"You want me to what?" Peter Caine sat in his wheelchair, staring in disbelief at the length of silver parallel bars his therapist expected him to navigate. His injury was only four weeks heal. Even thinking about moving his hip was painful.

"You heard me, child. Get that bony ass of yours up, hold on to those bars, and walk it." Lana gave the bars a firm shake from her position at the opposite end. "These bars are sturdy and I ain't gonna let anything happen to you."

Peter sat immobilized. Pain, he was acquainted with quite intimately. Pain could be handled. "With all due respect, ma'am--"

"Lana."

"All right, Lana. With all due respect, I've been through injuries like this before and I just might be a better judge of when my body is ready to get back to normal." Peter pushed his chair back slightly away from the metal mountain looming before him. The metal wheels seemed to squeal out his fear to the room. In the empty space, the sound echoed, bouncing off the walls to amplify his plight.

"Oh, really?" The large black woman buried her hands in her hips and stalked a few steps down between the bars. "Pardon me, sir. I was told my superior skills were needed to return one of Sloanville's finest to the streets. I wasn't aware that I had the pleasure of addressin' an expert orthopedist." Leaning down to glare sarcasm directly into his eyes, she added, "So pleased to meet you Dr. Caine."

Peter looked up into her dark eyes as the woman towered over his disadvantaged position. He should be progressing. Everyone close to him kept repeating over and over how nice it was to have things back to normal. <What the fuck is back to normal?> Kermit and Savannah's life had regained most of its lost ground. Kermit had resumed speaking to him ...though the actual content was superficial. The guilt was still there, resting heavy and hard in Peter Caine's lap.

Forgiveness had been offered. Acceptance had yet to arrive.

And that woman was still glaring down at him. "Pretty boy, let me tell you something. You ain't the first man to get knocked down and have to crawl back up and you ain't gonna be the last. Now, if you wanna get back to man-size and motion, I'M the woman to do it. I'm good, I'm expensive, and I'm here for you by special request. DON'T waste my time when there are piles of people in worse shape than you who are ready to work!"

She wasn't moving. She was going to stand there in those bright blue scrubs with her face in his until he did something. It was infuriating. "Your bedside manner stinks, ma'am."

"I don't get paid to be Miss America, son." Lana stepped backward. "I get paid to whip your ass into shape."

Instinct took the place of resistance. Peter stretched out his hands and wrapped them firmly around the ends of the bars. The cold rounded ends stung his palms. After a moment of adjustment, the warmth of his hands radiated through the metal and the telltale moisture of doubt began to form there. With a surge of effort, Peter bolted himself upright.

<There it is.> The pain arrived, sharp and deadly. His head swam at the change in altitude. Inactivity and rapidly healing incisions held a strong band around his hips, both trying to tug him backward into the wheelchair. Elbows locked, Peter fought to hold his position.

"That's right, baby! Now let's get some movement going." Lana reached down to touch his leg and support his movements. "Try to keep your hips facing forward, level. Move slowly."

Fire ate away at his balance. Strength perched briefly on his head then flew away. The pain was blinding white. He was tired, as tired as he had ever been in his life. Months and months of sorrow and guilt and coping had taken everything. "Wait...I have to stop."

"Not yet, baby. We gotta keep stretching out. Just a little further." Lana pulled once again, forcing another step.

The millimeter of distance battered him again. The pain rose up to join hands with every negative urge. Sweat poured down into his eyes. Arms began to tremble. Collapse welcomed him backward. Peter let go, waiting to be accepted by the ever ready wheelchair. <Gonna hurt like hell when you land, Caine.>

But the landing was cut short. A pair of arms banded around his chest, holding him upright. It took a moment for Peter's air to cut through the resurgence of agony at the strain. He hung there for a moment, arms limp, being supported by someone else.

"If you think I'm going to let you lounge here for four more weeks in the presence of this beautiful woman while I cover for you at work, you're nuts, Caine." Kermit's rich voice sounded over his shoulder. The sensation was comforting and unsettling in one swirling moment.

"Great," Peter said, through gritted teeth, "a mercenary in back and Attila the Huntress in front." Kermit pulled his body more upright, taking the weight from Peter's still weakened joints. He gave him a few moments to rest, grateful moments.

Kermit steadied Peter's shaky limbs. Keeping one hand wrapped around the young man's chest, he used the other to grab Peter's wrist and guided his hand back to the bars. "Lana, you've been holding out on me. You have 'Huns' in your family tree? So do I?"

"You two know each other?" Peter said, as his head began to clear. It began to dawn on his pain-blurred senses that Kermit, his old friend Kermit, was keeping him from sinking to the floor. <Damn....>

"Why yes, sir," Lana gently put her hands on Peter's leg and waited for his movement. "How's Savannah?"

"Sassy. She says, 'Hello,' and she still wants your sweet potato pie recipe."

Peter heard the sound of his wheelchair moving backward, sailing backward, across the room.

"Tell that skinny little thing I'll give up that recipe when she puts on at least twenty pounds. " Peter moved into her hands, moving through the pain. "See, Peter, if I can get that child movin' in the right direction, we can get you going lickety-split. That's right, keep movin'."

"I should....have known...you'd be friends." Peter's words were cut off by another sharp stab of pain.

"Hang on, kid." Kermit held him upright through the blistering spasm. "The first time is a bitch, but it'll get better."

Waves crashed against realization. Kermit knew what to do because he'd done it before. He'd helped his wife relearn baby steps, these steps. Now, Kermit was helping him. The truth was at once kind and humiliating.

"You don't have to be here. I can do this." Peter grasped the bars more firmly, forcing his weight off Kermit's arms.

"No, I don't."

The words were quiet and softly delivered. He didn't have to be there and Peter Caine knew it. "Then--," Peter bit back a gasp at another step, "--why?"

"Repentance makes for common ground, kid." Kermit backed off slightly, then touched Peter's shoulder slightly. "Don't slump your shoulders, it'll throw you off balance. Keep most of the weight on your hands."

Peter moved. He kept his shoulders straight. He hurt like hell. An image of Kermit holding his wife through this exercise rushed before him. The present sacrifice Kermit was making came through loud and clear without discussion.

"That's enough, child! Whoa! Track star!" Lana laughed as a broad, gleaming smile broke the dark plain of her face. She walked over to retrieve the wheelchair, then returned. Peter negotiated his way back to a seated position with the help of both Lana and his friend.

When Peter finally had the strength to lift his head, he met two dark eyes, eyes usually unavailable to anyone. Kermit had taken off the shades and stowed them in his pocket. The bare naked emotion was laid out for him to see.

Now, there was another offer to be made.

"I'm okay, Kermit. Thanks." Peter forced a smile through the nagging echo of agony filtering his emotions.

"I know. I'm glad." Kermit straightened and returned the shades to their home on the bridge of his nose. "Lana, don't let him get all soft with your coddling."

"Don't worry, Kermit." Lana patted Peter's sweaty T-shirt. "I'll start really workin' him tomorrow." Her laughter resounded through the room.

Kermit let go a deep laugh, a genuine laugh, and left his forgiveness and apology behind.

*****

"You may step down, Detective Caine."

Peter slowly got up from the witness stand. Savannah had shared her cane with him and he leaned heavily as he creaked his stiffened joints down the two steps to the floor. "More personality than a crutch," she'd said. In the two months since the shooting, he had struggled with injury and recovery -- injury of body and recovery of spirit.

He'd taken a beating on the stand but held his ground. This trial focused solely on the events of the precinct shooting. Lao would face charges for his additional assault at another time. The defense had predictably tried to make Peter the villain. He took the blows. For the first time, he'd had to admit in public the set-up that had lead to Jimmy Wong's death. Purging his sins in public actually felt liberating. Savannah had thrown his father's words at him on one of her many visits. "Embrace your pain and release it...hardhead!"

As Peter made his way back to his seat, he soaked in the less than threatening presence at the defense table. Henry Lao, no longer the acid-edged killer, sat meek and mild behind the desk. Peter forced the eye contact and felt an energizing wave pass through as the boy looked away. The once promising hoodlum now sat in the spotlight alone. After hours of interrogation, with Kermit Griffin floating in a black cloud of fury beside the door, Blood had refused to implicate Clarence Choi or Bon Bon Hai as collaborators in his escape. Fear was evidently the key motivation for the young killer. Silent and alone seemed to win out over singing and dead.

Peter Caine abandoned his laser-like domination over Blood Lao and made his way back to the discomfort of the audience. Before he reached his seat, the prosecuting attorney, Joyce Grant, stood to call her next witness. "Your honor, the state would like to call Detective Kermit Griffin to the stand."

The audience waited as Kermit stood and made his way to the 'hot seat', briefcase in hand. Kermit, sneaking a wink to his wife, he paused to let Peter ease back into his place beside Savannah. One arm grasped Peter's elbow, helping him to fold through the denied pain as he sat. Green lenses and hazel eyes met in reunion. The past weeks had been awkward but they had made headway. One day they would have to discuss it thoroughly. But today, there was business to be handled.

Moving to the bench, Kermit Griffin took the courtroom vow and sat down. The moment of truth, he thought, trying not to smirk at the surprise he had waiting for the defense. He caught a glimpse of Savannah, who was clearly wondering about the small, leather briefcase by his side. She had been asking all week and was continually frustrated with curiosity at his answer of 'trust me.' He had promised her that she would find out the answer to the mystery today.

The prosecution began. Ms. Grant, as a skilled combatant, would try to steal the emotional appeal away from her opponent as she began the questioning. "Detective, is it true that you warned Detective Caine to not proceed with his plans?"

"Yes," came the solid reply as Ms. Grant walked smoothly around the prosecution's table and rested on the edge.

"However, you are not his superior officer, correct?"

"Correct." Kermit could answer these questions in his sleep. It was the defense lawyer's questions that he was waiting for.

"Therefore, he is free to disregard your advice, correct?"

"Correct."

"Objection!" came the predictable response from the defense. "Detective Caine's activity isn't the issue of this trial."

Peter was wincing. *You could have fooled me,* he thought as Savannah supportively squeezed his hand.

"True, but you seemed to have fun with it!" Ms. Grant stated.

"Counselor," the judge admonished.

"Apologies, Your Honor." Ms. Grant redirected her justifications. "However, if Detective Caine is guilt-less, then there must be another villain in the picture, acting on his own initiative-"

"Objection!"

The judge sighed. It was going to be a long day. After the objections and explanations had been sorted out, Ms. Grant continued. "Did Detective Caine, by his hand or action, murder Jimmy Wong or cause injury to any other individual on the morning of May 15, 1997?"

"No, he did not." The words stepped out in a clear march of truth, punctuated by sincerity and apology.

"No further questions." Ms. Grant rocked herself upright and passed the defense attorney as he prowled toward his victim. "I'd watch my fingers if I were you, Schneider. He bites," came the whispered taunt as they passed.

Counselor Schneider cagily approached with the same air of a rattler Kermit had avoided in Costa Rica. It just had to be him. He was almost glad. Wanted a piece of you for a while, shithead, passed the feral thought through Kermit's mind as the hired gun approached.

"Detective Griffin...."

"Yeesss?"

The courtroom snickered at Kermit's cavalier attitude and the judge gave them a stern look.

"Is it your professional opinion as a detective that my client is the sole instigator of this heinous crime?" The room gasped. Even the docile defendant snapped upright in surprise.

"Yes."

"How quickly you change your opinion, Detective!" Schneider glowed as he pounced with his evidence. "I have here-" he held up a stack of papers, "-the investigation by Internal Affairs where you name Detective Caine as the sole instigator of this crime! You say yourself that Detective Caine created a ruse of Jimmy Wong as a paid informant. In so doing, he made him the target of DOZENS of gang members." Skillfully, Schneider planted the seeds of doubt. "Any one of which could have come after the boy in retribution for his INVENTED cooperation." Schneider slapped a copy of Kermit's statement to Internal Affairs on the bar of the witness stand.

The courtroom erupted in noise, causing the judge to bang for silence -- warning them once again that, if the disruption continued, the court would be closed to the public. Once calm was restored, the gleeful defense attorney continued. "Do you have any explanation for this, Detective?"

"Yes," Kermit said. Savannah, as well as the rest of the audience, couldn't help but lean forward for his response. "I was insane with grief and fear regarding my wife's condition."

"We can well understand that, Detective," Schneider said, with smarmy intonation, "but what proof do you have that you weren't in your right mind then and that you are now?"

"Glad you asked." Kermit hoisted the briefcase to his lap, opened it and, to the shock of Schneider, took out document after document. "I believe we can call these - what are we up to now? - Exhibit J through S...."

"Your honor, objection!" Schneider complained. "This so-called...evidence, whatever it is, has not been prepared-"

"You prepared it yourself," Kermit said coolly.

"Detective, I had no idea you moonlight as an attorney," the judge said mildly. "Please enlighten us as to that statement."

"Whatever is brought up in the direct is admissible in the cross." Kermit couldn't resist an evil grin. "He was the one who brought up the topic of proof as to my state of mind." Kermit finished emptying the briefcase and sat back, enjoying the stunned silence that swept through the courtroom.

"Your HONOR!" Schneider protested in red-faced chagrin. "The prosecuting attorney must address these issues of new evidence, not the witness!"

"Okay, Your Honor," Ms. Grant threw up her hand and waved. "Put me on record as wanting a peek at it."

Rolling her eyes in annoyed curiosity, the judge ruled. "Detective, perhaps you should be trying this case. Mr. Schneider, he is quite correct. Please continue, Detective. What are these documents?"

"Affidavits," Kermit told the judge. "Statements from the officers of the 101st precinct who witnessed my...mental collapse, statements from the various medical personnel I threatened, and documents by Dr. Harmon relating the events as told to her by my commanding officer, when the Captain called for advice on how to deal with me. In short, Counselor, I was not exactly indiscriminate with my anger. Why should Detective Caine have been excused from it?" Cocking his head sideways to flip his answer toward the jury, he said, "I attacked the man twice and sent him to the hospital once. Assaulting a fellow officer isn't exactly a staple of balanced behavior. Based on these depositions and that assault, I would also submit that my testimony to Internal Affairs be thrown out of court, due to its inaccuracy."

Savannah fought to hide the tears that were forming. Only now was she realizing what hell Kermit had gone through. Peter, for his part, was stunned. He knew how Kermit was about his privacy and yet Kermit had opened his personal life - even admitted to a mental collapse! - to all in the courtroom just to clear Peter's name. The courtroom again erupted with noise but it was ignored as the judge perused the new evidence. Finally, the judge banged the gavel again. "Recess for two hours as we break for lunch," the judge said. "I want to study this new evidence." The judge rose as the court was dismissed.

Nonchalantly, Kermit tried to hide his smugness as he strolled over to his wife and best friend. "How was that surprise, Scarlett?" he asked. "Worth the wait? Shame we have to wade through this crap before we can get to the point, huh?" Schneider would stop at nothing to confuse the issues here. Now, his main diversion was being dissolved.

Savannah, at a loss for words, settled for a demure but tender kiss on the cheek. Peter shook his head. "I can't believe you did that," he said. "You realize they're going to want you to prove that now you're okay psychologically...."

"Way ahead of you, kid," Kermit grinned. "That's in the paperwork, too. I always plan ahead." At Peter's and Savannah's look, he shrugged, still grinning. "It was no big deal. Just a statement from Dr. Harmon, pronouncing me sane and whole. Doesn't know me very well, does she? Well, what she doesn't know won't hurt her."

"You are crazy." Peter took in the familiar figure of his friend. Friend. He could call him that again. A friend who had just sacrificed his privacy in repayment for a debt.

"It comes in handy at times." Kermit walked his wife gently toward the hall.

*****

Two hours later, court was once again in session. The judge wasted no time on preliminaries. "I have reviewed the depositions and conferred with Dr. Harmon. I am convinced that Detective Griffin's judgment was seriously impaired at the time he gave his statement to Internal Affairs. Therefore, since the evidence from Internal Affairs does not take into account of the detective's mental state, it is my ruling that the evidence is hereby inadmissible and is to be disregarded by the jury." Directing herself to the defense, she asked, "I assume there's no need to recall the witness?"

"No, Your Honor," came the deflated response from Counselor Schneider.

Gesturing to Ms. Grant, the judge directed, "Now that we're finished with the pre-game show, do proceed."

Schneider sat in shock. He had protested against new evidence being entered and had found his own evidence being stricken from the record. There was still one ace in the hole, though. The saving grace...the eyewitness. He couldn't wait to cross examine her.

"Your honor, the state would like to call Mrs. Savannah Griffin to the stand."

Savannah took a deep breath and squeezed Kermit's hand. Looking at him for support, she read it as he mouthed, "I love you." That was enough to pump the resolve back into her. She rose from her seat and stepped out as Peter stood in the aisle to let her pass. As they passed each other, they touched hands. Both finding an ending to a nightmare in this proceeding.

"Put him away, dollface."

"I really hate that." She smiled and made her way to the witness stand. No limp or hesitation. Whole and ready to close a door on the past. She had prepared. She had practiced. She was dressed in a feminine yet conservative blue linen dress, per Ms. Grant's direction. She was ready.

After Savannah took her seat and was sworn in, the prosecutor began her inquiry. "Mrs. Griffin, tell us about the day you were shot."

Remembering was one thing, but being able to express it to a jury box full of strangers was another. Seeking out comfort once again, she found those familiar dark green glasses. Fortified once more, she began the painful explanations.

"My daughter and I-"

"Your daughter, who was less than eighteen months old at the time," interjected Ms. Grant, in an effort to paint a more vivid picture.

"Yes. We were climbing the stairs in front of the precinct. Kat, that's my daughter, just HAD to walk by herself so we were moving very slowly." Looking at the jury, she added with a smile, "You know how independent toddlers can be?" A comment which elicited sympathetic grins from several jurors.

*Reel 'em in, Scarlett,* thought Kermit. He was proud of the way she was calmly showing them who she was. Who Kat was. The kind of people that bastard had hurt with those bullets.

Savannah launched into the meat of the story. "We were on the second step when I heard this popping sound behind me. I turned and saw that young man, Jimmy Wong, fall to the pavement. I looked to see where the sound came from, and I saw him," -- she pointed to Blood at the defense table -- "holding a weapon and firing from his car."

"And you are absolutely positive that this is the man who was firing?" Ms. Grant pointed an angry finger toward Blood Lao, who looked away quickly.

"Yes, I am."

Ms. Grant walked up to stand beside her witness. This next piece of testimony would be painful -- but it was necessary to move the jury against the clean cut, well-groomed young man at the table who no longer bore a resemblance to a feral gang member. "Savannah...tell us about when you were shot."

"When I realized what was happening, I had to protect the baby. I dropped down on top of her to protect her. That's when I felt...." She paused. Feeling the tears well up inside. She took a drink from a glass of water on the edge of the stand. She found her husband again.

By his posture, Savannah could tell that he was thinking about coming up to get her off the stand. If she started to cry, he'd be up there in a heartbeat. This in mind, she pulled herself together. "That's when I felt the bullet. It was like a sting. Not what I would have expected. But, I didn't think about that, that I was being shot. All I could think about was Kat. She's so tiny. What could one of those bullets do to her? You could hear them pinging all around us. The only thing I thought about, until I lost consciousness, was covering her. Thank God, she wasn't hurt."

Nodding her encouragement and support, Ms. Grant opened the gate to the remaining testimony. Testimony that would put the aftermath of the shooting into perspective for the jury. "Mrs.Griffin, tell us what you remember next."

"Waking up in the hospital...six months later."

"Your honor," the prosecutor offered, directing attention to the large folder in her hand, "I'd like to introduce Mrs. Griffin's medical records into evidence."

"OBJECTION!" Defense Attorney Bob Schneider spoke up. "This is prejudicial and has no relevance to the..."

Joyce Grant shot back, "I believe the results of your client's shooting spree are-"

"OBJECTION!"

The judge gave a long-suffering sigh. "Overruled! And Ms. Grant...please follow the rules."

"Yes, your honor. Please continue, Mrs. Griffin. Tell us the extent of your injuries."

"I lost a kidney and had a stroke during the surgery to remove the bullet I took in the back of my head. I spent six months in a coma and it took me...along with my husband...almost a year to get to this point. Back to myself."

"All that time away from your family?"

This time, that tear came. Looking at her husband and Peter. "Yes. All that time that HE took from us."

"But you've recovered? Recovered sufficiently to clearly identify this man," she pointed toward the defendant, " as the shooter?"

"Yes."

Patting her witness's hand, Ms. Grant stated, "No further questions, your honor." Now, it was the enemy's turn.

Bob Schneider was no stranger to the Griffins and they expected no mercy. Kermit had tried to be calm but he knew that if Schneider upset Savannah's still-tender sensibilities, he'd come across that railing and rearrange the little barrister's anatomy the way he had threatened to years ago. His one on one was a more than even match. Savannah, on the other hand.....he had his doubts.

Solicitously approaching the witness, Schneider offered his greasy smile. "Mrs. Griffin, let me first say that we all sympathize with your struggle and admire your brave recovery."

"I'm sure you do. Thank you." This was going to be nasty.

Gauntlet thrown down, Schneider began his campaign. "Mrs. Griffin, you had no memory of your past when you came out of your coma, correct?"

"Yes."

"And how long did it take for your memory to return?"

"Months."

"Months. And you remember EVERYTHING? Every detail of your life before awakening in the hospital?"

"I remember the majority of my life. A few minor details are still fuzzy, but getting clearer everyday."

"Now, is it realistic for these people to believe that after having a bullet removed from your skull and months of amnesia, you can positively identify an young man you only caught a glimpse of as bullets were raining down around you and your child?"

Now, she was angry. He was trying to make her out to be some mental defective. "I remember it as clearly as I remember YOU trying to shove you hand up my skirt when I worked at the PD's office."

Half of the courtroom laughed out loud, including a relieved Kermit. Savannah caught his look and smiled, already feeling better--she had actually managed to make her composed husband laugh. The judge banged her gavel and the room quieted.

Schneider, fuming and furious, stalked back to the defense table and shouted, "Permission to treat this witness as hostile, your honor."

"Mr. Schneider, I believe that has already been established," answered the judge. "Mrs. Griffin, please answer the question."

"Yes," Savannah replied strongly, "It is reasonable to believe I could remember this man. I have had less problems remembering recent events than I have had trying to remember memories from further back, such as my childhood. The doctor says this is normal and those other memories will return in time."

"Mrs. Griffin, you turned when you heard the first shot?"

"Yes."

"And when you saw the shooter, you were already diving for cover?"

"To cover my child, yes."

"You were afraid? Panicked? And moving?"

"Yes."

"And you expect us to believe that after months in a coma, after catching only a split second of the shooter's face, that you can identify this young man as the one who shot you?" Schneider was gesturing to Blood. He'd been cleaned up to look like a typical high school boy. New suit. Haircut. Meek expression. "After all, Mrs. Griffin, these gang kids do sort of 'all look alike' don't they? They dress alike. Talk alike. How can a woman, terrified for her life and the life of her child, tell one of them from another?"

Speaking slowly and distinctly, she directed her answer to the jury, just as Joyce had coached her. "I remember his face. I remember that he was smiling. I remember that HE tried to kill me and my baby on the sidewalk and tried to kill me and Peter Caine later..."

"OBJECTION!"

She stopped talking. From the looks on the faces of the jurors, they bought it. Believed her and felt the story.

"No further questions." Schneider looked disgusted and defeated. Kermit looked triumphant and proud.

Savannah looked out into the crowd, happily witnessing the 'high five' between Peter Caine and Kermit Griffin. Blood Lao's house was burning. The houses of Griffin and Caine were standing, testimony to their firm foundations.

*****

"He said you were tired and he was cooking dinner." Peter Caine looked into the warm green eyes of his friend's wife. Savannah sat beside him at the kitchen table of her home. The three of them had exited out the back door of the courthouse to avoid the rush of press slobbering for comments on the conviction of Henry "Blood" Lao.

The crime had taken thirty seconds. The trial had last two weeks. The jury had deliberated twenty minutes. The recovery was still in progress.

"Well, I am tired, sugar." She raised a dramatic hand to her forehead and propped her feet up in the opposite chair. As Kermit tasted and tested his surprise concoction bubbling on the stove, Savannah leaned over to whisper quietly into Peter's ear. "Actually, I'm just making sure he keeps a firm hold on his newly acquired skills. He makes a great wife now."

With dazed wonderment, Peter watched the spectacle of Kermit Griffin cooking. "How does he DO that?" Kermit moved between his duties, wearing a crisp white cotton shirt. Boldly, he stood before a bubbling pot of red sauce -- all the while, remaining spotless. The entire kitchen was spotless. Orderly. So orderly that were the pots not boiling and steaming as evidence, you would have been hard pressed to think there was cooking going on there at all.

"Oh," Savannah stared also, "you mean the Psychotic Kitchen Cleanliness Cooking Show?" She leaned over to whisper her amused concern. "I know...it's not natural. He actually loads the dishwasher DURING the cooking. Very scary. And he NEVER gets a drop on him. Never. I think it's some Teflon spy coating stuff going on there that he won't tell me about. Top secret."

"Stop whispering! You two make me nervous when you do that." Kermit bellowed in an amused voice from his duties in the kitchen.

"Oh, baby," Savannah crooned in response, "don't want you to be nervous. A nervous cook who's armed could be dangerous."

"Hmph! For someone who was too exhausted to do anything but recline on the sofa thirty minutes ago, you certainly sound perky." Kermit laughed as his wife lolled her head back in a mock swoon. It felt so good to laugh, to see her laugh. He knew he'd been manipulated into making dinner but he didn't care. He'd make dinner forever and never complain. Well...maybe not forever.

Kat was making herself at home in Peter's lap, squeezing the young man's cheeks together and giggling at the funny faces she molded from her adopted uncle's skin. Peter Caine couldn't possibly be comfortable with his hip still in recovery and a wiggling toddler perched on his knee. But, the two defied convention and injury to continue their game.

Kermit turned down the heat under one of his pots and watched the group at his table. Time had returned the pieces of their lives to their proper places. Blood Lao would soon be in his proper place. Though the sentencing was still a week away, it didn't matter. Given the judge's hardline reputation, Blood Lao would be wearing Depends before he walked the streets again. With another trial upcoming for the failed attempt on Peter and Savannah's lives, his future was set.

Stirring his sauce once again, Kermit let an unsavory grin break free. Blood Lao's future would more than likely hold more peril. Tage just hates unfinished business.

Peter settled Kat in her highchair and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Kermit was finishing his preparations. "Come on Griffin, this kid's gonna start gnawing my arm in a minute." As if in agreement, Kat began to pound her tray with enthusiasm.

"Okay, grab it while it's hot," Kermit called, carrying three plates heaped high with his latest creation.

Greeted with stunned silence, except for his daughter's continued babble, the man stood back and took in the reactions.

Kermit plunked a plate in front of Peter, who looked down in anticipation...and nearly jumped three feet.

"Ewwww.......that'll teach me to be tired." Savannah poked at her plate with a cautious fork.

"What's the matter, Pete?" Kermit asked innocently, laughing as Peter also examined his unique offering, "You don't like Spaghetti a la Kermit?"

Peter looked at his plate again and began laughing, too. "How did you...what IS that stuff?" He approached the pasta like it was going to bite him. However, Peter could hardly be blamed. Green spaghetti dripping with blood-red sauce hardly looked appetizing. In fact, it looked downright nauseating!

"Just food coloring," Kermit chuckled as his daughter slurped down a lengthy noodle and splattered sauce over her nose. Peter looked at his hosts incredulously until Kermit clapped him on the back. "Don't tell me a Shaolin cop is afraid of a little poetic license with his dinner."

"You can always close your eyes." Savannah twirled her oddly-hued pasta around on her plate, barely stiffling the giggles.

"What a bunch of light weights! Good thing I didn't try to serve you something truly interesting ...like sushi!"

"Gross! That word makes me gag!" Savannah frowned at the reference.

"Where're you going with that?" Peter protested as Kermit began to take the plate away.

Kermit stopped, puzzled. "I don't expect you to eat this. It was just a joke. Thought we needed a laugh." Though he wouldn't need to replace Kat's dinner, which was disappearing with two-fisted gobbles, he never planned to make the other two indulge in Spaghetti a la Kermit.

"If you can dish it out, I can take it! Gimme my dinner, Griffin!" He grabbed the plate back, and dug in with a greedy fork.

Easing down into his own seat, Kermit didn't answer the reply out loud. Thank God you can, kid.

Their house was in order once again.

Normal life resumed, scars and all.

The End

Next Story: The Road Not Taken

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