Paul Blaisdell tapped his toe on the floor, fidgeted with the pen in his pocket, and anything else to keep his hands busy waiting for Kermit to wake up. The kid had been stoned out of his mind - literally - for almost two weeks. Paul trusted the doctors but was still worried. It was a long time to keep him sedated. A week in the Vietnamese hospital, a full day in a car, driving to the airport and three days' flight to get back to the States. Kermit's body showed the strain; he'd lost a lot of weight. Paul reminded himself to feed the kid nothing but the most fattening foods he could find for a while. Least he could do. But he felt he had to get Kermit out of Vietnam. Start the healing process.

It had slightly taken longer than a week but Paul had managed to cut all ties to the Vietnamese operation. He had sent Miguel home first thing. He needed subtlety to close shop, not Miguel. In fact, ironically, Kermit would have been of immense help in this circumstance but that was not to be. He was busy already in whatever nightmare the V.C. had grafted him in. Now, Paul had to wake him up from it.

Unable to wait any more, Paul reached into his pocket, cracked a certain package in half, and waved it under Kermit's nose. After two seconds, Kermit stirred, trying to move his head away from the stench. After Paul persisted, Kermit finally coughed rasply and opened his eyes a crack, hand outraised to protest the offending package.

Paul put the package down. "Kermit?"

Kermit blinked several times in the light of the room as Paul wondered whether or not to use the straitjacket behind the chair like the Army shrinks recommended. The thought of dumping his friend's son in a psych ward somewhere was something Paul had rejected immediately. Knowing what the enemy had twisted the young man into - a cold-blooded killer - he couldn't risk it. If Kermit killed here, there would be no way to buy absolution as he had in Vietnam. They would dump him in a padded cell and let him fold in on himself. Besides, it was Paul Blaisdell's own fault that the kid had fallen prey to those animals. He would drag him back from the abyss.

"Kermit?"

To Paul's utter astonishment, Kermit opened his eyes all the way and just...kept them open. Not focusing on Paul. Not focusing on anything. "Yes," he said. No inflection. Nothing. The fire and humor and will just...drained from him. As if it were never there at all. A shell sat in the space once occupied by a cocky, stubborn twenty-two year old.

Lights! Paul had not forgotten Kermit's reaction last time but he finally realized that the lights recipitated the attack! He moved quickly but not quickly enough. Kermit sprang at him...but both did not take Kermit's depleted condition into account. Weak from not having any solid food ever since he was captured, Kermit stumbled as Paul backpeddled to the lights and switched them off.

Kermit had fallen to the floor when Paul turned around. Approaching him warily, he bent down to examine him but Kermit seemed completely docile. Taking the young man's arm, he helped Kermit back onto the bed, who laid back without further struggle.

"Kermit, can you hear me?"

Kermit moved his head away in the opposite direction as Paul leaned close. His mouth opened slightly and his lips were chapped....Paul leaned down under the bed for the canteen and helped Kermit drink. Kermit drank the water like it was his last drop. Paul was careful to limit his intake at the onset. He finally took away the canteen and studied his young charge. How would he get through to him?

Finally, in exasperation, he took his hand and forced Kermit to face him by grasping his jaw and turning it toward him. It was dark but there was a small window almost at the ceiling enabling them to see a little more than outlines. Paul slapped Kermit's cheek softly...and couldn't help himself as he recoiled. Kermit had given him the first expressive look in two months. The look was of resignation and acceptance. Paul wanted to throw up. "Oh, God, kid," Paul said, pulling Kermit up and hugging him protectively, "what did they do to you?"

Kermit laid his head on his mentor's shoulder. "Paul...."

Paul steeled himself not to react as he continued to hold the young man. "Kermit...?"

Something that sounded like a sob or a moan broke from Kermit. "This is the worst....Please...I'll do anything, just make it stop...." Paul rubbed his back comfortingly, only for Kermit to continue his pleading and begging. Slowly, Paul began to realize that Kermit did not believe that Paul was really there. Kermit thought this was a V.C.-induced hallucination or con game and they were using Paul Blaisdell to further torture him.

"It's all right," Paul soothed. "I'm really here. This isn't a dream-"

"Paul...." Kermit called out for help. Help that had not come for six weeks. "Paul...." he choked. "I'm sorry...."

Paul, his heart breaking, had no idea how to convince Kermit of the truth. He just held him. Like a child. His child. Searching for a way to flood reality back into a sifted mind and coming up empty. "Kid, I'm not going anywhere. Those bastards can't touch you now. Hold onto me."

*****

Paul stopped his story when he saw Savannah's eyes suddenly widen. "What is it?" he asked.

"So THAT's what that meant!" she exclaimed softly. At Paul's look, she hastened to explain. "That's one of his nightmares! Sometimes, during the oddest times, usually when...." she blushed slightly, "...our happiest times, he would have this one nightmare. The first few times I woke him up, he would claim that he thought his life was a dream. I thought he just meant his life was too good to be true after all the horror but that ISN'T it, is it? Sometimes, he really DOES think this is all a dream!"

"Yes," Paul sighed. "When he's extremely happy or extremely depressed, he begins to wonder if his life is nothing more than a delusion, caused by a mind wracked with torture."

Savannah didn't know what to say. But she knew what she wanted to do. "I'll be right back. Gonna check on Kat." She trotted off down the hall. Paul knew her first stop. He sat back, wondering if he'd made a mistake in telling her all this. Too late now.

Savannah slipped quietly into their bedroom and pulled the covers up over Kermit's shoulders. He was snoring. Loudly. Something he SWORE he never did. Gently wrapping her arms around him, Savannah gave him a protective hug.

"Ummmm....What did I do to deserve that?" he whispered, eyes still closed.

"Nothing...everything." Feeling his still-warm forehead, she asked, "How do you feel? Do you need anything?"

Reaching out his hand to wrap it around her waist, he grinned, "I feel lousy. But what I need is-"

Rolling her eyes, she firmly placed his hand under the covers and said, "-to *rest*, Detective." Leaning down, she kissed his cheek and whispered, "I love you. Rest up and you'll get a special *get well* gift, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am...can...hardly wait...." Another yawn as the medication grabbed him once again. Savannah smoothed his hair and left to check on her daughter.

Kat sat up at the sound of her mother entering the nursery. The toddler had begun to resemble a glazed doughnut. Runny nose and pitiful attitude. After wiping her face and giving her another dose of medicine, she brought her to the kitchen for a drink.

Warily, the child eyeballed Paul Blaisdell, who unleashed his best charm-'em-out-of-the-trees grin at her. "Come here, kid. I've forgotten more about little girls than your old man knows."

Savannah plopped Kat into Paul's lap and went to fetch her daughter's favorite cup. She was hot and grumpy but gradually relaxed with her cup and rested her head on Paul's chest. Blaisdell laughed out loud when he tried to stroke her cheek and a tiny, dimpled hand shoved his away. "Kid, you're as bad a patient as Kermit! Must be genetic."

Eventually, Paul's fatherly manner won over Kat's bad humor. He patted and cajoled her until she drifted off again.

"I'll take her," Savannah offered, reaching forward only to be waved off.

"No, it's all right. Let her sleep." Paul could read Kermit Griffin all over the child's face. Softer features. She had her mother's dimples but her father's intensity flowed freely through her being. Kermit would have someone to connect with...or collide with. *Could go either way,* he thought, as he wondered where to take up his suspended conversation. "Kermit doing okay?" he asked.

Savannah smiled a little sheepishly at having been found out. "He's fine."

"I didn't mean to worry you like that-"

"No, no," Savannah protested, sitting down. "It wasn't you. I mean, of course, it affects me to hear about...." She shook her head in frustration. "I DO want to hear the rest. I appreciate you telling me. It doesn't mean I like to hear about him in pain. But I do want to know. Please continue."

*****

It was the same every day for weeks. Kermit was kept in complete darkness. The lights in the room were taken out completely. Paul had ordered some special lighting which he'd hoped that Kermit would not respond to but they wouldn't arrive for awhile.

In the meantime, he had had to keep an eagle-eye open for anyone with a light. All cigarettes were kept outside when the doctors and nurses had to go in to do their thing. There was one hairy moment when a doctor used a penlight to examine Kermit's eyes and got a concussion for his trouble as Kermit grabbed him and slammed him down hard against the floor. Paul was there before he could kill the doctor but at least the incident made the medical staff more aware and respectful of the special 'problem' of this particular patient. It took Paul two days to convince them not to ship Kermit off to a padded cell for good. He could just imagine what would have happened if Kermit had managed to kill the good doctor.

Every day, he spent time with Kermit. Every day, he confronted that shell and searched for the remnants of the kid locked inside. He could see flashes of him every so often. Kermit could talk more to him each day but it was fairly clear that Kermit still thought that this was a fantasy.

At least the battle to get him physically fit was going well. The nurses fed him soft foods like oatmeal and broth to get him used to solids and gradually worked upward. They also brought his meals at regular intervals, not allowing him to get hungry. Paul felt this was important to Kermit's fragile state of mind. He wanted Kermit to feel contented and safe. He didn't get it. Kermit, instead, felt suspicious and fearful. The kid still wondered if the meal he was finishing would be his last. It never was and Kermit managed to gain his lost weight back and was beginning to look healthy once again. His wounds became scars and he could move around much more easily without pain or stiffness.

Unfortunately, there was a drawback to Kermit regaining his strength. He could be a much more efficient killer if he ever got out. His skills were fathered by the enemy somehow. An enemy berefit of mercy who had spent weeks wringing it from the body of this young man. Those skills could never be forgotten. What lay in question was who would ultimately control those hands covered in blood already? Good or evil?

Paul Blaisdell knew all too well how grey the line was between the two. These years in Vietnam had blurred his vision on more than one occasion. He not only had to battle for Kermit Griffin's body and sanity...but for his soul, as well.

As Paul sat quietly, considering his sleeping charge, he had other choices with which to wrestle. How to tell Kermit about his mother, for instance.

*****

"Oh, Paul," Savannah leaned forward to stroke Kat's little arm as she snoozed in his arms. "My heart just breaks for them both. Kermit's mother - dying while thinking he was missing in action. And Kermit...she was so special to him. He's said so many times how he wishes his mother could have known Kat. Something else they stole from him."

"Maggie was a good woman. She was strong and still held all the good, warm feelings that Kermit tried to deny in himself. She reminded me a lot of Annie." It was obvious that Paul thought a great deal of Maggie Griffin. "I firmly believe that if she had been alive to anchor him - after he'd recovered from Vietnam - Kermit may not have gone professional. Marilyn and David were just kids. They couldn't hold him. Then. Once he made his decision, all I could do was try to keep him alive...after what Truong Qui had done to him, and later, after what he did to himself."

"If Peter hadn't been there for him, that monster would have turned him back into a killer." Her anger was evident in her tense grip on her now-empty coffee cup. "Paul, you should have seen the state he was in that afternoon he staggered in here...shaking and panicked because he thought he was losing his mind." Holding Kat's little bare foot in her hand, she remembered his agony. "He was afraid that he would hurt us. Hurt the baby. Of course, I knew he wouldn't, but HE didn't."

Paul couldn't bring himself to tell her that she had been wrong. It hadn't happened but, with Truong Qui in control of his mind, Kermit could have done anything. Killed anyone and never have known. They were lucky. Damn lucky. By the time Paul found out that Truong Qui had resurfaced, it was too late. Paul had been too late to save him in Vietnam and too late a year ago. *I screwed up twice for you, kid,* Paul thought bitterly. At this point, he knew he would have fought Kermit for the chance to pull the trigger on Qui himself.

Kat interrupted with a huge yawn and a limber stretch in the ex-captain's arms. Stealing a kiss, Blaisdell returned the baby to her mother. Savannah gathered the little girl into a warm hug, then deposited her onto her favorite blanket on the floor. After a few moments of wiggling, the baby once again gave into the Tylenol and fell back to sleep.

*****

Kermit yawned a bit and blearily opened his eyes. Once again, it was pitch-black all around him.

Paul Blaisdell leaned over him, Kermit's form barely visible under the mild light off in the corner, carefully placed out of Kermit's view. "Hello, Kermit."

"Hi, 'Paul'," Kermit replied. "What do you want today? Is today the day you show your true colors? Oh - forgot. You already have."

Paul winced. He knew Kermit was referring to the torture he had suffered but it could also be interpreted to mean that he, Paul, showed his true colors by abandoning him for six weeks. "I'm sorry, kid," he said. "I tried to get you out the fastest that I could-"

"I bet Jose didn't like that idea-"

"You mean Miguel, don't you?" Paul held his breath. *Clever, kid, testing the perceived enemy that way....*

Kermit paused. "Your research is very thorough."

*DAMN! When are you going to believe me?* Paul thought. "No, Miguel didn't like that idea. But I'm boss, remember?" He leaned closer. "Kermit, you don't have to worry anymore. You...WE are back in the States. I pulled out everything. We're home. Where we belong."

Kermit looked him in the eyes...and laughed out loud! "Friend, you just blew it! There is no way Paul Blaisdell would pull out of Vietnam just for me."

"Maybe you don't know him as well as you think!" Paul snapped before coming to his senses. He knew he shouldn't refer to himself in the third person; doing so would only sustain Kermit's fantasy that this wasn't real. "Besides, I didn't do it for just you. I miss my family. I'm tired of this war."

"Me, too."

They sat together, not speaking, just thinking of how to get through to each other. "Want something to drink?"

"As long as you're still offering...."

Paul unplugged the canteen and gave it to him. Kermit could now control his intake and drank wholeheartedly. "God...I wish you really were Paul...." he muttered after he drank.

"Why's that? Beyond the obvious, I mean."

"I could tell him...how fuckin' sorry I am...."

"What do you have to be sorry for?! It was MY fault that you got captured!"

"It was my fault that I blabbed." Kermit winced. Even to someone who he didn't believe was Blaisdell, the young man blushed with shame.

"Kermit....My God, you can't blame yourself for that! No one's managed to make it through the Hilton! Especially when you didn't have the training to resist effectively! THAT was MY fault! I didn't train you because I didn't want to think about the possibility of you getting captured. And you paid the price! IT'S ALL MY FAULT!"

Kermit stared at him, speechless at his impassioned speech. Finally, he said, "You sure talk a good game....Almost makes me believe...."

Paul put his face in his hand. His voice muffled, he said, "Please believe me, kid....It's really me. You're really safe. It was all my fault....Oh, God, I hope you can forgive me someday...."

Kermit swallowed. "Well," he stammered hesitantly, "I'd like to believe the first two...."

"Believe it." Paul's tone, he could tell, was convincing him. Paul sat on the edge of the cot, carefully, and pulled Kermit up into his arms again. "Does this feel real? Could the enemy fake this emotion?! Good God, kid! I promised Mitch I'd take care of you and look what I've let happen...." Paul, caught up in guilt and in holding the young man, almost missed the sensation of Kermit once again lying his head on Paul's shoulder. Receiving the comfort. Wanting to believe. Paul stroked Kermit's hair. "Please believe me...please...." He could feel Kermit shuddering.

"Paul?"

His heart in his throat, Paul Blaisdell squeezed him tighter in response. "Come back, Kermit...." he whispered.

"...Paul...?" His voice shook and trembled with emotion. "Pau-" He interrupted himself with a cry of agony as his body was helplessly wracked with seemingly-neverending sobs.

*He believes me!* Paul exulted, holding him. *Thank God!*

*****

For a moment, Paul thought Savannah might cry. He could tell she wanted to cry. "Maybe we should continue this later." He got up to refill his cup once more.

Taking his cup like a dutiful hostess, she said, "NO! I *need* to know these things, Paul." For a brief moment, she debated her next words, then continued. "Sometimes, these nightmares of his...they *hang on* after he wakes up. I have to convince him, in those seconds, that he's here. With us. That I'm real and his bed is real. His reaction is the same as with you then."

"Has he ever...reacted badly?" Paul also debated his words. But, if that particular situation had never arisen, Savannah might desperately need the warning he had to offer.

She knew exactly what he meant. "Only once, Paul. He was dreaming. Moaning and tossing. When I touched him to bring him out of it, he whirled over and pinned me to the bed. For a few seconds, *I* was his enemy. When he realized where he was, he was panicked. Ashamed of what he'd done."

That was it. What he was afraid of. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No. And I don't believe that he ever could. I learned, after that, to not touch him. Now, I just call out his name and that's enough to wake him." Examining Paul's expression, she knew that he had information on this particular subject. "Paul, after that incident, Kermit was afraid that I would leave him. Convinced of it, in fact. It took days for us to get past that. Why would he be so convinced of that?"

"Because someone else did. His second wife. It had only been a few months after he'd healed. I warned him that it was too soon. That he should know himself AND her better. He wanted warmth and comfort...maybe he did love her, I just don't know. I tried to warn her, too, but neither one would listen. She did the same thing you did. Tried to shake him from a dream and he threw her off the bed and into the wall. Broke her arm. She left him." Paul hesitated at her expression of shock. He wasn't sure if he should go into the remaining details of that relationship.

At first, Kermit had told Savannah little about the woman. Only that she left because his past kept popping up. That was why he was so afraid. She felt for the woman when he related the story of the night he'd hurt her. The sympathy waned when her husband finally told her the complete truth about the woman and the evil, depraved games she played. If Kermit's demons were still so prevelant in the present, she could only imagine how raw he had been in those years after his release. "I'm not leaving. Ever."

Paul smiled at her resolve. He didn't doubt her for a minute. "That's good. But...you have to remember that although the kid got a grip back on reality eventually, once you've had *yourself* stripped away, there will always be repercussions. Sometimes that wall he built between his reality and theirs...loses a brick or two."

"All the more reason for me to stay. Masonry has become a hobby of mine." She winked and turned to check on the baby, who was still snoozing on the floor. "Paul," she asked, still turned toward the tiny image of Kermit Griffin resting on her blanket, "once you got him back into reality, how did you hold him there? It doesn't seem that you had a great deal of professional support from the hospital staff."

"It was damned difficult. Especially when they were more than willing to toss him in a padded cell that would eventually be labelled 'post-traumatic stress disorder'. But they didn't know, and I certainly wasn't about to tell them, how dangerous he was at that point." Paul coughed modestly. "Part of the problem was that I was the only one he would respond to. He knew me and trusted me. Anybody else would walk in and get the zombie routine. So, facing that, Kermit himself short-circuited the medical staff's sympathy and support for him. I think about every other day, I had to have a 'talk', read 'argument', with one of the doctors about his treatment. They would tell me I wasn't a doctor and I would tell them they didn't understand the situation and it just went on and on. Thankfully, though, I did get more help once Kermit had his 'breakthrough'. I learned a great deal about classical conditioning from them and how to circumvent it. Then, came the fun part - telling Kermit."

*****

"So what's the deal with the blackout?" Kermit asked a day or two later. "Did you just forget to pay the electric bill or have I become a vampire?"

*The latter is closer to the truth than he thinks,* Paul thought. "Well, kid....Light doesn't have a very good effect on you right now."

Light. That word evoked a memory in Kermit. The kid tried to suppress a shudder. Hours and days of having bright lights in his face, probably. In his mind. "Yeah," he said softly.

"We've got to get you acclimated to light again, Kermit, and, I'll warn you right now, you're not going to like the process. But it's better than the alternative. The United States doesn't like assassins very much."

"'Assassins'? What do you mean?"

"You don't remember?"

"Remember what?" As Paul stared at him, Kermit shrugged. "Guess I don't remember."

"Tell me everything you do remember."

Kermit told him about things he'd rather not have heard. Beatings, various tortures, bright light. Lots of bright light, in fact. There was nothing substantial. No memories at all about killing their agents. But Kermit did remember a voice. One voice above all the rest but, when he thought about it, he could not remember one word. Just incoherent mumblings that he knew what it meant at the time but not now.

*Truong Qui!* Paul thought, trying not to show his fury. The man's skills were legendary, but apparently not undeserved.

Paul decided to break the news to Kermit as gently as he could. He told him about Truong Qui. But he couldn't tell Kermit that he, Kermit, killed those agents at Qui's bidding. It was enough for him to know right now that he was now programmed to kill and...a few deaths were involved.

Kermit didn't know enough yet to read between the lines. Paul knew that the realization would come to him years later and he resolved to be there when it did. But, for now, Kermit's sardonic humor offered, "Is it too much to ask for that Miguel was one of them?"

Paul knew he shouldn't but he chuckled anyway.

*****

Savannah interrupted with a small giggle. "Kermit didn't like Miguel, either? I knew there was a reason I married him!"

Paul smiled. "Kermit always thought Miguel was too inflexible, too rigid. Kermit is a big believer in tailoring the solution to the needs of the individual problem."

He continued.

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