Diving into the seclusion of his bedroom, Kermit paced around the huge four poster bed. Savannah's image still clutched in his hand, the exhaustion dragged at his senses. He had to do something. What should he do? What could he do?

A bag. He should back a bag for Savannah. When she woke up, she would need her own things to feel comfortable. Over in the corner, Kermit found the carry on bag Savannah had insisted on lugging through every airport on their trip. She was taking no chances of being stranded in Europe without her makeup.

"Nice goin', Scarlett," he mumbled to himself, "still packed." Ripping back the zipper, he dug through to see what was inside. A nightgown. Pink silk. The fabric poured through his fingers. Her scent wafted upward to wrap around his senses. Sweet floral warmth rubbed from her own skin. Touching the smell and softness of her against his cheek, the man felt a flood of pain press relentlessly against sand paper eyelids.

No! He had something to do. Folding the gown, he returned it to the bag, tucking it beneath her bathrobe. Glimpsing other lacy garments, he decided all the necessary clothing was included. Pulling out another zippered pouch, he tried to decipher the bottles and tubes and miscellaneous items crammed inside.

He had complained about all her "woman stuff." Why did she need all this stuff? "There's no such thing as natural beauty, silly!" Savannah had giggled at his questions on more than one occasion.

You're so wrong, lady. One by one, he pulled out the contents. Perfume. The hairbrush he was never allowed to use. Lipstick. Several things he had no earthly idea how to identify. All her things. Dropping them back into the bag, he stood there staring. She was all around him. Her scent. Her touch. With him and not. The heartbreak began to gain ground and he stood in the middle of her echo, mourning her.

"Kermit." The door moved open slightly as Karen called his name. "Can I help you get her things together?"

"Get the hell out and leave me alone! I like to be alone, remember?!" No one was allowed in here with her memory. He wanted to be spellbound in her essence. The angry shove of his words would hopefully earn him his privacy.

The door closed again, leaving him to his task. Clothes. She'll need something to wear home. His mind alternated between despair and hope as Kermit raked his hands through Savannah's closet. Grabbing the first dress he came to, he wrestled it from the hanger and stuffed it into the bag.

Sinking down onto the bed, he felt the loss, despair greater than any hatred or thought of revenge. Absently, his fingers found their way into his jacket pocket. The hospital had given him Savannah's wedding set. The two rings barely fit on the end of his little finger. Holding the gold circles up in the lamplight, he remembered the feel of her hand in his own. Small fingers that trembled as he slid them onto her hand on their wedding day.

A dull thud drummed inside his skull. Pounding sadness reverberated through his body. He wanted to let go, needed to release the tidal wave of emotion. All his strength fought against the release, against the surrender. Caught in the thundering confusion of his pain, Kermit gave in to the seduction of Savannah's pillow. Painfully empty arms squeezed the soft imitation of his wife to his chest.

Breathing in the remnants of Savannah, he gave in to the pain. He was sick...and lonely. Desolate. Closing his eyes, he surrendered to the helplessness and tears, hiding inside his wife's memory. He fell asleep on her side of the bed.

Through the slammed door, Karen had listened as Kermit rifled through drawers and shuffled the clothes in the closet. Quietly, she retreated to the den to consider her next move.

An hour later, Captain Karen Simms was sitting on the couch in the Griffin home, her muscles the consistency of spaghetti. After carefully checking the baby and trying to deal with her department over the phone, Karen Simms felt drained -- but there was more work to be done that had nothing to do with official business.

This was the work of a concerned friend watching two men she cared for being ripped to shreds. Dialing quickly, she called for help. She explained all to the person at the other end of the line. Once she was finished, she realized for the first time how hopeless the situation seemed. Two men, once as close as brothers. Now, one was incapacitated with grief and the other, with guilt. "Can something be done?" she asked softly.

"Well, the first thing that must be done is to get Detective Griffin to face life again. He has to feel some control over daily events. Take charge of his family and get some sort of order restored," Dr. Jennifer Harmon said.

"What about Peter?" Simms asked.

"From what you've said, Peter's guilt is being fueled by Detective Griffin's anger, who is reaching out for the closest target for his rage. There are no guarantees, but perhaps once that anger is controlled and dissipated, Peter's guilt will be that much easier to handle. Especially if they are as close as you say. Once Detective Griffin realizes that Peter wasn't at fault, HE might help Peter over his guilt, doing most of our work for us."

"All right, so this whole domino effect is dependent on Kermit," Karen said. "But right now, he's clearly out of control. His thought processes can barely get him to take care of his own physical needs, much less make decisions concerning anyone else. How will he be able to take care of his child, much less absolve Peter of his guilt?"

"You have the perfect solution right there. This may be hard but this is what you have to do...."

******

"Peter, where's your father?" Jody asked as she watched Peter Caine pace through his apartment like a caged animal. She'd been relieved that she had maneuvered the tortured man away from another seek-and-destroy on the street.

"Out of town for a few days," he tossed back, trying to focus on anything besides this ache in his heart. But he's on his way. Peter had been blocking the gentle prod of his father's mind for hours. Kwai Chang Caine had reached out to his son when Peter's world shattered on the front steps of the precinct. Shame slammed down doors to lock him away.

Even that couldn't stop him from coming.

But Caine was still at least a day away. Peter held on to the hope that his father could help Savannah. Heal her and let him spend the rest of his life trying to make it up to her.

"You should eat something," Jody instructed, moving through his kitchen in search of anything she could change into dinner. The refrigerator opened behind her. The sound of a bottle top snapped and the door slammed shut. "Peter, do you think you should have that?" she rebuked, gently, as this man she cared so deeply for drained half a beer and continued his rage through the living room.

"I was so sure how this would work," he muttered and gulped, ignoring Jody's concern. "I'd squeeze. Jimmy would fold. Everything would work out." Another drink. "It always works out, dammit!" Finding his bottle empty, he didn't waste time returning to the kitchen.

Yanking a bottle from a pseudo-bar in the corner of his den, Peter continued his possessed journey across the floor. Puzzling and rehashing each turn of judgment in a desperate attempt to understand or justify.

"That won't solve this," the woman pleaded, intercepting his adrenaline frenzy and making a grab for the bottle. "It'll only make you feel worse."

Peter merely twisted away from her grasp and continued to pour artificial calm down his throat. Whirling in his anger, Peter pointed the bottle toward her and raged on. "How could it possibly be bad for me to feel worse, Jody?! Shouldn't I feel worse?! Worse than Kermit? Worse than that woman who's dying downtown?" He shook off her hand and fired more bourbon back. "Oh, and let's not forget Tadpole...." Leaning down, nose to nose with his babysitter, he whispered in horror, "Inches, Jody, just a few inches and that little girl would be a memory. BECAUSE OF ME!!!"

"Because of a vicious little bastard with a gun, Peter. HE shot them, not you!" After a third try for the liquor, it became obvious that this was the sedation of choice for the evening. *Well, at least he's here at home,* she thought, gratefully.

You murdered her!! He could still hear the razor's edge of Kermit's fury drilling through his mind. "It doesn't matter...." he mumbled and drank, longing to coat the fierce guilt.

Jody retreated to the kitchen. Maybe she could get something in his stomach and lessen the ravages of the alcohol. By the time she returned to the den, she found her sometime partner sprawled out on the couch. The now empty bottle dangling from limp fingers.

"Jesus, Peter!" she moaned, plucking the bottle away, "You drank it all...." Kneeling down beside him, Jody gently stroked his face. "Peter, I care about you. I know you love them and would have never hurt them intentionally. Peter? Please ..." Peter Caine was never a big drinker. She knew that. For him to blanket himself with booze was testimony to his broken heart. A momentary cure that would only lower his resistance in the morning with a hangover.

The look on his face...pure agony...was almost more than she could bear. Sliding one arm beneath his shoulders, she pulled him into a sheltering embrace. As he groaned through a haze of bourbon and sorrow, Peter wrapped his arms around her in response. Grabbing a lifeline.

She was stroking his back and holding him close. Burying himself in her hair, Peter began to succumb to the draw of her sweet scent and soft skin. The hurt howled out at him. Kermit's acid words pounding in his ears. The vision of Savannah sprawled over the pavement covered in blood was imprinted in his vision. Closing his eyes didn't help. The alcohol didn't help.

Desperate for comfort, he squeezed himself more tightly into Jody's loving arms, resting his face on her soft neck.

"Peter..." she whispered, and kissed the brown head hiding on her shoulder. He was hurt and so alone. He needed her now more than ever. "I know you, Peter. Please don't destroy yourself. I lo-"

Thankfully, she stopped herself before she finished. Here, rocking him back and forth in his shattered state, wasn't the time. "Just hold on to me and we'll work through things tomorrow. You don't have to do this alone."

The sound of her voice was hypnotic in his drunken state of mind. Gentle words crooned into his ear. Acceptance. Forgiveness. Little by little, he became aware of the sensation of his body touching hers. Her back beneath his hands. Sliding his palms slowly up and down, he traced a path from her shoulders to the slim waist. Turning his face slightly, Peter pressed trembling lips into the hollow of the woman's neck. Diving into the confusion of desire to mask the overwhelming void of guilt.

Involuntarily, Jody's body responded. Soft kisses flooding over her flesh with increasing urgency. In one fluid motion, Peter moved off the couch and down to the floor beside her. Crawling over her body. Devouring her with hot lips and exploration. When the inferno of his mouth found hers, she dug back at him with a burning tongue, pulling him in deeply to taste her growing passion.

Caught up in the storm of desire, Jody gasped as she felt his hand peeling away her blouse. Somehow, his shirt was already gone. Her bra fell away under his skilled hands, leaving burning flesh mingling on the living room floor. Possessed with single-minded desire, Jody ground her hips into his, blankly aware of Peter's hand tearing off his belt and struggling with his zipper.

"Oh...Jody...I need you so much..." he moaned into her ear, his voice thick with desire and bourbon.

"Peter...I'm here...I'm...." It was hard to think. Too many things to concentrate on. This moment she'd wanted for so long. The hands she longed to feel on her body. Burning kisses from him. Making love to him....

Reality roared back into her emotion-soaked brain. Making love to him. This wasn't love and she knew it. It was pain and anger and suffering in a frantic search of oblivion. "No...Peter...we can't do this!"

Pushing him off of her took no great effort. With one hand, Jody shoved him over onto the floor. "This isn't right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let it go this far," she apologized and quickly reassembled her clothing.

"What? Oh, Jody...." Peter moaned on the floor. Eyes closed, he tried to bring himself back under control. "No...I'm sorry...don't know what...I wouldn't hurt you...I'm...." His broken words of apology lost once again in the jagged pull of alcohol on his brain. In vain, he tried to get up only to stumble back to his knees.

"Here. Lean on me." Jody looped one arm around his waist and supported his stagger into the bedroom. Crashing down onto the bed, Peter surrendered to the darkness. Plunging gratefully into the temporary void of sleep.

She pulled off his boots but stopped short of undressing him completely. The less intimate contact tonight, the better, she thought to herself, fighting to return her own heartbeat to a normal rhythm. Too concerned to leave him drunk and alone and in this state of mind, but wanting to leave him to his privacy for both their sakes, Jody returned to the living room and her phone. She resumed beating the bushes for information on the case. Hoping to find a link to the killer who'd ripped through their lives.

Before she could reach out, the cell phone rang in her hand. "Detective Powell."

*Jody? Anything new?* T.J. Kincaid's even tones wafted over the airways.

"No, T.J.," she answered, dropping down on the sofa. "I've picked up the reports on the victims and ballistics but it's nothing we didn't know already. Any luck with witnesses?"

*Nothing yet, but I still have a few cages to rattle. Where are you?*

Taking in a deep breath, she answered, "Peter's place. He's in bad shape." Leaning back, she stole another look into Peter's bedroom. "Listen, I'm gonna find someone to stay here and I'll be back-"

*Stay put.*

"We have to work on the case, T.J. We owe it to all of them."

*Do the phone work. I've got it covered. The city's locked down and if he's still here, he'll show. We'll talk in the morning.*

"Thanks, partner. I'll see you early." Jody hung up and closed her eyes for a moment, shifting gears back from friend to cop. Dialing quickly, she began calling in favors.

******

Kermit woke reluctantly out of a heavy sleep and immediately wished to go back. It was such a peaceful place, warm, comfortable... Savannah's warm floral scent drew him to her side of the bed. He felt for his wife and his searching hand encountered empty space. The misery came back in a rush. His stomach churned and his head began to throb. He felt like he was hyperventilating...and what was that sound, anyway?

"WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"

Kermit buried his head into the pillow, trying to drown out the sound. It wasn't working. What the hell WAS that? Some kind of siren...? Pulling Savannah's pillow close, he breathed deeply once more, filling himself with the mingled scent of perfume and sadness.

"WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"

It wasn't going to stop - he realized that now. He was going to have to get up and stop it himself. He carefully got up and stumbled to the door, trying to find out where that noise was coming from. Staggering into a soft, powdery-blue room, he confronted the source of the din.

Kat was now as outraged as she had ever been in her young life. She hadn't been changed for quite some time and she was VERY hungry. She wailed again, tears streaming down her bright red face.

Kermit looked at Kat, barely focusing on the baby. He saw Savannah in everything. Saw Savannah changing her, her voice saying, "I thought it'd be like waking up in Heaven." He reached out to the baby, who instantly clung to him out of desperation. She was hungry, she was wet, she needed him. Slowly, images of Savannah began to shift way to a crying baby. A baby they both adored, laughed with, cared for...a baby that was part of them. A part of HER.

"KAT!" Kermit gasped, seeing the baby for the first time. He cuddled his daughter close, rocking her. "Ssh, ssh, it's all right, Daddy's here," he crooned. But Kat, denied of her basic needs, kept screaming. "Okay," Kermit said, practiced hands already at work, "it's okay. It'll be okay. Daddy's here." He changed the diaper quickly, not bothering to clean her very well. Kat was starving. "God, how long's it been since you've been fed?" he asked. "Daddy's going to get rid of that damn babysitter!" Cradling her on his shoulder, he went to the kitchen to get a bottle.

He and Savannah had been trying to wean Kat from the bottle since her first birthday. Still, when his little girl was extremely upset, Kermit would cave in and let her suck away with no interference. A couple of weeks earlier, Savannah had caught him sneaking her a bottle after a tantrum and commented, "What a pushover! Isn't it a good thing some KGB agent never tried that ploy with you. I'd be callin' you comrade!"'

Kermit shook his head to dispel the memory as he grabbed a bottle and offered it to his daughter. Kat clamped onto it instantly, quieting her cries.

Kermit sighed at the sudden silence. He thought of Savannah briefly, but shoved that out of his mind. Kat needed him. He sat down in his chair, cradling Kat close, stroking her hair. "It's okay, baby, Daddy's here."

"I'm so glad to hear that."

Turning, Kermit saw Karen Simms looking at him from an armchair in the corner. Her expression, a mixture of relief and concern. "Have you been here all this time?" he demanded.

"Yes."

Kermit gaped. "Well...well, why didn't you DO something?! Kat was starving!"

"Someone needed to bring you back into the real world," Karen explained. "Drastic measures were called for." She stroked Kat's soft cheek in apology. Those fifteen minutes of listening to that baby scream had been a test in her restraint. One more minute and she would have chucked the whole idea.

Kermit felt a wave of shame. He had retreated that far from reality to ignore his own child. He hugged her as she continued to eat. "I'm sorry, Kitty Kat. I'm so sorry."

"Now about Pet-" She stopped, seeing the look on his face. "Okay. One step at a time." She sat down next to Kermit and, playing with the baby's dark curls, refocused his attention back to Kat.

******

Without announcement, Bon Bon Hai smoothly entered the home of his new protégé. A false pleasantness molded his features into a slight smile. Greeted by the sufficient amount of tension, the man strolled to within inches of Clarence Choi's nose.

"It is an honor to have you here, sir." Clarence fumbled a bow which brought him even closer to his master. He had expected a phone call, not a visit.

"Are you certain, Clarence?" The dark eyes glared at the younger man, forcing him to look away in fear. Fear was a good thing. "It seems you do not consider me to be 'family' in the true sense of the word." After a menacingly plastic smile, Bon Bon Hai sank down into the cushioned comfort of the sofa and waited.

"Thank you for your concern, master," Clarence calmly answered, shifting from foot to foot. "But I have-"

"Taken care of the matter?" The question was not a request for information. The man already had the information or he wouldn't be there. "Yes," came the oozing tone as the man steepled his fingers, "I have heard of the situation and the solution. It saddened me to learn the tale of your young relative's misstep from another. I would think you would come to me yourself."

So you could kill me for bringing down the heat? No thanks! Clarence clicked through his repertoire of humble responses as the thoughts flew by. "I would never wish to bring difficulty to your interests, Bon Bon Hai. Henry is a young man and not the most intelligent."

"Given this information," Bon Bon Hai cocked his head to the side to counter the now sweating lieutenant's explanation, "it distresses me that only weeks ago, you brought him to me as a candidate for our recruitment. Morons are not welcome in this organization, Clarence." With a chilling, Bon Bon Hai retrieved a file from his pocket, then began to manicure his nails. "His indiscretion has attracted a great deal of attention to Chinatown as the police search for the boy. This distresses me further."

The implication was clear. Clarence felt the icy stab of fear in his gut. "I most humbly apologize, master. I made a mistake. Henry has been removed and will bring no further disturbance to you."

"Were there any witnesses to this unfortunate bloodbath your young cousin has dropped in our laps?" Bon Bon Hai glared as Clarence began to sit, causing the younger man to snap once more to attention.

"Only the cop's wife...maybe. She's in a coma and not expected to recover." At this point, he was willing to do anything to prove his loyalty. "Should I have someone eliminate the possibility of her becoming a witness?"

"And draw more attention in our direction? Perhaps young Henry is not the only moron in your lineage, Clarence." Bon Bon Hai rose to unleash his fury. Planting a finger in Clarence's chest, he growled, "YOU have dragged this boy into our midst and connected us to him by hiding him. YOU will do nothing more to entangle our organization with this unpleasantness." Nearly toppling the man with an shove to his chest, Bon Bon Hai instructed, "You will wait and watch. Should the woman become a threat in the future, you will handle it in a way that protects our interests. Do what you will with the boy."

"Yes, master." Clarence leveled his voice and stood fast, relieved that he was allowed to live.

"Good." Bon Bon Hai moved in sync with the two bodyguards who were his constant escort and turned toward the door. Offering one more threat for good measure, he reminded, "You do realize that you live to further my interests and should you become a hindrance, you will be scattered to the four winds?"

"Yes, master."

The elder criminal couldn't resist a smile as the trembling voice skittered through the air.

******

Kermit Griffin arrived at the ICU before dawn, still exhausted. After he had settled Kat, he'd asked Karen to leave. He simply lacked the energy to handle another human being besides his daughter. Understanding that an authoritative "don't persecute Peter Caine" speech was ripe within his captain, he sent her away. He couldn't waste time with extraneous discussions of his new enemy. There were other things to be done.

He had to get control of himself and the situation at home. Bring himself back to reality for Kat, if nothing else. Savannah would kick your ass if she had seen you lying there, letting her baby cry.

That thought helped focus him in the right direction. He and Kat had gone through a somewhat normal routine...until bedtime. Every night, since the day she came home from the hospital, Katherine Griffin had gone to sleep on her mother's shoulder. Rocking in the nursery. Annie Blaisdell had nearly rocked herself dizzy getting Kat to sleep while the couple was in Paris. Normally, at home, Kermit sometimes did the rocking but, when it was time to sleep, it took Mama's voice to do the job. Not this time.

Kermit had rocked her. And rocked. And rocked. And even tried singing to her. Little by little, her irritation grew. Kermit was feeling the effects of the trauma his child had suffered. Her whining turned into impassioned cries of "Maaaaaaammmmmmaaa!" She was just a little girl - not quite a year and a half old - but she knew something was horribly wrong and knew what she wanted. Kermit wasn't it.

It was torture sitting there listening to her cry, not being able to give her the one thing they both wanted. The thought that she ached for her mother was bad enough, but the thought that Savannah may never come home was worse. The idea that Kat would forget her and never know this mother who loved her enough to die for her.

Suddenly, an idea had blinked to life. Running to the kitchen, he grabbed the answering machine and brought it back to the nursery. He plugged it in beside the rocker and began to play the message. Out came that familiar, soothing voice.

"Hello! So glad you called!....Surprise, it's only the machine. Now, be sweet and wait for the beep. Can't call you back if you don't. Ba-bye!"

Kat instantly calmed at the sound of her mother's voice. Kermit hit the reply button over and over again until Kat was asleep and his hand was cramping. After dropping her into her bed, he'd retrieved the tape. It was in his pocket now. He'd planned to have Blake loop the tape on a cassette so that he could play it for Kat at night.

As he rounded the corner into the waiting area, thoughts of Kat left him. Mary Margaret approached, looking as rumpled and tired as he felt. "Kermit! I'm glad you're here - something's going on."

"What?!!" He looked around her, fighting a panic attack, to see what was happening in his wife's room.

"Her new doctor, Dr. Ashton, just came in and started ordering people around. There's a lot of activity right now but I don't know...."

Her explanation was cut off by the gentle voice of the new doctor. "Mr. Griffin? I'm Dr. Ashton and I think I have some encouraging news for you. Come on, let's talk."

He followed her into a sparse office where she took a seat and gestured that he do the same.

Dropping down into a chair, Kermit latched onto her every word. "Your wife is OFF the respirator and breathing on her own. When the strain to her lungs returns, we'll put her back on the machine and keep the weaning process going. She's still in a coma but I'm hopeful that she'll be able to shake the respirator for good within forty-eight hours."

This was the first good news he'd had since they brought her in. "So she's going to live?"

"She's still critical but her chances just doubled."

"That son-of-a-bitch of a doctor wanted me to pull the plug. Said that even if she lived, she'd be...be a...."

Dr. Ashton's expression betrayed her disgust. So many physicians were pessimists. "Mr. Griffin, Dr. Jacobs was going to suggest you consider a 'do not resusitate' order being added to your wife's chart because of the brain scan results."

Bloodshot eyes narrowed. His body tensed for another battle to keep his wife alive. "And those results were?"

She had also seen the notes about Dr. Jacobs's confrontation with the thread-bare man before her. Addressing him carefully, she stated the results. "The scan indicates limited activity, but it is there. A great deal of damage is likely and Dr. Jacobs's prognosis is probably correct."

"You say 'probably', not definitely?"

"And that, sir, is the difference in our opinions." The woman saw hope ignite. "There's no way to accurately determine what damage has occurred to your wife's mental or physical capacity until such time as she regains consciousness. All options are open until then."

He seemed to drink in her hope like water to a man dying of thirst. Leaning forward slightly, he groped for her reassurance from behind those odd green shades.

"The fact that she shook the respirator indicates to me that this woman is fighting to hold onto her life. Now, I must be honest with you. There is no way to tell when or if she will come out of the coma. Days, weeks, months, or maybe never. But if she's not giving up, I'm not, either."

Leaning forward, his tone left no room for misunderstanding. "You do whatever it takes to save her. If you don't think you're up for the job, Doctor, you tell me now and I'll find someone who is. I won't settle for second best."

With words of equal force, the woman leaned into his space. "I AM the best."

Hope and determination restored, he sat up a little straighter. "You're hired!"

She grinned. "Glad to hear it."

"Now, tell me what I can do to help."

"Actually, I was hoping you'd ask me that," Dr. Ashton said. "I want you to look at something." She beckoned him up out of his chair and led him to the door. But instead of going through it, she closed it in front of him, revealing a full-length mirror.

Kermit looked. Despite the hope he'd just received, he looked awful. He'd only made a cursory attempt at shaving this morning, he hadn't bothered eating breakfast, had barely ran a comb through his hair. His suit was wrinkled and he knew if he took off the sunglasses, he'd find bags under the eyes.

"Imagine Savannah waking up and seeing you like this," the doctor said softly.

"You've made your point," Kermit said, turning around to face her.

She smiled. "I hear you have a little girl. Have a picture of her?"

Kermit couldn't help but smile at the blatant attempt at redirection but complied anyway. He reached into his pocket and showed the doctor the picture.

"She's adorable!" Dr. Ashton said. "Mr. Griffin, there's no question that she'll need your help and so will Savannah. But I'm sure you know that they would want you to take care of yourself so that you are able to help them."

"Yes, ma'am," Kermit said, still smiling.

"Now, for Savannah," Dr. Ashton leaned back on the wall, trying to smooth her frazzled hair and labcoat. "We have to make every effort to stimulate her senses. To try to help her break through to consciousness if she can. Touch her. Talk to her. Does she like music?"

"Yes." The sound of her singing began to play over and over in his mind.

"Good! Bring some of her favorite tapes to play. Have her friends come talk to her. Anything that may stimulate her." The doctor rested a caring hand on Kermit's arm. "It's not a guaranteed cure, but there's been a great deal of research supporting the fact that this kind of stimulation can have a positive impact on head injury and coma patients. Encouraging research."

They shook hands just as a familiar Southern-accented voice filled the air. "Kermit?! Are you in there?"

Kermit came out instantly to see a wild-eyed, panicked Billy March, who instantly peppered him with questions. "Where is she? How is she? What's going on?"

Dispensing with the greeting he knew was pointless, Kermit plunged into the news -- all of it -- as he led him to her room. He deserved to see her. "She's...she's in a coma. But, Billy, listen to me. She's off the respirator for a while and it looks like she'll be free of it completely soon. She survived the surgery. She has...she has a good chance..."

"Oh, God," Billy breathed, leaning his blond head against the window of her room, tears running down his young face. A face that so resembled his wife's that Kermit found it difficult to look at him. Their features were so similar but where Savannah's face was soft and feminine, Billy's face was angular and masculine.

Billy worshipped his older sister and her pain cut right into him. Pulling himself erect, he asked dumbly, "What happened?"

The question burned in the ex-mercenary's brain. He knew exactly what happened. Blood had come after Jimmy Wong and cut down his wife in the process. All because of Peter Caine! His hatred was expanding. Beating its way around in his heart with the panic and worry over Savannah. Blood Lao would surface eventually and Peter Caine would get his the minute he showed his face in public again.

"A drive-by, Billy. She was in front of the precinct and one of our local gangs took out an informant. The informant was killed and about five others were injured. Savannah and the baby were right beside the target when the firing started."

"KAT! Is she-"

"Didn't get a scratch. Savannah saved her by diving on top of her. Protected her."

"The killer? Did you get him?"

"We know who he is but there are no eyewitnesses. Except maybe Savannah. The people at the 101st are working on it. Where are your parents?"

Billy looked down at his shoes and took a deep breath. "Kermit, Daddy had a heart attack when we told him about Savannah. He's been having a few problems lately but didn't want to say anything to spoil Van's trip. Don't worry, he's going to be fine. Just a mild one but Mama couldn't leave him."

Kermit patted his brother-in-law on the back. "There's nothing they could do, anyway. They let someone go in for a few minutes every hour. Why don't you take the next one?"'

Billy nodded, tears streaming down his face. Speechless in the face of her suffering and his helplessness.

As Billy went through the door, a stranger intercepted Kermit, not realizing the danger of such an action. "Detective Griffin?" Kermit just stared until the man continued. "I'm Calloway. Internal Affairs. Have a moment?"

IAD. Kermit fought to keep his sardonic grin to himself. "Oh, yeah," he said softly. "I have all the time in the world."

******

The precinct atmosphere was grim at best. Normal activity continued. Hookers and thieves. Victims and perps. All waiting, loudly, for their turn at bat. Chaos squeezed into order by the men and women charged with protecting the citizenry.

Still, the empty office marked 'Detective Kermit Griffin' sat dark and silent. An empty desk that belonged to Peter Caine sat quietly, waiting for use. Both, brutal reminders of the violence that had ripped through the precinct family.

Frank Strenlich had juggled the schedules and caseloads. Stalking among the desks, he deposited files randomly. No one dared complain. Each detective took the files offered without comment.

The burly chief knew the heartbreak lancing through the people under his direction. He had felt it in his heart, also. Holding a blood-soaked little girl who'd been introduced to violence and hatred far too early in life had pounded it though his hardened marine's constitution.

Thinking back to Kat's hysterical screaming as he and Jody changed her out of that bloody shirt and jeans forced a lump into his throat. After thirty minutes of ear-piercing cries, the little girl had fallen into a shivering, sobbing sleep. Swimming inside a police department t-shirt, she had looked too small, so fragile. Frank had held her close as Jody drove them to his home.

Thank God it was Molly's day off, he thought, stoically monitoring the precinct operations. Frank had made a wordless promise to Kermit before the ambulance sped away with his wife. One officer to another. One father to another. It was the best thing he could do for his friend. Protect his daughter so Kermit could focus on his wife.

His wife. Frank and Molly had found each other again after a bitter divorce and separation. The thought of having her torn away from him was unfathomable. He couldn't imagine his reaction if a bullet had stolen Molly or one of his three daughters after they had rebuilt their lives together.

Passing by Peter Caine's empty desk, he couldn't imagine that man's pain either. He had seen it. Had seen Peter Caine spilled out onto the pavement under Kermit's fists. Had seen the surrender in the younger detective's eyes. Given Peter's training, he should have easily shoved Kermit off his chest, but he didn't. He lay there and let Kermit pound out his fury on his face.

The family was unraveling, all because the violence that had touched their lives, reminding them that they were as vulnerable as the people they were hired to protect. A harsh reality check.

A weary Karen Simms made a quiet path through the room to her office. She didn't bother to close the door, a gesture Frank chose to interpret as an invitation. Following her inside, he made a polite rap on the door and entered.

The captain's normally meticulous appearance lay ragged around the edges. Hair not quite as in order. Eyes not quite as clear blue. The customary starched lines of her dark blue suit lay muddled by wrinkles. Karen sank into a heap behind her desk and waved Frank inside.

"How's the kid?" Frank was in agreement that Kat should be at her own home. Still, he lost a great deal of sleep worrying about her after he and Molly had turned the child over to the babysitter.

"She's fine, Chief." The soft heart behind this terse man was evident. "The sitter will be back today whenever she's needed."

Closing the door behind him, Frank sat down on the sofa. "How did it go with Kermit?"

Before or after he threw me out of his house? She had full well expected his fury at her tactics, but at least he seemed more in control. "I think he'll have a better grip on things this morning. Has anyone called with an update on Savannah?"

Shaking his head no, Frank touched on the other issue. He was in charge of scheduling, thus privy to the Captain's appointments. He hated delivering bad news and this could be nothing but bad. "IAD is here. Downstairs."

Blowing out a frustrated breath, she closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. She was surprised it had taken this long. Now, the second execution would begin. Rising to lean heavily on her desk, Karen said, "Fine, I'm on my way."

Before she could get to the door, Frank stopped her. "They said *they'd* call *you* when they were ready."

As the fury began to burn, she growled back at the messenger. "FINE!" So that's they way they were going to play it.

Frank had the good sense to leave the room without a reply.

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