Stalker

It had been a quiet night and Peter was beginning to feel that his shift on this particular stakeout had been wasted. After he had been relieved, he had headed back into the station to finish the report that Blaisdell had requested the day before.

As he approached his desk, he saw a bunch of flowers spilling across the already cluttered space. He paused and looked about. No-one was watching him - gauging a reaction. He edged forward, a frown of Annoyance playing across his face. He was not dating anyone at the moment and, even if he was, the women he chose would not be the types to send flowers to a man.

Reaching out, he plucked the card that accompanied the beautiful bunch of flowers. He scanned it, then tossed it aside. There were no clues to be found there. Deciding that it was not really worth the effort at this time of the morning, he pushed the Annoying bouquet aside and, sitting down, began his report.

Two reports later, he felt a shadow fall across his desk. Looking up, he saw Paul Blaisdell. He smiled, handing across the report. "Just like I promised," he commented.

Blaisdell looked down at his foster son and smiled. "You promised this yesterday." He paused, then added for effect, "The shock would be too much for me if you ever got a report done on time." This earned him a raised eyebrow from the younger man. Deciding the best tactic would be to change the subject, he pointed towards the bouquet sitting dejectedly on the corner of the desk. "Another secret admirer?" he commented with a smile.

"No... I guess the delivery boy got the wrong desk."

"Let's see what the card says," Paul said, reaching across and snaring the card before Peter could reach it. Slowly he began to read, "To the only man strong enough to capture my heart." He looked over his glasses at his blushing foster son. "It's addressed to you, Peter."

The younger man snatched back the card and tossed it into the bin in one movement. "Who sends a guy roses, for Christ's sake?" he said. Grabbing the roses, he headed them toward the bin as well.

"Don't do that," chastised Blaisdell. "If you don't want them, then I'll give them to Annie."

Peter stopped in mid-movement, then smiling said, "With my love."

"Unusual there's no florist's name with them," the elderly captain said, moving away from the desk. Then, pausing, he shot back, "Smithson report on my desk first thing tomorrow."

Peter waved him away, already getting stuck into the requested report. Suddenly he noticed the time and, with a yelp of surprise, leapt up, grabbing his coat and heading out of the office.

***

His father was waiting patiently at his table in the restaurant. Peter flung himself down into the chair opposite and mumbled an apology as he grabbed for the menu. "Have you ordered yet?" he enquired, glancing down the list of food.

"Only a drink," came the quiet reply.

"Good...." A slight silence ensued as Peter ran the menu through his mind, dismissing most of it, but finally choosing a mixed combination that caused Kwai Chang Caine's eyebrow to rise as he told the waitress. Caine ordered his usual simple meal.

"Got caught up writing a report," Peter supplied, by way of explaining his late arrival.

Caine tilted his head. He was becoming used to his son's lateness due to his work. "It is of no matter... you are here now."

Peter nodded. "So, what have you got planned for the afternoon?"

Caine paused to consider the question. "I have a class at five, but I am free until then. Yourself?"

"Me?" Peter always managed to sound surprised whenever Caine asked him a question about his movements. "Well, I was on stakeout last night and will be on again at twelve tonight, so I've just got to grab a few hours sleep before then."

As he finished speaking, a young boy suddenly appeared at his elbow and dropped a brightly wrapped parcel on the table, then just as suddenly he was gone, lost out the door before Peter could react. The young man shot his father a quick look. Caine shrugged. Peter sighed, seeing his name written on a white card attached to the package. He slowly began to check the parcel out and finally, after seeing that it was just a package, began to open it.

The waitress arrived with their food, but Caine motioned her away. She stepped back and waited for Peter; she was used to Caine and his strange son.

The bright paper was stripped away to reveal a heart-shaped box of expensive chocolates. Peter hissed a breath and snatched up the card that was slipped just inside the ribbon that bound the box.

"To the man of my dreams," he read, Annoyance clearly showing in his voice.

"Can I put these down now?" the waitress asked, moving in again with her tray.

"Oh sure... sorry," Peter said, quickly moving the wrapping paper and box out of her way.

"I always thought you liked chocolate," Caine stated, surprised at how upset his son was at the gift.

Placing the box down on the seat beside him, Peter snapped, "It's not just the chocolates, dad... it's everything else."

"Such as?" Caine asked with slight concern.

Peter swallowed and, lifting his fork, began to explain. "It started about a week ago. Flowers would turn up at the apartment and then things like this." He motioned to the most recent gift. "Phone calls late at night... when I answer, the voice at the other end just asks if I like the gifts, or whispers some really weird stuff." He paused again, embarrassed that he, a cop, should be suffering crank phone calls. "Then this morning a bunch of flowers turned up on my desk at the station... and now this."

"Have you told Paul?" Caine questioned, his concern growing with each word.

"Yeah, right... let him know that I'm being stalked," Peter shot back in anger, then - seeing his father's concern - he shrugged. "He saw the flowers this morning.... You think I should tell him, don't you?" He paused again. "This is silly," he said, before giving up with his food and pushing the plate away from him.

Caine reached out and pushed his food back toward him. "We will both go and see him after breakfast."

Peter looked at his full plate, then back at his father. "I don't need you to hold my hand," he said. Picking up his fork again, he began to eat.

Caine watched him for a few moments before replying, "I know, but I want to come." He tilted his head so he could see his son's expression. He noticed the slight smile that tugged at Peter's lips. Satisfied that he would be allowed to go, he turned to his own food.

***

The atmosphere in Captain Blaisdell's office could have been cut with a knife. Peter had just finished telling his tale of the last week. Caine stood silently in one corner, watching Paul Blaisdell glare at his foster son. "Why didn't you tell me this this morning?"

"Because it seemed silly this morning," Peter snapped back, running a hand through his hair.

"And what's happened to make it seem serious since then?"

Peter hesitated, pulling a face before continuing, "These arrived while I was at breakfast with my father."

Paul looked at the chocolates he had noticed Peter bring into the room. "While you were at breakfast? Who delivered them, and where's the card?"

"A boy dropped them off at the table - he was gone before I could stop him. Here's the card." Peter held the object out by its corner.

"I'll get this dusted for prints," Paul said, reaching for the phone.

Peter cleared his throat and stopped his foster father in mid-reach. The older man looked at him as he coughed again, finally saying, "I had them run prints on a couple of cards a few days ago. Nothing. Whoever is writing them is... er... making sure that they leave nothing behind."

Blaisdell's anger flared. "You were concerned enough about this to get prints checked a 'few days ago', but not enough to mention it to me?"

Peter shrunk under the onslaught and Caine winced in sympathy. "What the hell was I supposed to say to you, Paul? 'Excuse me, but someone keeps sending me flowers and candy'? Get real," snapped the young man, his own temper close to the surface.

Paul backed down a bit, seeing the underlay of tension in his foster son. "You know that anything like this should be reported at once... this could be the first stage of a revenge attack."

Peter chewed his bottom lip as he agreed reluctantly, "I know that. I've been over all my old case files and can find nothing that would account for this." He threw himself down in a chair opposite his foster father.

"You said the phone calls were weird," Caine stated from his position at the back of the room. "In what way?"

Peter sat for a few moments, going over the calls. "Not threatening - more... creepy." He paused again and, as if coming to a decision, stated, "Like: what I'm wearing at the time; did I like the flowers, presents, etc?"

"Man or woman?" Paul asked, making a few notes on the pad before him.

This made Peter sit up straighter in his chair, another frown crossing his features. "I would have said a women, but - to tell the truth - the whisper was so low it could be either sex." He slumped back in his chair. "Great, either way I've a nutter on my tail."

Paul smiled at the tone and glanced up at Caine. The other man's face was devoid of emotion, but his eyes glittered with anger. Blaisdell hid his surprise. The look was gone as quickly as it had arrived, the face before him was as impassive as before.

"I'm going to put a tap on your phone and, if you receive any more... presents... you give them to me without opening them." He stopped and glared at the younger man. "Understand?"

Peter sighed. "This is really stupid."

"I know it seems stupid, but until we know exactly who is behind these gifts, it's best to treat them seriously," Blaisdell replied, with true feelings for his foster son's predicament.

Peter wanted to protest again, but - seeing the looks both his fathers gave him - he decided against it. Standing, he said instead, "Look, I've got to be on stakeout tonight, so I'm going home to get some sleep." He paused, then seeing Blaisdell nod, he headed from the room.

As he left the office, he felt his father's presence behind him. Turning, he said, "I think I can make it home on my own."

Caine raised an eyebrow and stated softly, "This is the only way out of the building that I know of."

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it again. "I guess I'm being a bit sensitive about all this," he mumbled. "Sorry."

Caine smiled slightly at his son and, pushing open the door, indicated that Peter was to precede him. "No, really, I am going home with you."

"Dad..." Peter hissed, in exasperation.

Reaching out, he touched Peter's face and replied, "You are my son."

Allowing the touch, Peter smiled and nodded. "Got me on that one."

"So, I will accompany you home then?" Caine asked.

Peter considered the question while looking at the man before him. All he saw was a thinly-veiled concern for his safety, and he knew that - if it was his father that was getting the attention from this person - he would not have asked to accompany him home, he would have just done it. Relenting, he agreed. "I guess so."

"Thank you," Caine replied with a slight tilt of his head.

***

The next few days passed without any unwanted gifts arriving at Peter's home or desk. Blaisdell reluctantly removed the watch he had placed on Peter's apartment, after the young man had found out and stormed into his office demanding it be lifted. No amount of reasoning had placated him and, in the end, Blaisdell agreed to have the two officers removed.

***

The case was finally coming together. The long nights on stakeout were beginning to show a routine to the sale of the drugs and proved that Carl Janson was indeed an up-and-coming pusher.

"Number eight's just arrived," Peter said into his radio as he slipped further down in his seat, watching the action at the door across the street.

"If Harper gets in, we're going in five minutes after," Blaisdell stated from his position with the rest of the squad, three blocks down the road.

The bust had been slow to set up, with a labyrinth of connections to go through to get to this night. Caine had to hand it to Harper, the young woman who had agreed to play the drug addict... she was making all the right moves and gestures of a strung out whore, willing to do anything to get a hit.

The man at the door relented and, opening it slightly, he allowed her slim figure to slip past him. He looked up and down the road before he backed out of sight, effectively shutting out the light, leaving the road dark once more.

"She's in," Peter said, sitting up straighter and checking for his weapon.

"Five and counting," came back the reply, then, "The mike's working fine."

Peter smiled at Blaisdell's words. Harper was wired and the connection was good. Everything that happened in that place would be taped for future evidence. He checked his weapon and slipped it back into its holster. Looking at his watch, he saw that only a minute and a half had passed.

Suddenly Blaisdell came back on the line, his voice taut. "Wire's gone dead. All teams get in there, now." He shouted the last command, but Peter was already out of his car and heading across the road, gun in his hand.

He banged on the door and waited for the heavyset man to appear. As the door opened, Peter leapt forward and threw his weight against it. Without thought, he stumbled over the doorman who lay groaning upon the floor and headed toward the back of the building.

The light was dull, but he was able to make his way over the few drugged-up bodies that littered his way. Behind him, he could hear the sound of Blaisdell and the others arriving.

"You bitch, you bitch." Peter turned towards the yelling voice and headed toward the room at the back. "I'm gonna kill you. You're dead, you hear?"

Without thought for his own safety, Peter charged the door and burst into the room. All action stopped at his entrance. Harper was kneeling on the floor, obviously having been dragged up by Carl Janson, who had hold of her hair and was pushing a gun into her face. "Police... stop," Peter yelled, his anger growing at seeing a fellow police officer under attack. "Drop your weapon.... Now!" he snarled at the large black man.

"You move, man, and I'll drop her," Janson hissed, poking at the groaning woman for emphasis.

"You shoot and it'll be the last thing you do," Peter advised coolly, his gun hand never wavering.

Sweat began to roll down Janson's face. "I swear I'll do her, man," he shouted again.

"I mean it, Janson. I never miss," Peter stated, his voice rock hard.

Slowly Janson removed the gun from Harper's face. Lifting it, he held it by his index finger. "Cool out, man... I'm cool," he said, taking a step back and allowing Harper to fall to the floor, where she lay groaning.

"Get an ambulance in here," Peter yelled back over his shoulder, not taking his eyes from Janson. "Now, gently place the weapon on the floor... that's right, nice and slowly.... Now, step back." As he spoke, he edged forward until he reached the downed weapon and kicked it back towards the door with his foot. "Now, against the wall... facing it..." he snapped as Janson moved to obey him.

"I've got him," Sergeant Dickson said, moving into the room and - keeping out of Peter's line of fire - he handcuffed Janson and pushed his legs apart, beginning to pat him down, looking for weapons.

Peter slipped to his knees next to Harper. "They never mentioned this at the academy," she whispered, her eyes only half open.

Peter reached out and gently pushed back a strand of long blonde hair. "You did good," he said, wincing at the bruise that was forming upon her face.

Blaisdell appeared at his side. "How is she?" he asked, then added before Peter could answer, "Ambulance is on its way."

"She's going to be fine... aren't you, Harper?" Peter said, allowing her to clasp his hand.

She tried to return his smile, but winced at the pain this caused. "Next time... you get to play the hooker," she stated firmly.

"Only if I get to borrow your looks," Peter shot back.

The paramedics appeared and both Peter and Blaisdell were moved gently but firmly out of the way. Five minutes later, Harper was on her way to the hospital and Janson to the station.

As they left the building, Paul Blaisdell caught Peter's arm. "Why didn't you wait for backup?" he snarled.

The sigh was nearly automatic now, and Peter was unable to suppress it. "I didn't think I had time."

Paul held up his hand: he could see how tired Peter was; he had been working double shifts to tie Janson down - they all had - and he knew that Peter had reacted the same way he would have done... and he could not really blame the lad for caring. Reaching out, he placed his hand on Peter's shoulder. "Look, go home... get some rest... tell me about it in the morning."

Peter glanced at his watch, then looked back up at his foster father. "Tomorrow morning?" he questioned.

"All right, but I want you in my office by one," Blaisdell said, smiling as Peter made his way over to his car. Turning, he headed back into the building. The commissioner would want his report by nine that morning.

***

Peter was tired. The adrenaline from the bust had long since gone, and he fumbled tiredly for his keys as he walked down the hallway that led to his apartment.

Looking up, he stopped when he saw a neatly-wrapped parcel laying against his door. He shot a look up and down the corridor but there was no-one about. Sighing, he moved forward. He knew that he should contact Blaisdell, yet he could not bring himself to drag the man away from an already prolonged case.

Peter advanced toward the parcel, his eyes taking in every detail. He could see that it was expensively wrapped and bore the name of one of the more selective male clothing stores. With a sigh of tired frustration, he bent down to pick the parcel up.

In the instant he stooped to retrieve the package, it exploded in a blinding light, causing Peter's body to be thrown back against the wall. He hung suspended for a few seconds before he slipped to the floor to lie huddled like a broken toy.

***

Captain Paul Blaisdell hated hospitals. He would never get used to having the phone ring and being informed that one of his men was down, and it was made doubly hard when the call concerned his foster son.

He had been in his office, finishing up his workload after the successful arrest of Carl Janson, when the call had come in. His first instinct had been to call his wife. His second to contact Caine. He had decided against Annie until he had further information. Caine had not been in, so he had sent one of his men to search for the other man, with strict instructions to bring him to the hospital.

As he approached the nurse's station, he slowed to a halt as he saw Caine standing quietly beside the counter. "How did you find out?" he asked as he reached the desk.

Caine looked at him, his face sad, eyes filled with concern. He shrugged slightly, almost apologetically. "I was waiting for Peter to come home."

Blaisdell raised a hand and wiped tiredly at his face. Turning away from Caine he asked, "Any news?"

Caine took a steadying breath before answering, "They have told me nothing." Then he added, "I believe he is still in surgery."

"Dear Lord.... Why? Why would anyone want to do this?"

Caine did not bother to answer the question. He knew that Peter's profession made him a target, but it did not make the pain any easier to bear.

"Do you know what happened?" Paul asked. "Was it the stalker?"

Again Caine shrugged. "I do not know... I was inside his apartment when the device went off." He closed his eyes as he remembered the sight of his son lying wounded and bleeding against the wall.

Blaisdell swallowed hard. "A bomb?" His voice cracked as he considered the damage such a device could do to the fragile human body.

"The attending officer said it was more of a..." he paused while he remembered the term the older police officer had used, "a flash device."

Blaisdell let his breath out. "A flash device is a bomb where the main purpose is to shock and blind the person who sets it off," he explained to Caine. He did not go into detail about how hard they were to make, or how dangerous they could be if the victim got too close. "What's taking them so long?" he suddenly asked, turning back to look at the nurse's station, as if she could magically conjure up the information he wanted.

Caine took the other man's arm and gently but firmly led him towards the seating area. He manoeuvred him down into a seat, asking, "Have you contacted Annie?"

Paul looked up, his eyes swimming in defeat that only the injury of a child can produce. "I wanted to have something definite to tell her."

Sitting down beside Blaisdell, Caine nodded his understanding, knowing that the only support they could offer each other, until the doctor arrived, was each other's presence.

Time passed. Blaisdell was into his fourth coffee by the time a harassed young doctor came in search of them. He paused by the nurse's station and nodded as the young woman pointed them out.

Both men stood as he approached. "I'm Doctor Harris," he said, holding out his hand and shaking theirs as they gave their names.

"Captain Blaisdell," the doctor began. "Your sergeant took the full blast of the device. Luckily, it was only meant to injure and not kill." He paused, allowing the relief of his words to wash over the two men. "But, his proximity to the flash has caused us some slight concern. There is some damage to his retinas." He held up his hand to forestall the questions he could see on the others' lips. "He has suffered a major loss of sight, but it's too early to say if the damage is permanent or not. We will be carrying out more tests over the next few days. Apart from that, he has some burns about his upper body - nothing too serious - and he broke his left wrist," he finished. Looking at the two men who stood before him, he wondered briefly how they, who were so obviously different, could be so universally distressed by what he was telling them.

"He's just being moved from recovery to a private room. Once he's settled, you can see him, but I have to warn you... although he may appear lucid, he is on strong medication, so questioning him now would not be a good idea. Also, I don't want him excited." He gave Blaisdell a hard look as he spoke. Receiving a nod of agreement, he finished, "Don't worry too much about all the equipment; it looks worse than it is. It's purely for observation."

"Thank you, Dr Harris," Paul said, shaking the man by the hand again. When the doctor had left, Blaisdell turned to Caine. "I'd better go and call Annie, she will want to see..." He paused, a look of distress sweeping across his features. "I've not made that mistake for years," he mumbled under his breath, then pulling himself up, he continued, "To visit Peter to reassure herself that he's alright."

"I will wait here," Caine said, knowing that the task Blaisdell had set himself would not be easy.

***

Blaisdell stood in the corner of the room and watched his wife speak gentle, healing words to their foster son, who had regained consciousness a short while before.

The phone call to Annie had not been pleasant, but she had taken the news calmly and arrived at the hospital a short while later. Greeting her husband with a warm hug, she had then turned instinctively to Caine, reaching out a hand until he clasped it.

"How is he?" she asked, turning back toward her husband.

Pulling her into a protective hug, Blaisdell led her toward the seating area as he began to explain what the doctor had told him. She paused and saged into his embrace when he explained about Peter's lost eyesight.

Caine stood back and let Paul talk to his wife. He could see the pain that his son's injury caused the two people before him, and was once more grateful that Peter had found such loving people to live with.

The night was slowly slipping into dawn; the golden fingers of light stretching across the sky to push the night from her pedestal and send her tumbling from the sky.

Neither foster parents nor father saw the passing of the night; they spent it sitting by a sleeping man's bed.

Blaisdell suddenly felt anger sweep through his body. He was angry at Peter for not telling him sooner about the presents, but if he was honest he was more angry at himself for taking the watch off Peter's apartment. If he had insisted that it was kept, his foster son might not now be lying in this bed, blind.

Turning, he reached for the door handle and stumbled from the room. A few feet away he stopped, leaning against the wall. He suddenly felt old. Memories of his first meeting with the serious, wide-eyed boy who lived at the local orphanage that he visited as part of his police duties flashed through his mind.

"He chose to have the surveillance lifted," Caine said, coming to stand beside the grief-stricken man.

"I should have argued." He paused, then admitted, "If it had been anyone else, I would have insisted." He slowly turned to face Kwai Chang Caine.

He could see the sadness in the other's eyes, the pain for his injured son, but no remorse, no guilt. 'No,' thought Blaisdell, 'that belongs firmly upon my shoulders.'

"He makes his own decisions and you love him enough to allow him the trust of his beliefs."

"Some trust.... he might never have his full sight back."

Caine tilted his head to one side and replied slowly, "That is the risk he was prepared to take."

Blaisdell looked at the man who stood before him, and knew that what he said was true, but it did not take the pain away. No, the only thing that would do that would be seeing the person responsible for this act behind bars.

Wiping his hands over his face, he pushed his feelings aside and once more began portraying the efficient police captain that he was. Half-turning towards the door, he asked, "Look, could you stay with Annie? I've got some things to do."

"Of course," Caine stated, still watching the man before him.

"Thank you." As he turned to walk away, he felt a hand rest gently upon his arm. Turning back, he glanced at Caine.

"Take care."

Smiling, Blaisdell returned, "I always do."

Caine watched until Blaisdell disappeared into the lift before he returned to his son's room. As he entered, Annie looked up and glanced in his direction, and he was glad that she could not see the worried frown that marred his handsome features.

***

Lt. Strenlich watched as his old friend and captain walked into the squad room. He could tell from the stoop of his shoulders that Peter's injuries weighed heavily upon the other man. He had contacted the hospital and found out the precise injuries of his young detective.

He waited by the office door until Blaisdell reached him. "Any news?"

The other man looked away, across the busily working room. "They're doing tests."

"Annie?"

"She's with Peter." Blaisdell paused, then asked, "Any news on the device?"

"I've got better than that." As he spoke, he moved aside and gave Blaisdell his first clear look into his own office. "Her name's Susan Pascal. Peter was called to her apartment a few months ago... suspected prowler." He stopped and shrugged his shoulders. "She came in this morning, admitted that she was the one sending the flowers and presents."

"And the bomb?" Blaisdell asked, looking sharply at the woman who was sitting in his office.

Strenlich shook his head. "No... she suspected that it might be her boyfriend. His hobby is doing special effects for a local theatrical group; she thinks he's capable of rigging the booby trap that caught Peter." He frowned. "And apparently he wasn't too impressed when he found out what she'd been doing. After hearing about what happened to Peter, she's running scared."

Blaisdell nodded; he knew that the attack had been featured on the late news. "And now she's terrified about what he'll do to her?"

The bitterness was clear to his friend, who reached out a hand and rested it upon his arm, saying, "I want to catch this bastard for what he did to Peter, not for what he may do to his girlfriend."

Paul took a deep, steadying breath and nodded. "Has an APB been issued?" he asked.

"Five minutes after she arrived."

"I want extra guards at the hospital." As he spoke, he reached up and wiped his face with his hands. It had been a long night. "There's no knowing how this guy's going to react." Then, giving himself a mental shake, he removed his coat and headed into his office to question the girl himself.

***

Peter knew he was in hospital. He could tell by the smell of his surroundings and the gentle touch of his mother's hand clasping his.

"Mom?" he asked, surprised at how rough his voice sounded. He swallowed and bit back the cough that wanted to escape.

"Peter," came the gasped reply. "Don't try to move, dear," Annie cautioned as Peter tried to raise a hand and probe at the bandage that covered his eyes.

"My eyes?" He was unable to hide the thread of panic that crept into his voice at the knowledge that his eyes were heavily bandaged.

Annie looked over at Caine, who was sitting silently on the other side of the bed. It was obvious to them both that Peter did not remember his first awakening; the struggle that had only been calmed by Caine's presence and his mothers gentle voice.

"Your eyes were damaged from the flash," Caine advised once again, resting his hand upon Peter's other arm, above the plaster cast that now held the limb to the bed.

"Dad?" Peter turned his head slightly and winced at the pain this caused, Drawing in a quick breath, he swallowed the fear that rose again.

"The doctors are hopeful that it's only temporary," Annie spoke with more conviction than she felt, "but they don't want to take any chances."

"Can I have a drink?" Peter asked, his throat raw from trying to push his emotions down. He could not let his mother know how terrified he was at the thought of being permanently blind. He knew it would hurt her too much.

Caine picked up the cup of juice that had been placed on the side for such an occasion and gently lifted the straw to his son's lips. After a few swallows, Peter pushed the straw away with his tongue and smiled his thanks. It was a weak smile, but it lightened his father's heart to see the attempt.

"What happened?" Now that the need for drink had passed, the policeman in Peter came to the fore.

"There was a booby trap parcel at your apartment..." began Caine, repeating his words from Peter's last awakening.

The handsome young man gripped at his foster mother's hand as memory returned. "It was a shirt.... at least I thought it was... I bent to pick it up and..." He paused as the pain of the flash bit deep into his being.

"Peter," his mother began, "just let it go... Concentrate on getting better, that's all that matters now." Her voice was low, warming.

"I will tell the nurse that you are awake," Caine said, moving away from the bed.

"Dad!!" Peter suddenly cried, feeling his father's presence move away from him.

Caine moved back to the bed and, reaching out, touched his son's face just below the bandage. "I will be right back."

As Caine left the room, Annie heard her foster son swallow a sob and knew that she could only offer her hand in support, when all she really wanted to do was to hug him... to take away the pain and suffering, the uncertainty that seemed to radiate from him like a beacon to a shipwrecked craft.

"Mom, am I going to be blind?" The words were spoken slowly, hesitantly, as if knowing that she would lie to him rather than hurt him.

Wishing for once that she could see her son, she answered truthfully, "I don't know, Peter. The doctors are hopeful, but..." she paused, considering her next words with care. "If... if not, then I will be there to show you how to cope." She felt her own tears well; she loved her children too much to wish this fate upon them.

"I don't think I could cope...." He stopped as his breath caught and he realised that he had nearly said he could not cope with being blind.

"Peter Caine," she began firmly, "don't you dare tell me you're not brave and strong, and capable of beating this." Reaching up, she instinctively touched his cheek and he leant into her support. "We will beat this together," she finished, knowing that Peter's fear was born from her own blindness.

The door opened and Paul Blaisdell Announced himself. Moving swiftly to his wife's side, he reached over and rested his hand on top of their clasped ones. "How you doing, son?" he asked, not able to hide his relief at seeing Peter awake.

"Not too bad," the injured man lied.

"Caine went for the nurse," Annie explained.

"I know, I saw him at the nurse's desk. They're calling the doctor down; he should be here soon." He rested his hand upon Annie's shoulder and could feel her shaking under the touch. He gave her hand a slight squeeze and felt warmed by the smile she turned his way. He was always amazed at how she knew just where to direct it.

"We think we know who tried to hurt you," he went on, trying to fill the silence that played about the room.

"Who?" Peter asked, wanting to sit up straighter, but the ache in his head prevented him, so he settled with just laying still.

"Susan Pascal was your stalker."

"Pascal... Susan... I got called on a prowler code a few weeks ago..." Peter paused, remembering. "I answered, as I was just passing the road," he continued, seeing in his minds eye the pretty redhead with the dimple. "She did this," he began, his temper rising.

Blaisdell reached out and gripped Peter's arm as he saw the reaction his words got. "No... not Susan, Peter... she sent you the gifts, flowers and the candy, but it appears her boyfriend found out and decided to send you something more dangerous."

"Have you caught him yet?" The muscles in Peter's jaw hurt from the tension, but he continued to fight against the rising pain of that and the pounding in his head.

Paul looked from his wife to his foster son and back again, for once pleased that neither could see his expression. "Not yet, but we've an all points bulletin out on him... it shouldn't be long now."

"Why? Why would he do this? I wasn't interested in Susan. Damn it," Peter hissed, unable to shake the rising frustration.

"Calm down, Peter," Annie cautioned, feeling the tension in her son's hand.

Suddenly the door opened and Dr Harris rushed in, followed by a nurse and Caine.

"What's going on here?" Harris demanded, seeing his patient's agitated state.

"I'm sorry..." Blaisdell began. "We were talking and..." He never finished, as the doctor interrupted.

"I'm going to have to ask you people to leave."

"No!" cried Peter, starting to struggle as Annie began to remove her hand.

"Nurse," Harris directed as he reached out and held Peter's arms at his sides, taking care of his injured hand. "Mr Caine," he continued, "this movement is not going to help you... you must remain as still as possible."

Peter was beyond hearing the doctor's calming words. All he could sense was that his foster parents were about to leave him in this world of darkness.

"Peter," his father's tranquil voice cut through his panic. "You must do as the doctor says."

Slowly Peter began to relax, partly from his father's tone, and partly from the sedative the nurse was administering. Gradually the hysteria began to fade and his limbs became heavy, until the worry spiralled away from him and his body relaxed back upon the bed.

"What's happening?" Annie asked, fear clear in her tone.

"He's falling asleep," Paul advised, keeping his arm about his wife's shoulders. Then, looking at the doctor, Blaisdell began, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset him..."

Dr Harris spared him a quick glance as he checked his patient over. Seeing the genuine concern, he paused and added, "It's not really your fault. This is a common reaction to this situation. I'm sorry if I sounded a little bit sharp, but...." He paused. How could he tell them that this was his forteenth hour on duty? Settling for another smile, he continued, "It might be best if you all went home and got some sleep. Mr Caine will be out for at least eight hours."

"I will stay," Caine said, moving forward slightly. "If you will let me?"

Dr Harris considered the request for a few moments, then nodded, but turning to the obviously tired Blaisdell he ordered, seeing the other about to speak, "No... you look dead on your feet... Go home... and that's the only free advice you're going to get from this doctor," he finished with a smile.

Annie, her attention suddenly being drawn to her husband's welfare, reached up and touched Paul's face. "I think I would like to go home... if you don't mind." She knew that her husband would insist on remaining by their foster son's side until he collapsed, and only a request from her would get him to move.

Blaisdell looked down into Annie's face and marvelled once more at how beautiful it looked and how it could still move him. Leaning down, he gently kissed her upturned forehead. "If you really want," he conceded.

She rested her hand upon his chest and gently rubbed. "Please."

"Alright..." Paul looked over at Caine, asking and receiving a look.

"I will contact you if anything arises," Caine assured them.

"I just want to check on the guards," Blaisdell began, then stopped himself. He had already done that when he had entered the room. Standing there, watching the doctor and nurse work over Peter's sleeping form, he suddenly felt very helpless. He glanced up and met Caine's own wounded look and knew that he was not alone in his parental suffering, and that Peter's father would guard his son far better than any protection the police might be able to offer. With a sigh, he realised that he would sleep better knowing that Kwai Chang Caine would be there.

"I will be here," Caine confirmed the unasked question again and, with a final nod, Blaisdell led his wife from the hospital room

***

The next few days passed with increased tension, as the results on Peter's eyes came back inconclusive again and again.

Susan Pascal's boyfriend, Andy Logan, had gone to ground, and it was generally felt that he had left the city. But Blaisdell was unwilling to relax the police protection he had set up at the hospital, and he knew that Caine had rarely left his son's side since he had been admitted.

"You look tired."

Turning, Paul smiled at Caine as he walked towards the coffee machine. Reaching up, Blaisdell wiped at the sleep that still clung to his eyes. "It's been a long couple of nights," he commented, before reaching for his coffee. "I'm getting too damned attached to that coffee machine," he said as he walked back towards the other man.

"Any news on Mr Logan?"

Blaisdell had to smile; only Caine would call his son's attacker 'Mr'. "No, we've covered most of his usual haunts, but no sign of him."

"You will find him."

Paul's head snapped up. "You can depend on that," he said. Fire rode upon his words. Then realising that he was letting the anger surface again, he took a breath and asked, "Peter's taking this all rather well?"

Caine inclined his head. He, too, was surprised at his son's seeming acceptance of his present condition. "He has the love of his family to support him."

"And the wisdom of his father to guide him," added Blaisdell, for once pleased that this man had come back into Peter's Caine's life. If he was honest, he had resented the strange man who stood before him at first, but as the months passed and it became obvious that Caine was not going to take Peter away from him, Paul had begun to see the difference in his foster son... the calmness that seemed to come from inside... the inner serenity that had, at first, confused his foster father.

"How has he been?" Blaisdell asked, motioning towards Peter's room. He had only just arrived from work and had yet to see his foster son.

Caine smiled. "Annie has been reading to him for most of the afternoon."

Paul smiled. "No Winnie the Pooh I hope."

"Winnie the Pooh?"

Blaisdell actually laughed and continued, "When Peter first came to stay with us, he found an old book that Annie used to read to the girls. It's in Braille, and he used to pester Annie to read it to him. He was fascinated by her ability to read blips on the page. Annie tried to teach him, but with little success." He sobered as the thought struck him that Peter might not have much choice now but to learn.

Caine reached out and gently touched his shoulder, as if reading his thoughts, and stated, "He is strong and he will cope."

"What did the doctors say today?" Blaisdell went on, not wanting to dwell upon his present thoughts.

"They were more hopeful today. Peter was able to make out shapes when the bandages were removed, but the room was dark and the doctor wanted to give his eyes a few more days before they allow any light."

Blaisdell nodded, then, reaching out, he opened the door and entered the room. The sight that met his eyes reminded Blaisdell of when Peter was a child. Annie was by his bed, reading from a book that rested upon her lap as her fingers sped across the page. She paused at the opening of the door and tilted her head to one side.

"Paul," she began, turning and smiling towards the two men.

Blaisdell moved swiftly over to his wife and, bending down, kissed her in welcome. Then, reaching over, he gripped Peter's hand and squeezed. "Still bunking off work, I see," he said, the sting taken from his words by his tone.

"Well, you know how it is... the bed was so comfortable and... well, you can't beat the company." Peter smiled up at his foster father and felt the grip tighten momentarily.

"You'd better not get too used to it, pal. Your desk is overflowing with reports that need typing up."

"But Paul, you told me Peter's desk always looks like that," Annie put in, smiling at them both.

Blaisdell was saved from answering as the door opened and the young police officer outside said, "Captain... there's a call for you at the nurse's reception."

"Saved by the bell." Paul stated as he nodded his thanks to the young man and left the room.

A few minutes later he returned and stated, "They've got Logan. He's at the station..." Moving further into the room, he continued, "I've got to go." Reaching over, he gripped Peter's hand. "I'll be back as soon as I can." He leant and gave Annie a quick kiss.

"I, too, will have to leave," Caine said, also moving forward to say goodbye to his son. "I have a class, I will return shortly." He held open the door and allowed Blaisdell to precede him.

As they moved towards the lift, Blaisdell offered to drop the other man off. Caine gave him a deep look, then nodded. "The academy?" Paul asked as they entered the car park.

"No, the station."

Blaisdell stopped and then shook his head. "I don't think so, Caine." His tone was firm and the glint in his eye would have warned his foster son not to push the subject, but Caine was not his foster son.

"I will make my own way there," Caine stated, his tone quiet, but just as firm as his friend's.

Blaisdell thought for a few moments, then called out as Caine began to move away, "You know I can't do this."

"I am not asking you to do anything," Caine stated, accompanied by a raised eyebrow. Turning, he began to move further away.

Blaisdell rushed to catch up with him. Reaching out an arm, he pulled the other man to a stop. "Why?" he asked. "You're not the sort to seek revenge."

"Revenge?" Caine stated, surprise entering his features. "I do not seek revenge," he stated firmly unable to hide the flash of annoyance that thought brought. "I merely wish to confirm a suspicion."

"What suspicion?" Blaisdell asked, not sure he fully understood the conversation, but asking the question anyway.

"If you will allow me, I would like to accompany you to the station. If what I believe is correct, I will tell you once I have seen the man."

"If you know something..." Paul began, anger flashing deep in his eyes.

It was Caine's turn to reach out and grip the other man's arm. "I have no proof... no evidence... only a feeling," he finished, then looked deep into his friends eyes. "If you would trust me?"

Blaisdell looked at Caine for a few seconds, then, turning, he nodded. "There was never a question of my not trusting you, but sometimes I would just like you to trust me." Caine had no answer so he gave none.

The journey to the station was made in silence.

Strenlich met them at the door to Blaisdell's office. He stopped short when he saw Caine, but then advanced. "He's been interviewed, but his not saying much. Reckons he was away fishing at the time the bomb was set."

Blaisdell reached up and rubbed at his suddenly tired eyes. "Are you checking that out?"

"Jordan is... Logan's story is that he went fishing with two friends and left the city in the early morning. They didn't make Bishop until dark."

"Okay, let's go and see him."

"What, him too?" Strenlich said, jerking a finger at Caine.

Blaisdell looked at Caine for a few seconds, then said, "I'm sorry, Caine, I can't allow you in on the interview."

Caine tilted his head forward, stating, "I only need to hear him walk."

Strenlich opened his mouth to answer, then closed it.

"Hear him walk?" Paul asked, his attention caught by Caine's words.

"Please." was the only answer Caine gave.

Blaisdell looked at him hard for a few more moments, remembering the talk in the hospital car park about trust. Finally, he nodded his head in agreement. Then, turning to Strenlich, he asked, "Is he in the holding cells?"

"Yeah, I'll get one of the boys to bring him up to Interview Room 1."

"Could you position Caine in the corridor down from the interview room and stay with him?"

Strenlich paused, absorbing his friend's request, then he nodded. Paul smiled his thanks to his friend. Strenlich could have made things difficult, but he, as always, was prepared to let Blaisdell have his way. "Interview Room 1," he stated as he led the way through the crowded room.

The corridor was not particularly crowded for that time of day; it was almost as if the other officers knew that something was going on and they wanted to be away from the area.

The man who was led to the interview room was tall and heavy. He looked like he would have better suited a biker's jacket and boots, then the faded jeans and shirt that covered his bulky frame.

He was looking nervously about, his fear clearly showing upon his face, but he was trying to hide it.

Strenlich stood beside Caine. "That's him," he murmured as Logan was led along the corridor. He glanced back at Caine, and saw that he stood with his eyes closed as the man approached and passed them.

"Listen." Strenlich said, as the interview room door closed, "I'd like to be in there. You'll be alright waiting here for a while?"

Caine opened his eyes and smiled gently down at the other man. "I will wait here." As Strenlich moved away, he continued, "That is not the person who left the parcel."

The older man paused and looked back, a shocked expression crossing his features. "How can you say that?" he questioned.

"Interview him, and when you are finished I will explain to both Blaisdell and yourself."

Strenlich was torn between demanding an answer and getting into the interview room before Blaisdell got too far.

"I will wait here," Caine assured again.

Knowing that he would get no more from the strange man who stood before him, Strenlich turned and entered the interview room.

Blaisdell looked up at his entrance, then nodded. He had not really expected him to remain outside while he interviewed this particular prisoner.

"Look, man," Logan was saying. "I was in Bishop; didn't get there until after dark... I already told your guy that," he finished, pointing towards Strenlich.

"That is being checked out," Blaisdell answered. "Now, can you tell us about your knowledge of explosives?"

"Explosives?" gasped Logan, his eyes growing even larger. "I don't know nothing about explosives."

"Your girlfriend, Susan Pascal, says differently," snapped Blaisdell.

"Susan," spat Logan, his eyes suddenly aflame. "What does that bitch have to do with this? If she's been saying things...." He began to rise, then meeting the cold hard look from the aging handsome man before him, he stopped and slipped back into his chair. Wearily he wiped a hand over his face, as if willing himself to waken from a bad dream. "Look, we finished before I went on the fishing trip... Hell, it's one of the reasons I went, to get away from her crazy phone calls." He paused, then licking his lips began to tell the story in full.

"I found out that she'd been hustling some other guy; flowers, chocolates, the works. I told her to stop, she wouldn't, so we spilt. Then she got weird on me... phone calls in the middle of the night, wreaths turning up at my job. Man, she is one cuckoo lady."

"Did she know that you were going away with your friends?" Blaisdell asked, a feeling of unease beginning to grow in his gut.

"No way, man, I wanted to get away from her. She's got a nasty streak, can't handle rejection. When I got back this morning I found that my front door had been streaked with yellow paint, and I know she'd done it." He paused, out of breath. "I didn't do what she said; she's trying to frame me.... if she said I hurt her."

"Not her," Paul said, shooting a look at Strenlich. "Detective Caine. A parcel bomb was placed outside his door and he was caught in the blast."

Logan went white, his eyes filled with shock. "I'd never do that, man. I've got no reason to hurt the guy, you can ask Jerry and Simon. I've been with them the last week or so... ask them," he cried, raising a hand in beseechment.

"Would Ms Pascal have the knowledge to build a parcel bomb, Andy?" Blaisdell asked, his tone softer.

Logan licked nervously at his lips. "Might, she picks things up pretty fast." He stopped, then added, "She used to watch me while I made up the special effects for the theatre group we belong to. I've got the stuff at my place, make them up in the garage. It's all legal and above board," he hastened to add.

"Would you object to us searching your garage?" Strenlich asked, knowing what Blaisdell was thinking.

"Don't you need a warrant?" Logan asked, a frown crossing his features.

"Not if you agree to it, and," Blaisdell said, "if you have nothing to hide, you won't object, will you?"

Logan hesitated, then slowly said, "No.... No, I guess not."

Standing Blaisdell looked towards the officer who had stood silently in the corner. The man nodded and Paul ushered Strenlich from the room.

"Get some people over to his house. Kermit would be best. And put out an APB on Susan Pascal." He stopped when he noticed that Caine was now with them.

"He did not leave the parcel," Caine said, his tone firm.

"I'm inclined to believe you," Blaisdell stated, not at all surprised by the other man's statement. "But, just for the record, why do you think that?"

By now they had reached Blaisdell's office. Strenlich had left them to make the arrangements for the search of Logan's property.

"When I arrived at Peter's that night, there was no parcel. Yet when he came home it was there. Mr Logan could not have left it, his tread is too heavy. I would have heard him."

"He's saying that Susan Pascal is trying to set him up," Blaisdell said, moving to sit behind his desk and, lifting his phone, placed a call to the hospital.

As he waited for the line to connect, Strenlich slipped into the room. "Bad news: Pascal called in this morning and was told that we had picked Logan up."

Getting an engaged tone, Blaisdell took his anger out on the phone and slammed it down. "Damn. Alright, reach Carnel - he's watching Peter at the hospital - and tell him not to let anyone with Susan's description into Peter's room." He rose and headed out of the office. Caine was right behind him.

***

As they approached the hospital, Strenlich came on the radio to report that they had not been able to get in touch with Carnel, and had contacted hospital security instead.

The corridor that Peter's room was on was in uproar as they left the lift. With the ease of many years, Caine slipped through the crowd, leaving just enough room for Blaisdell to follow him to his son's room.

Two security men barred the door as Caine approached, but Blaisdell whipped out his badge and they were allowed to enter.

The small room was fairly crowded and untidy. One nurse was with Carnel, who was holding his head in his hands looking shaken. Another two hospital personnal were bent over the fallen body of Susan Pascal. An over-turned chair lay nearby. Annie was sitting on Peter's bed, wrapped firmly in a tight embrace. Peter's head was resting upon her shoulder, her golden locks falling over his dark wave of hair.

"What the hell happened?" Blaisdell snapped, his voice volcanic with barely surprised anger.

Annie reacted upon hearing his voice and reached for him. He moved to her side and grasped her hand. Peter gently released her and she crept into her husband's embrace.

Caine moved to Peter's side and gripped his shoulders, that one touch conveying more concern that any speech could. Peter reached up and gently grasped his father's hands. "We had an unwelcome visitor. Paul, you should have been here... from what the nurses say, Mom has a wonderful aim."

"I was so scared," stated the woman in question.

"What happened?" Paul asked again. This time his tone was more reasonable, almost pleading.

"I'm not too sure, really," Annie began. "It happened so quickly."

Blaisdell asked Peter who smiled and reported, "I didn't see a thing." He indicated his bandaged eyes with his free hand.

"Peter," Paul warned, his temper beginning to fray.

"Sir," Carnel said, still sitting on the floor. "It was my fault, sir. That woman," he pointed to Susan's fallen body. "She stopped to ask directions, then pulled a gun on me. Then she forced me into the room and hit me from behind." He rubbed the spot in question.

"And?" Blaisdell asked, his look boring into the luckless youth.

"I'm afraid I threw my chair at her," Annie said quietly.

Blaisdell looked at her in shock "You did what?" he gasped.

She reached up and gently touched his face. "I'm sorry, dear, but I didn't know what else to do. Your officer managed to warn us before he was struck, and I just reacted."

"Just like a tigress protecting her cub," Peter stated proudly.

"You keep out of this," Blaisdell snapped, pointing a finger at his foster son, but - realising this would have no effect - he let his hand slip down to cover Annie's cheek. "That was a very dangerous thing to do, Annie." He spoke softly, only just realising how lucky they had been.

Just then the door opened and two orderlies walked in with a gurney. The nurse who had been kneeling by Susan stood up and motioned them forward. "Get security to watch this room," Blaisdell stated, "until my men get here." Seeing the look the nurse shot his way, he continued, "Attempted murder of a police officer."

Soon the room was clear of all people except for Peter, Blaisdell, Annie and Caine.

"How did you know where to throw the chair?" Paul asked his wife as they settled down.

"I heard Carnel go down and just threw it toward that sound."

Blaisdell held his wife at arm's length, then, pulling her once more into a hug. stated, "Where were you when the Red Sox were losing last year?"

"Cooking your dinner," she offered.

***

A week had passed since Susan Pascal had attempted to harm Peter in his hospital room. After a night in hospital, she had been transferred to the prison hospital wing.

Peter was recovering well; better than had been expected, the bandages having been removed the day before. Although his sight was still blurred, the doctors were now certain that it was not a lasting problem and would clear up within a few more days.

Upon his release from hospital, Annie had snatched him away and he was now entrenched in his old room at the Blaisdell house. Caine smiled as Annie opened the door for him and he could hear Paul and Peter's raised voices coming from upstairs.

"Some thing's never change," Annie stated as she led the way back to the living room.

"Peter is sounding better today" Caine offered, a smile upon his lips.

"Susan Pascal has a history of stalking people, and Peter never checked."

"Why would he?" Caine asked.

"Apparently, Peter should have checked. It was on police file and he forgot to do it. Paul's reading him the riot act..." Again raised voices came from above them. "As we speak," Annie finished.

"But Peter was not investigating Susan," Caine said in his son's defence.

"No, and Paul knows that, but he's just pleased that Peter's going to be alright, and this is his way of letting him know it."

Caine smiled in understanding.

Annie sat back in her chair and winced as the voices came again. "There are times when I wish I could throw a chair at the pair of them, you know."

Caine, remembering the results of her last attempt at tossing a chair, was grateful that Peter and Paul were upstairs and out of harm's way.

THE END

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