should at least know that by now."

"It's me I don't trust." He was tired, tired beyond denial and deflection. "I don't want to hurt you, Karen."

"Tell me about her." Her tone was warm, as warm as her hand moving up and down on his jacket.

<You don't know what you're asking. Or maybe you do.> With one last deep breath, he let go into the uncertainty that was confession. "In 1986, I was on an assignment for," he paused and reconsidered for a moment, "a governmental entity." Kermit twisted his head slightly, testing her ability to hold in her questions. It would be interesting to see if she would want to know which three letters of the alphabet had been his boss; interesting to see if she would have to know.

"Where?"

<You pass, Karen.> Once again, he looked back into the scenery. "Here in town. I had just been involved in some nasty business in the Middle East. This was, in essence, a test to see if I'd recovered sufficiently."

"Recovered from what?" Karen leaned in more closely.

The worry in her voice reassured him that he was doing the right thing. "It isn't relevant to the story. Anyway, a partner and I were to set up a phony store front on Garden Way and wait for a mark. He was a major supplier of scientific information for terrorist colonies around the world. Kind of a procurer of Dr. Frankensteins and twisted chemists. He had a penchant for antique books and anytime he was in the country, you could count on him showing up at a shop run by this dealer across the street. We were to wait for him to show up then .....handle him."

"Was the woman your partner?"

A mental picture of her fluttered by in his memory and made him smile. "No....she wasn't the agent, or the book dealer, or the terrorist." He looked back at Karen, just in time to see her shake off a mist of jealousy. A faint tightening of her jaw, but there nonetheless.

<Let go. For once, let go.> The heartbreak began to purr in his gut once more; one last grip before releasing his vocal cords again. "Her name was Claire. She made wedding dresses in her home across the street from our stake out. The neighborhood was one of those beautiful Victorian areas that slowly gave way to commercial zoning. She lived in the house she grew up in and sat in the front window sewing every day. I'd watch for hours, one eye staring at the street and waiting for our mark and the other eye watching her."

"Was she beautiful?"

"Yes, she was." Claire. Mousy brown hair leaning on his shoulder. Suede colored eyes squinting as she threaded a needle. Tiny, graceful fingers holding satin and pearls. Always looking away with a blush if she caught him staring. Nothing to draw a second look, unless you were looking for gold. <This is killing me.>

"Kermit....you don't have to tell me if it's going to hurt."

"It'll hurt either way." With that honesty splayed out for her to see, he got to his feet and began to pace. Moving was good, harder for the pain to silence him that way.

Karen stayed put, letting him journey back and forth in front of her. "Tell me what happened."

<Oh, just that? Just chop up my guts and fertilize the park with them? Why not.....>

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