He wasn't sure how long he lay in the middle of blackness. It had probably only been seconds. They always seemed longer when he was wounded. Kermit remembered the shot, then the darkness. It was usually the same. His body fought back with a numbness to bullet wounds. Wounds to extremities generally left him awake and mobile. Not so with this one. This bullet wound was of the other variety, the serious life-sucking variety.

Forcing his eyes open was of little use. Everything was a blur of color and light that meant nothing. The numbness wouldn't last long. A few times in the past, he had counted the length of time it took for his body to absorb a bullet before the nerve endings settled their confusion and elected to communicate their unhappiness to his brain.

One, two, three, four...then it was there. The sudden rush of pain made him sick. He swallowed hard against the urge to retch.

Focus, dammit.

He grabbed hold of the pain and followed it as it ran through his body. Left shoulder. High, above the heart. His heart was still beating, the drumming roared in his ears. It was a wound deliberately meant to leave him alive -- barely, but alive. Blood was pulsing from the open flesh. It was wet on his cheek. The smell of it was familiar. He had smelled his blood a thousand times. He liked it less and less each time. Smelling your own blood meant you'd been beaten, stupid.

Who had beaten him this time?

Focus and fight, you lazy bastard.

The pain made thoughts slip around inside his mind. Grasping at one elusive fragment, then another, Kermit found his reality. Kat. She was gone. Peter had saved her. That was his success. Latrodect had shot him again. In the smeared shapes of the room, the sleazy killer was probably watching. Kermit clamped his mouth shut over any cry of pain he might make. He would die eventually, but not in a command performance. His death would not be a spectacle for Latrodect's satisfaction.

Keep clear. Fight. You always have options. Breathe.

A weight descended on his midsection. For a moment it felt like a blow from a rifle butt. He had felt that before, too. But the massive weight never retreated. It stayed, crushing the wind from his middle. His senses were suddenly alive. Pain could do that. Pain decided on its own whether to numb or electrify. Latrodect was perched on his stomach. His weight bore down without mercy. His scent was a heavy spice, too much cologne. Kermit forced his eyes to make sense of the blurred image of Latrodect, his killer, straddling his stomach and bearing down into his face.

"Get off me. You're ...not...my type."

There. He had spoken. As long as he could talk he hadn't surrendered. Captors hated that. They wanted you to cry and break and suffer. Defiance meant they had not yet won. He wouldn't submit. Kat was safe and that was his victory. It didn't matter if he died. If he could summon enough dampness in his mouth, he would spit in Latrodect's face.

"Oh, Griffin," Latrodect said, the voice spilling out of his confused image. "Did you think I would let this moment pass so quickly, so impersonally? No." He leaned down into Kermit's face, a mass of watery white flesh and yellow hair. "That's not my style. I want to feel the death. I want the blood rush of killing you, not simply watching you die."

As before, Latrodect's poisonous hand tangled around his neck. The heat, the same heat that had nearly claimed him before, purred into his throat once again. Kermit struggled against the weight, the heat. His right hand dug for something. He couldn't remember what he was reaching for in his back. His gun was gone. Still, his hand searched for something that should be in his back.

The heat was getting stronger. Latrodect's gloating breath was pumping into his face.

"Before you die, there's something I want you to know." Latrodect's body was crushing down over him. Fingertips seared into his neck, pushing death through the flesh. The voice dripped into his mind. Latrodect's mouth pressed against his ear, making certain he heard each word clearly. "I lied. I AM completely heartless. When the priest steps into the lobby, he's walking into an ambush. He'll die. Your innocent child will die. Both cut down because of you."

Kermit's lips refused to silence a whimper that rattled from his soul.

"No."

"Yes."

*****

Kat's furious battle against his grasp had eased as the elevator descended toward the lobby. Now, she clung to Peter's neck, sobbing and begging for her father. He held her tightly, both arms wrapped around her body, soothing her with his words. Death was a foreign concept to such a young child, but she understood the gravity of her father's good-bye. She instinctively knew the finality of being pushed away when she begged to stay. A man who had never refused her had shoved her away and did nothing as she had been dragged away.

"Shhh...," Peter blew the sound into Kat's ear. "It's going to be all right, sweetie."

"I wan' my Daddy." The plea was a pitiful cry, without fury or volume, only desperation.

Peter watched the lighted numbers flick down the control panel as they slowly eased their way toward the lobby. Again he whispered into her ear. "As soon as Uncle Peter gets you to a safe place, I'll go back and get your daddy. Okay?"

"Promise?" She pulled her face back to look into his eyes, searching. Her little round face was bright red with emotion, her cheeks soaked from crying.

Sure, he could promise to go back and get Kermit. He would go back up that elevator and retrieve a dead body. A few scant weeks ago, he had sat in his apartment and basked in his own power to control the universe with his mind and hands. The great Shaolin. Healer. Savior. Failure. Peter Caine couldn't save the world. He could save this child for his friend, but Kermit must be sacrificed. Pride goeth before the fall. Lo Si had warned him. Invincibility didn't exist.

How could he make that promise to her when it would more than likely be a lie?

Her eyes were relentless green pools that refused to be denied. Peter looked down into her tiny, hopeful face...and lied.

"I promise."

Kat's little arms twined around his neck once again and the sobbing eased. She believed him. It hurt almost as much as the blunt gun shot he had heard the moment they had boarded the elevator. Kermit was going to die and this little girl expected her Uncle Peter to save him. Peter resisted the urge to seek out Kermit's being and learn the truth, knowing couldn't change anything now. Kermit Griffin had entrusted his child to the care of his best friend. He would expect Kat to take priority and Peter wouldn't refuse that responsibility.

As the tenth floor flicked past, Peter felt space contract around him. The feeling prickled against his flesh. He held Kat more tightly to him. The number nine flashed on then off and the feeling intensified. Spikes of dread seemed to ram upward through the elevator floor, setting his senses on fire. Peter steadied himself against the onslaught, examining the sensations attacking his consciousness. It wasn't Kermit's death or struggle touching him. Kermit's presence was familiar. This was a brutal, angry battering ram rushing out to meet him.

Feel, don't think.

The floors were melting their way toward the lobby as Peter relinquished his logical dissection of the eerie waves that now pelted him without mercy. Opening himself to the experience, suddenly he knew. He knew with terrifying clarity what was to come.

The fourth floor light clicked on then off, as Peter grabbed Kat's arms and shifted her to his back. "Tadpole, I need to you to hold on piggy back, okay?"

The little girl remained silent, only acknowledging his request by wrapping her arms firmly around Peter's neck and pulling her legs around his waist. Her own fear helped her to cling to his body. The third floor clicked by as Peter pressed them both into the front corner of the elevator. "You hold on to me until I tell you to run, sweetie. Understand? Don't let go until I say to, then run like crazy."

"Uh huh." Her arms closed tightly around Peter's neck and he had to shift her upward so he could breathe.

"Good girl," he said as the second floor passed them by. "No matter what happens, don't look up and stay behind me." The large, looming 'L' that signaled whatever fate awaited them in the lobby brightened. A rude bell announced their arrival. Peter snuggled Kat as far as possible into the corner and covered her with his body.

The doors slid open.

Almost immediately, bullets rained through the open door.

*****

Kermit's mind whirled in a blinding haze of fury, pain, and grief. Latrodect's relentless venom bore through his neck like a spike, choking him with death. Vision was gone. The vague sound of his murderer's vicious mumbling rang in his ears. Latrodect whispered the news of Kat's impending death in a filthy, excited chorus. The elevator doors would open, gunfire would erupt, and she would die. Over and over, the maniac poured that image into Kermit's mind along with the poison.

He wanted to scream, to warn them, to help them if there was a slim chance that Peter and Kat were still alive. The poison wound its way around his mind, killing those hopeful fantasies. Latrodect's weight crushed against him, squeezing out the air and sound. Still, Kermit's hand groped for something behind his back. The hand knew something Kermit's mind could not grasp. Digging and searching, the hand found it's mark. A polished oak handle became part of his fist. Fingers closed around the hand-carved wood and pulled. A long hooked blade sliced the air. Miguel's own handiwork. Carried as backup. Fewer moving parts. No aim to fuck up. Miguel's words replaced Latrodect's evil recitations.

Kermit's hand thrust upward into the oppressive weight that seemed to be part of his own body. The weight withdrew with a shocked gasp. Adrenaline ordered Kermit Griffin's dazed senses. Nothing mattered now except his target, except the revenge, the retribution. Pushing the blade in to the hilt, he gloried in the miraculous turn of battle. Impaled on the wide steel blade, Latrodect hung suspended in a state of surprise. All of Kermit's strength pooled in his arm as he skewered the man who had killed his daughter, his friend. He had no need to save his strength. Kat was gone and Latrodect was going to die along with her. His life meant nothing.

Blood dripped from Latrodect's mouth as Kermit forced the blade upward, slicing through flesh with a gut twisting noise. The gash grew from its entry point, splitting Latrodect's abdomen several deadly inches. Blood and gore flooded out of his body, coating Kermit's fist and soaking his sleeve. Shoving the blade and its human sheath with the last of his strength, Kermit sent Latrodect flying onto his back. The man landed with a grunt as he connected with the floor, the blade wiggling in his gut.

Choking on his own waning breath, Kermit turned his focus to the door. With Latrodect's defeat, a glimmer of hope found its way back into his mind. He wasn't dead yet. There was a slight chance that Latrodect had lied or failed. That slim chance spurred him forward. The pain fought his every move as he rolled to his stomach and clutched at the carpet. His left arm was a useless rag dangling at his side. With his right, he dug desperate fingers into the carpet, pulling himself over the floor. The fibers bit into his wounds, grinding against the open meat and adding more agony to every inch of progress. He had to get to the door, to the hall, to the elevator.

Maybe Peter was fighting them off in the lobby. Maybe he had taken the stairs. Maybe they were hurt but still alive.

Those maybes curled his hand back into the carpet to tug him one more inch toward his daughter.

*****

Most of the bullets imbedded themselves in the paneling covering the back wall of the elevator. Most of them. As an occasional metal ping echoed through the close quarters, a round would ricochet against metal and slice through the room. Peter flattened himself against Kat, trying to protect her. As he covered her leg with one arm, a stray bullet planted itself in his forearm. The bullet bore into the muscle and Peter felt the sickening sensation as his bone shattered. Pain erupted throughout his body, threatening to control him. Peter summoned all his will to stop the spike of agony and hold it still within his arm. If he had the slightest chance to win, he must fight the pain.

Peter had only seconds before the attack force flooded into the elevator. Kat squealed into his ear as he took out the first man through the door. The force of his kick cracked the man's body against the wall and left him a useless heap. Peter moved forward to meet the wave of men sent to murder them. The next dropped in the doorway as Peter's foot slammed into his midsection and dominoed him into the man behind him.

Three more men entered from the stairwell to Peter's right. Peeling Kat from his back and dropping her to her feet, Peter shouted his command. "RUN, KAT!"

The little girl obeyed, racing to the bank of glass doors that led to the outside. Peter battled with his good arm, meeting the three men as he tried to cover Kat's escape. His back to the exit, Peter couldn't see Kat's slight body as she tried to shove the heavy door open and failed. In her panic, Kat raced back into the room, cowering behind a potted palm in the corner.

The three men circled Peter, laughing at their wounded prey. One at a time, they took him on. One at a time, they were dropped to their knees as Peter's lightning reflexes sliced air and defied laws of physics and speed. If his mind weren't so occupied with survival, their arrogance might have made him laugh in their faces. Taking them on with one hand dangling at his side might have been sport if lives weren't at stake.

From the corner of his eye, Peter saw reinforcements arrive. The hulking frame of Miguel Rodriguez barreled into the lobby, as other hired thugs filed out of the emergency exit. Peter, tangled with two remaining attackers, could only watch as Miguel tossed his blade into the chest of one new arrival, dropping him where he stood. As the other man raised his weapon toward Kat's position in the corner, Miguel dove in front of the bullet's deadly path. He hung in mid air as his chest intercepted the bullet. The ground thundered with the force of his heavy body pounding to the floor. Miguel slumped into a mound of dead weight in front of the terrified little girl.

Peter had no choice but to destroy the two men battling against him as the gunman advanced. Empowered by desperation, Peter leapt into the air and pounded both feet against the men in front of him. The sound of splintering sternums reverberated against the walls as his boots connected with their chests. The blow would be fatal. Peter's balance was thrown by the force of the impact, by his shattered arm, by the fear. He landed in a tangled pile on top of the felled men.

The gunman had advanced to within a few feet of Kat as she trembled behind Miguel's dead body. Peter couldn't reach him in time as he raised his weapon toward Kat's little dark head.

"GET AWAY FROM HER!" Peter yelled, struggling to his feet.

The man turned, grinning at the challenge. Peter stood before him unarmed, an easy target. Raising his weapon, the gunman pointed it at Peter's chest.

Before he could fire, Peter felt a bullet whiz by his ear, nearly burning his flesh with the closeness of the metal. The bullet hit the assassin between his eyes and he dropped his weapon as death grabbed him, driving him to the floor. Peter whirled toward the source of the blast, to find Emma Thorn standing just outside the second elevator.

To his shock, she lowered her weapon, pointing it toward the floor but not relinquishing it. Her cool expression never faded as she spoke. "I didn't know he was going to hurt her. I only wanted to get revenge on Kermit," she said, by way of explanation. She stepped forward, still holding the gun, but not pointing it at anyone. "I have no illusions that I'm a good person, or have ever been. But, I suppose there's a line even I won't cross. Killing Kermit is one thing. Killing a child, well...," she let her voice trail off as she glanced at the little girl shivering in the corner. Plastering a sarcastic smile to her face, Emma said, "Perhaps the sound of my own biological clock is louder than my delinquency."

"Perhaps you've decided to take a new path." Peter held out his hand for the gun only to have it remain empty.

Emma held firm to the weapon and backed away. "Not likely. I'll be going now." She turned to rush out the door, only to be stopped by Peter's steel-like grip on the back of her neck. The woman slumped to the floor as Peter's energy slapped against her will.

Easing her to the floor, Peter rushed over to scoop up the now hushed child in the corner. Kat was completely silent, her eyes pinched shut against the horror of moments before. Her body held firm in the huddled ball, knees hugged to her chest and face buried in her hands, as Peter pulled her from behind Miguel's body.

"It's okay now, Honey. They can't hurt us anymore," Peter crooned into her ear. Crouching beside Miguel's body, he did a pointless check for a pulse. The man was lifeless, sacrificing himself to protect an innocent.

Kat huddled silently against his chest as he hurried outside to get her away from the blood and death littering the lobby floor. As they reached the sidewalk, screeching sirens and a dazzling wave of flashing blue lights flooded the street. Karen Simms bounded from the lead vehicle, running to his side.

"Is she hurt?" The captain reached up to stroke Kat's sweaty curls.

"No, just terrified." Peter held her tightly, trying to quiet the trembling body with his own psychic comfort.

"Frank!" Karen barked her command as the Chief jumped from the next car. "Take her to her mother. Skalany has Savannah in the parking lot two blocks away." She pointed to down the street to make herself clear as Frank held out his arms to take the limp child from her protector.

For a moment, Peter resisted, holding on to his precious cargo. He cradled her protectively using his one good arm. The other dangled at his side, pain ignored in the face of his role as this child's guard.

Frank softened his normally gruff voice and smiled in a father's way. Quietly, he said, "She'll be safe with me, Peter. Let me take her to her mother."

Leaning down, Peter kissed Kat's head and whispered, "Time for you to go to your mama, now, Tadpole. Everything will be okay." The little girl was gently handed off to Frank Strenlich, forming an exhausted heap in his arms. Frank disappeared into the nearest patrol car and spirited the child away from any danger.

"Where is he?" Karen demanded, carefully examining Peter's oozing bullet wound.

"Seventeenth floor."

"Alive?" Her concern was entwined with a frustration that she generally reserved for Kermit Griffin and his independent outings.

"Shot once, probably twice. He traded himself for Kat's freedom, and mine." Peter pulled his arm back from her examination and looked back toward the building, ready to spring.

"Opposition?"

"I think I took out most of his force on the ground floor," Peter said, accepting the handkerchief Karen offered and pressing it into his wound. "I only saw Latrodect with Kermit but there could be more." Pausing, Peter added, "Miguel Rodriguez is dead, too. He took a bullet to save Kat."

Karen turned away, orders pounding from her lips toward an advancing horde of 101st personnel. "I want two teams. Powell, you take one. I'll take the other. Get into those stairs and up to the seventeenth floor. Chin, sort out the scum in that lobby. Cuff the live ones and get the coroner here for the rest and disable the elevators." Pulling her service revolver, Karen gave it a quick and deadly check. "Peter, get down the street to the paramedics and have that arm taken care of now."

The last order would go unanswered. Karen Simms turned to find herself addressing thin air. Peter was gone.

*****

Jennifer Sung had given up trying to convince Savannah to sit down. The woman paced back and forth beside Mary Margaret's car in a frantic beat. All attempts to calm her down had been ignored as she listened only to the panic inside her own mind. She had remained calm for forty-five long minutes, praying in her bedroom and constantly checking her watch, as Karen Simms had angrily badgered her for information about Kermit's location. "Not yet," had been Savannah's only reply as she faithfully trusted Kermit's judgment, obeying his command to keep his secret.

When exactly forty-five minutes from Kermit's departure had passed, Savannah gave out the address and demanded to come along with the officers. Now, she paced as her control slipped away onto the pavement.

Unable to fathom Savannah's terror, Jennifer sat quietly, holding her son on her lap, watching through the open car door. What if it were KC held hostage blocks away in some nameless building? The thought made her hold on more tightly to the little boy in her lap. KC had grown uncharacteristically quiet throughout this traumatic event. The tension ballooned around them, stopping time as every thought focused on three lives that were at stake two blocks away. It was one point of reference in common between the two women. The man Jennifer loved was also in that building.

Jennifer loved Peter. In the middle of this horror, that fact rang through her mind with such clarity that she could taste the emotion. She loved him. She was terrified that he would die without knowing that she was madly in love with him.

A patrol car barreled into the parking lot, drawing the focus of everyone in the area. As Frank Strenlich rolled out of the vehicle, Savannah descended on him like a hawk on fresh prey.

"KAT! Baby...oh baby," she cried, snatching her child from the burly man's arms before he could clear the doorway. The little girl grabbed on to her mother, clutching her for dear life. Savannah held her close, rocking and soothing her as she ran her hands over her daughter's body. "Sweetie, are you all right? Did those people hurt you? Tell mama. It's okay, sweet baby. It's okay."

Kat began to sob into her mother's shoulder as Savannah pulled back the long matted curls clinging to the little girl's neck. "Mama's here, sugar. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. It's okay now."

Frank made his way completely out of the vehicle and said, "Peter brought her out of the building and said she wasn't hurt." He stroked the little girl's back tenderly. "She's just scared. Seems there was some gunfire and she saw...some things."

"What things, Frank?" Savannah said, staring back at him with terrified eyes. Now that Kat was firmly in her embrace, thoughts of Kermit were brought to the forefront.

Jennifer moved in closer, offering her support with a hand on her shoulder. Frank had said Peter brought Kat out of the building, meaning Peter Caine was alive. Relief washed though her body and she allowed her worry to fade. He was alive. All possibilities were open, all chances. Jennifer kissed the top of her son's head. His father was alive.

"Well," Frank hesitated, then said, "there were a few fatalities." Frank had chosen his words carefully, avoiding a word that might further upset the little girl still crying and holding on to her mother.

"Where is Kermit?"

"I hurt Daddy." Kat hiccuped the words, pulling her head up to look into her mother's face. "Bad, Mama. I hurt my Daddy bad."

Savannah looked down at her daughter's bright red face and began to swab the tears with a handkerchief. "Baby, what are you talking about? You didn't do anything. It's okay.

Those bad people did this." Turning to Frank, she said, "Where's Kermit? What happened?"

Before he could answer, Kat erupted into a long string of hysterical babbling to tell her story. "No! I did it! I hurt my daddy..bleeded a bunch...I sorry, Mama..."

The stream of explanation faded away into panicked gasps for breath as the sobs returned to replace her words.

"Frank?!" Savannah sank to the ground, holding tightly to her daughter as Kat's trembling shook them both.

Frank knelt beside them and launched into the details. "From what Kat said on the way here and what Peter told us...seems Latrodect gave Kat a loaded gun to play with. She shot Kermit by accident. Peter said that he was alive and traded himself in exchange for Latrodect letting them both go free. There was an ambush in the lobby but Peter fought them off and got Kat out safely. One of Kermit's old mercenary friends, Miguel Rodriguez, helped them and was killed in the process." Gently touching Savannah's trembling arm, he said, "Kermit was alive when they left, Savannah. The team is going in after him."

One broken sob escaped before Savannah could clamp her mouth shut over it. Jennifer wrapped her arms tightly around her new friend and felt the tremors rumble through the woman's body. As Savannah fought to control her voice, Jennifer said, "Chief Strenlich, did Peter go back in after Kermit?" It was a question she already knew the answer to without having to ask.

"Yes. He took a bullet in the arm but nothing fatal."

The relief of moments before melted away quickly. Jennifer looked down into Savannah's face, watching the tears roll down her cheeks. She began to cry, too.

Holding on to Jennifer's hand, Savannah pulled herself back to her feet. "Take me up there, Frank."

"No, we're to stay here until Simms calls." Frank reached out to steady Savannah as she struggled to balance herself with the weight of a child perched on her chest. Savannah refused the aid.

"Now, listen, Frank--"

The bite of her voice was cut short by Frank's volume. "NO! YOU listen. We have teams going into unknown opposition with quite a few lives at stake."

"That's MY HUSBAND, FRANK!"

"If I take you back there before the perimeter is secure, not only do those people have to worry about retrieving Kermit and Peter, but they have the distraction of a civilian woman and child to think about!" Frank stopped his barking rhythm and lowered his voice. "They have to focus on getting everyone out alive, Savannah. I can't let you go there and make it more difficult."

Savannah looked down at her daughter then at Jennifer. The frustration and pain in her eyes reached out. Jennifer understood the dilemma. "Savannah, he's right. They'll call the minute they know anything."

"I wan my daddy," Kat whimpered once again, still clinging tightly to her mother.

"I know, baby. I know," Savannah crooned into her ear. "He'll be back soon." As Frank stepped aside, Savannah eased her way into the back seat of the patrol car.

Mary Margaret, who had been a few feet away urgently talking into her cell phone, returned to the group holding a soft drink. Handing it to Savannah, she said, "They're in the building. It shouldn't be long now."

"Thanks," she said, taking the drink and coaxing her daughter to take a few sips.

Jennifer held her son and stared down the street where her future was battling for a chance to exist.

******

The elevator was ascending far more slowly than its prior descent. Peter watched the numbers tick by as he prayed that Karen Simms wouldn't follow through on her plans to shut down the device before he reached the seventeenth floor. In the quiet solitude of the elevator, the pain in his arm screamed for attention. In the time he had before he reached his destination, Peter let himself focus on the wound in his arm.

Sweat began to run down his neck as he let the pain run free so that he could examine the severity of the wound. The bullet was still there, imbedded against the mangled bone. He'd had enough broken bones to know the different levels of pain that came from each variety. His fingers were numb, dangling limply as he held them up by his other hand. The bleeding had almost stopped, which was the only positive in the situation. The cocoon that had shielded Peter from the intensity of the pain broke apart quickly, letting the shattered bone and bite of a metal bullet grind away once again.

*Surgery and pins. I don't think so.*

Resting against the cool surface of the elevator paneling, Peter visualized the ugly wound and shards of bone inside his arm. Relaxing into the steady drum of the pain, Peter let his own power flow to the source. Sealing the wound would be pointless. Fusing his bone was necessary. Tiny fragments of light danced behind his closed eyelids, manifestations of his energy being turned inward. The intensity of pain and power gave gravity the advantage of his body. The floor rose to meet him as his knees buckled in agony.

*Shit.*

Holding the full force of his chi and directing that energy created a new battle. Once unleashed, the power wanted to run. Guiding the power to his own will required a new level of control. Biting his lower lip and drawing blood, Peter herded the energy before him, forcing it to obey. Once touched by the power of Peter's own will, the bone fragments began to knit together. The power grew and pooled in his arm, an odd combination of pin pricks and balm over the pain. Peter visualized the hard pieces of bone reuniting, a painful process in itself. Somewhere on the outskirts of his internal battle, Peter felt his own astonishment at the fact of his success.

*Unbelievable.*

Peter only allowed himself one final burst of concentration, just enough to get by.If the foreboding final gunshot he had heard when making his escape had left Kermit alive, he would need every ounce of strength to save his life. He had promised a child to return with her father -- not a dead body. Sensation returned to his fingers, a feeling both comforting and agonizing. The wound remained open but now he was functioning, damaged, but functioning.

The elevator doors opened with a loud ping, dumping Peter onto the seventeenth floor. The smell of blood flooded the air, nearly choking him. In ten long strides, Peter rounded the bank of elevators and stopped cold at the sight. Kermit lay in a pool of dark red blood, the fingers of one hand scratching the carpeting. From the smeared blood trail behind him, he had dragged himself into the hall with the worn fingers of that hand. His other arm lay limp at his side.

"Kermit, can you hear me?"

Peter knelt at the man's side, gently rolling him over to reveal an oozing bullet wound in his shoulder. Pulling up his eyelids, and examining a familiar bruise on the man's neck, Peter confirmed his suspicions of venom racing through Kermit's blood. Digging deep into his pocket, Peter was grateful he had anticipated this scenario hours ago. Opening a small vile of liquid, he poured it down Kermit's throat.

The sudden urge to swallow brought the unconscious man back to sputtering awareness. In between choking gasps for air, Kermit grabbed hold of Peter's shirt, leaving a bloody hand print around his buttons. "Kat....ambush..." The words squeezed out between coughs as he struggled to speak.

"She's safe, buddy," Peter said, propping Kermit against the nearest wall. "Frank took her back to Savannah."

As the treatment began to ease his breathing, Kermit looked directly into Peter's eyes, searching. The sight of Kermit Griffin's naked stare revealed far to much of his soul; parts the priest knew his friend would rather keep to himself. At the moment, he wasn't a detective or a mercenary -- just a father clinging to the hope that his child was alive

"Swear," he said, taking another solid breath. "You swear she's not hurt, that she's alive."

Putting his hand over Kermit's, he said, "I swear. Not a scratch on her." As Kermit's body relaxed against the wall, Peter began to tend the more serious shoulder wound. Tearing open the fabric surrounding it, Peter examined the gapping hole in Kermit's flesh.

Blood was escaping at an alarming rate and Peter pressed both hands against the wound to create a seal with his flesh and his chi. Once again, he released the healing energy, letting it drip from his palm and into the tear. Warmth left his own body as he poured himself into Kermit's body, damming the flow of blood.

The weakness replacing his offering of energy didn't go unnoticed. Kermit reached up to grab Peter's wrist and push it away. "You keep pumping yourself into people like a gas nozzle, you'll run out. I'm better."

Kermit was right. He was running out. Peter's head began to spin with the release of his own life-force into Kermit's body. "Fine way to talk to your own personal Texaco man." The weakness didn't matter now. Peter had accomplished his goal. Kermit would live to annoy another hospital staff and Peter Caine would sleep for a week.

Kermit tried to sit more erect. Failing, he slumped back into a rumpled heap. "Always a comedian...what a riot." As Peter examined Kermit's leg wound, the detective said, "Looks like you took a hit, kid. How many were there?"

Peter looked down at the round puncture in his forearm and said, "Too many. Lucky for us, Miguel Rodriguez came out of no where in the middle of the fight and saved both our lives." He elected to leave out the part about Emma Thorn for now. That information could wait.

"He always had a knack for showing up at the right time," Kermit said, huffing a small laugh. Wincing a little as Peter pressed a cloth against the wound that had begun to bleed anew, he asked, "Where is he?"

Peter hesitated for a moment, then said, "He got between a bullet and Kat. I'm sorry, Kermit, but he didn't make it." Focusing on Kermit, he said, "You've lost a lot of blood but you'll be okay. Paramedics should be right on Simms' heels."

Kermit closed his eyes as Peter held the cloth tight. "Well, I suppose Miguel saved all three of us."

Satisfied that the bleeding had stopped, Peter put Kermit's hand over the cloth and said,

"What do you mean?"

A smile that could only be called brutal split Kermit pale features. "Because I used one of Miguel's knives to open up the spider man's guts."

Peter followed Kermit's glassy stare into the doorway of the office across the hall. Latrodect's torso was framed in a macabre portrait, a bloody knife handle protruding from his middle. Peter moved cautiously to the man's side, pressing a finger to his neck. Latrodect's normally vibrant flesh was cold and damp, devoid of all color. A faint pulse still beat in his throat and Peter leaned in more closely to catch any sign of breath.

As his ear hung over the man's mouth in search of sound, Peter took in the full view of Kermit's retribution. Judging from the length and girth of the handle, Miguel's knife blade must be of considerable size. The blade had been plunged into the left side of the abdomen and forced upward, leaving a three inch gash. Blood bubbled up around the shaft of the blade floating other shredded flesh in a ghoulish crimson pool.

"Bet the bastard made an earthquake when he hit hell," Kermit called from the hall, spitting one last angry curse toward his enemy.

"He's still alive," Peter said, jumping back upright and ripping open the man's shirt around his wound. The breath sounds were gurgling and weak and the pulse faint as a whisper but there was still life in the man's body.

Examining the wound, Peter cursed his lack of knowledge in anatomy. He had the basics but not enough to be certain what organs and vessels could be lacerated by the knife still wiggling in Latrodect's stomach. It would risk instant death to pull out the knife quickly. Death was eminent if the wound continued to bleed into his gut. To attempt to close the wound would require removing the knife blade.

"Let him die." The words were flat as the sailed in from the hall.

Ignoring Kermit's command, Peter asked, "What is the knife blade like, Kermit? What width? Is it curved at the end?" Peter put his hands against the handle, letting himself feel the wood and prepared to release himself in an attempt to keep the man alive.

"GODDAMNIT!" Kermit slapped the wall with his good hand, fire breathing in his voice. "I said LET HIM DIE!"

"I can't." Peter focused on the man beneath his hands. "Tell me about the knife. How long?"

"Go to hell."

"Answer me!" Peter looked across the hall in defiance, demanding cooperation.

"That man tried to murder a child, my child. You saw it. He did murder Miguel. You back up and let the bastard die." Kermit's voice dripped out in a murderous liquid.

"You know I can't do that. Not now. No matter who or what he is." Peter locked eyes with his friend, begging him to understand. He had come to the defining moment in his new life. A moment where life had meaning no matter the vessel. It was crystal clear in his mind. No hesitation. There was no choice to be made between saving this man and not. He was Shaolin. He would try.

Kermit stared back in furious silence.

Peter met the furious eyes of his friend. The rage reached out to burn him. Kermit's fury wasn't unjustified. Peter felt the same anger. The only difference was Peter's responsibility to his vows, to being Shaolin. His anger did nothing to release him from what he must do, what he had to do. Anger must be banished if he were to battle Kermit's resistance and the death floating over Latrodect's body.

"Kermit," Peter said, not lacing his words with as much venom as before, "I know how you feel."

"Then back up and let him die." Kermit leaned forward, trying to shove the words against Peter's body. "If he had killed Kat, would you still be so righteous about saving his life? What about that?"

Peter answered quickly and decisively. "Yes." Twisting his own anger into a tight ball, Peter cast off the emotion. The judgments that weighed him down dropped away. The freedom brought renewed strength, power to act, power to save a man's life.

Kermit's face was nearly white with anger and loss of blood. Collapsing against the wall, Kermit let an unpleasant smile cross his lips. "Fine. Play Saint Peter."

After a second spent sucking in a breath, Kermit said, "Six inch blade with a hooked end." He laughed a poisonous sound. "A Miguel special always makes as much damage coming out as it did going in, so why don't you just give it a good tug."

Peter passed through negative wave of Kermit's glee at his deadly handiwork, letting the words and resonance disappear without thought. Without response, he focused all that he possessed into the body of his enemy. The knife handle felt warm in his palm. The wood seemed to mold itself to his grasp, resting comfortably there as Peter followed the brutal shape with his mind.

Somewhere on the outskirts of reality, Peter heard the elevator, heard the pounding of feet and Simms' sharp voice barking orders. She was asking Kermit what Peter was doing, ordering others to stay back, calling paramedics. Peter erected a mental wall against the distraction and plunged forward. Weakness began to battle against his skill. His body felt as if it were being swallowed in mud. *You'll run out.* Kermit's dark prophecy was coming true. His energy began to wane.

The dull ache of weakness drained him further and further into the wound. Latrodect's suffering spun a black vortex, sucking Peter more deeply into the pain. Digging in with his last reserves of energy, Peter held himself firmly to the knife. Looping his mind around the weapon, he fought for a solution. He was mentally exhausted. The task before him required more than he could scrape together to accomplish it. His own arm began to bleed again and the warm fluid licked its way down his fingers. Turning his own energy inward had been a daunting battle as he had healed his bone. Now, he was finished. This man was going to die without him.

*My own energy!*

The thought slapped against his consciousness. Healing came from within if one was strong enough to focus the needed energy.

*From within.*

Latrodect, for all his void of compassion, held a great power within his mind, his body.

That power was used for darkness, but it was power nonetheless. Peter committed himself to the search through Latrodect's muck of being. The black power reached out to meet him with a physical battering. Long tendrils of evil thundered against Peter's chi as he tried to draw the power into the wound.

*Save yourself.*

Peter's thought struck back at the evil beast that was Latrodect's inner being. The sticky arms flinched as if in fear. With a gentle beckoning touch, Peter reached back, drawing the long strands of power toward the wound, toward the knife. Circling the blade, Peter guided the pulsating wave of evil around the metallic surface. Withdrawing the hooked blade would only make it more lethal. The blade must be changed.

Sweat poured down Peter's back, down his arms. The salt stung his wound, allowing reality to bite into his concentration. Someone called his name. He ignored the call.

The dark power clutched at his hands and the knife blade, begging for guidance. Peter forced the knife blade to bend to his will. Stroking the metal with his own chi, Peter tangled with the dark power. The blade slowly melted in a glittering blur of power, reforming into a thin straight line. The searing heat sealed blood vessels as they spasmed from the invasion. Inches of metal slipped slowly from Latrodect's body as the inferno of good and evil entwined. The blade cauterized oozing blood vessels with its flash of heat and transformation.

As Peter felt his chi touch the ragged outer flesh of Latrodect's wound, he relaxed. The bleeding had stopped. His exhaustion danced in black spots before him.

But the battle had only begun.

A dark length of Latrodect's power punched him, knocking him almost to the ground. Grappling with the beast, Peter felt himself drawn more deeply into the man's poison. Searching for a way to pull himself back, Peter reached out into the beast.

The beast had no name.

*Not Latrodect.*

The source of the man's power came from without, not from within. Peter breathed in the power of death, the spider's venom.

*A gift.*

The power laughed and danced, pummeling Peter at will. In one chilling moment, Peter stared into the gapping mouth of the spider. The source of Latrodect's power was not his own. If it could be banished...

Peter summoned all of his strength and fought back against the billowing evil encircling him. The bright light of his chi struck again and again at the power. The power was not Latrodect's chi. Though darkness was the way of this man, the root of his power to destroy came from another, implanted inside him. Peter grappled with the darkness, its wet sickening fingers stabbing back at him.

In a burst of bright light, Peter focused all that was left inside him toward the center of the evil. Blasting apart in tarred pieces, the evil ran in the face of his light. Latrodect's body convulsed with the absence of his power.

Hands were grasping Peter, pulling him away. A mask sealed over his face. Oxygen.

A blanket surrounded him. He could hear his name but he couldn't answer. Peter relaxed into the warmth and rest. He had preserved the man for now. The hospital could do the rest. Evil was still natural to Latrodect but his supernatural power was banished forever.

He was now only a man, if he survived.

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