Originally published in Adventures in Slime and Time 4

"I don't think we should see each other any more."

Peter's head came up quickly, his eyes widening in disbelief. After what had seemed to him a perfect evening and a return to her apartment that promised even better things to come, the lovely Charis' words were like a blast of icy water down the back of his neck. "I thought we were great together," he told her, unable to hold back the faintest edge of hurt little boy in his voice. He was positive Charis cared about him and had fun with him. He couldn't think of a reason for her to lead him on this way. It wasn't like her.

"We are. I have more fun with you than with anyone I've dated. I've loved our time together."

"And that's bad?" Peter asked in disbelief, staring at the lovely blonde woman, unable to believe she was saying what she was. "This has been special. You know it has. I love you." He'd told her that two nights ago on their last date and she had responded then as she did now.

"Yes, and I could very easily love you," she replied. "It isn't that, Peter. I think we're at different stages in our expectations. I want commitment and I know, no matter how you claim to love me, that you're not ready for that. Your three buddies back at the firehall are always going to come between us, and you're always going to be frivolous when I want to be serious. I enjoy it, but if I let it go on, I'm setting myself up to be badly hurt. I'm possessive, Peter. I don't like to play second fiddle."

"You want me to dump the guys?" Peter asked in disbelief, anger pumping through his veins. "That's never going to happen. Even if I get married, Egon, Ray and Winston are still gonna be around. They're more than friends, Charis. They're my family. They've risked their lives to save me and I've done the same for them. If you want to come between us, maybe you're right, we shouldn't see each other any more." He stifled the regret for what might have been, and for the easy companionship of the past few weeks. Charis was beautiful and amusing and he'd fallen for her harder than he did with most of his girlfriends. But she wanted more than Peter could give her, more than he was ready to give. They'd only known each other three weeks, though. How fast did she think a guy would want to change his entire life? He shook his head. "I can't change the way you want me to, and I sure can't do it that fast."

"I know, Peter, but I also know you're never going to change enough to be what I want. The longer we stay together, the more I'll give in, the more we'll care for each other, and we'll both be hurt, can't you see that?"

He could. But remembering the sheer fun of their time together, he knew he would miss it badly. He had fallen hard, though not the way she had wanted him to fall. So he kissed her good-bye and didn't prolong the conversation. He'd show her he wasn't always frivolous. He could be as serious as the next man, but what was the point when out for a good time? It was Egon who could discuss quantum physics with beautiful women and be satisfied with the result. When Peter went out, he wanted to party.

He grabbed a cab home, brooding a little over his sense of ill-usage, though he knew Charis was probably right. He was never going to love her enough to give up his buddies and being a Ghostbuster, no matter how much he might fall. Put like that, the choice was an easy one. Maybe someday he'd find a woman whose life would fit into his and his into hers, so he wouldn't have to give up everything that mattered, but Charis hadn't been the one. Still thinking about it, he gave a start when the cabbie said, "We're here, pal." He paid off the driver and let himself into the firehouse, noting Ecto-1 was gone.

The guys had gone on a call without him. For them to go out like that with only three of them made him suspect it might be serious and Ray was recovering from a sprained wrist he'd sustained a month ago. He was using a thrower again, but he wasn't back to full strength. It could be dangerous for them with just three. Peter stood in the empty garage, frowning, then he headed over to Janine's desk to see if there was a note or message to tell him where to go. He could grab another cab and join them. Then he shook his head. They had Charis' number and could have phoned her to leave a message for him. Had she checked her answering machine or gone right into her rejection spiel the minute they walked through her apartment door?

Reluctantly he called her and asked. She was surprised and a little stiff, and grew even stiffer when she learned the reason for his call. "I had no messages," she said. "And I'd prefer not to be your answering machine in future."

"Just asking," he said. "The job's dangerous sometimes. But I guess you have to come first even if somebody might be hurt." He banged the receiver down with more force than necessary and went upstairs to see if there was a message for him there.

Nothing. Slimer wasn't even here to relay messages. Sometimes he went with the guys on calls. Maybe he had this time, too. When Peter went into the lab, he saw that the tape recorder had been set up. Sometimes Ray and Egon left it ton when they brainstormed a new idea. They might have been doing that when the telephone rang. It might give him a clue what was up. He let the rewind run a little while then hit the play button.

Winston's voice came first, sounding utterly disgusted. "...Peter yesterday."

"Yes, I know," Egon replied, his voice stern. "I must admit he's been making our jobs harder of late. He's never serious and won't concentrate when I need him to. I admit I'm fond of him, but he's never here when he's needed, and when he isn't, you can't be rid of him."

"Yeah, and look what he did to Ecto," Winston argued hotly with the sound of a determined grievance.

Peter's stomach muscles clenched. Okay, so he'd had a fender bender the other day, but it wasn't his fault. It was some demented cab driver from hell cutting him off and the damage wasn't even that bad. Just because Winston had another of his car shows--nice of him to be more worried about the car than he was about Peter. You never could tell with a car accident. He could have been pulverized, and look how much they cared! His sense of ill-usage grew by leaps and bounds, worsened by the feeling of betrayal that spread through him.

"You guys are too hard on him," Ray soothed, and Peter smiled a little. Trust Ray to stand up for him. "Sure he's always frivolous but that's the way he is. You can't expect him to change his nature."

There it was again. Frivolous. Peter could be as serious as anybody and he'd just show them he could. Frivolous! They had a lot of nerve picking on him. Didn't they know they needed somebody to keep things light on a job like this? It was a proven scientific fact and he'd heard Egon or Ray acknowledge it more than once, how Peter could ease their tensions with the right word, and make the job easier on everybody. It couldn't have always been lies. He glared at the tape recorder in outrage.

"After all," Ray continued soothingly, "he can't help it. He's just not as smart as we are."

Peter froze, feeling as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. He couldn't believe he'd really heard that. Sure Egon was a genius and Ray was as bright as they came but Peter had always held his own against them. Did they really look down on him like that? He couldn't believe it. He thought they were a team, four equals with different skills. Ray's words hurt just as Egon's condescending talk of fondness did.

"True," agreed Egon. "I know how much you like him, Ray, but maybe we should seriously consider getting rid of him. We can manage without him, and it might be for the best."

Peter's heart thudded sickly inside his chest. This couldn't be happening. Egon couldn't really have said that, not Egon, the man who knew him best in the whole world, the one he trusted never to let him down, the one who had never done so, until now. This was impossible. He couldn't believe it--but he'd heard it, heard it in Egon's voice. The pain that lashed through his spirit at this completely unexpected betrayal made him feel small and shriveled. If he didn't have the guys, what did he have left? Nothing.

"No, we can't do that," Ray cried. "I don't want to get rid of him, Egon. You know how much I like him."

"Yeah, right," Peter muttered sarcastically. "When I'm such a useless jerk? That says a lot about your taste, Stantz."

"I'll talk to him," Ray continued. "I'll see if I can't get him to change."

"I doubt that would be too likely," Egon said consideringly. "Since we've known him he's been like this, only concerned with his own pleasures. Yes, he cares about us, but he will put his own needs first every time. He simply can't help it."

"But look how he's helped us," Ray persisted, sounding stricken. "He's even saved our lives a lot of times. You can't really mean it, Egon."

The physicist heaved a sigh. "No, I don't suppose I do," he agreed with a certain wryness to his voice. "I admit I would miss him, were he gone."

"Thanks, like you'd miss one of your mold cultures," Peter growled, not one bit reassured by the halfhearted acceptance. He hit the 'off' button with an angry hand. "Thanks for telling me what you think about me after all this time," he snarled. Then memories came back, the guys getting on his case when he was too flippant, and he wondered if that's what they'd meant all along. He couldn't really believe it. He wasn't that bad at reading people, was he? No, damn it, he was good at his job. So why were they acting like this? Winston might be mad about the car, but that left Egon, with his condescending talk of 'fondness' and his grudging tolerance. It was almost as if he was hearing three strangers talking. Could they have been possessed? No, that was crazy. If they'd been possessed it would hardly have been by a ghost determined to destroy Peter's life. This must be 'let's dump on Peter night'. But he wasn't any different than usual, and he'd always known they liked him as much as he liked them. Had he been so wrong?

He heard the sound of car doors slamming down below and a part of him wanted to escape, so he didn't have to face the guys. He wasn't sure he was up to having it out with them. Instead he longed to escape, to get out of here where he wasn't really wanted. But where did that leave him? All the happiness of his life was centered around this place and the guys, his friends; his family, closer than brothers. If he lost that, he didn't have anything left.

He could hear them talking downstairs, then footsteps, going down to the containment unit and up the stairs, someone putting away the ghost they'd bagged while the others came up to bed. Voices approached on the spiral stairs to the third floor. "Are you sure, Egon?"

"I'm fine, Ray." Egon's voice was meant to sound reassuring. "This is no more than a scratch. Even the doctor wasn't concerned."

"We sure could've used Peter tonight," Ray continued, while Peter sorted that out to realize Egon had been hurt, if not severely, on the bust, and the guys would probably blame him for it, for being out with Charis while they worked. Never mind it was his day off. Yet his instinctive reaction was concern for Egon. He couldn't dump that so quickly, no matter what they thought about him. He squashed it down ruthlessly and emerged from the lab as the two men came up the spiral stairs. Egon had a couple of Band-Aids across his forehead, but he didn't look particularly pale or unsteady.

He saw Peter. "Oh, you're home."

"Yes. I live here, too, remember? I am a partner in this business. I guess that gives me the right to be here, doesn't it, Spengler?" he snapped, unable to hold back his hurt, but covering it with anger so they wouldn't see it.

Egon's eyes widened and he stared at Peter as if he had never seen him before. "Did something go wrong on your date?" he asked, taking no offense at Peter's bitter words. It actually looked like there was genuine concern in his eyes.

"Much you care," Peter retorted. "And you can stop staring, Stantz. This was my night off, remember? I didn't know I was only slave labor here."

Ray's mouth fell open. "That's not what I meant, Peter. It was just that the bust turned out worse than we thought it would, and Egon got hurt." He gestured to the bandages. "It bled like crazy and really scared us."

"He looks fine to me," Peter returned, unable to respond normally. "That's what you guys always say when I wind up with a Band-aid or two." He tilted his head to study Egon, had to make sure he really was okay in spite off all of this. But he wasn't gonna give in. Why should he have to be the one to be dumped on? He could still hear Egon's condemning words, saying maybe they should get rid of him. The hurt churned his stomach and made his eyes burn, and he blinked a few times quickly, determined to reveal none off his feelings.

He must not have done as well as he'd hoped. "Did you break up with Charis?" Ray asked, sounding genuinely worried. "Gosh, Peter..."

"My personal life is none of your business," Peter replied coldly, pushing past them and heading for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He started to run the shower but he heard their voices over it as he shed his clothes.

"What's wrong with him?" Ray sounded hurt.

"Perhaps you were right about the breakup," Egon said. There was no trace of reproach in his voice, instead the kind of understanding Egon could project so well when he focused his concern on one of his friends. "Peter had fallen hard this time. He'll tell us about it when he's ready. Until then, I think I'll go to bed."

"Head ache?" Ray prompted, worried, and Peter strained to hear the answer. He couldn't write the guys off so easily, though they were prepared to do it to him. They had always meant too much to him for that, though finding it wasn't mutual hurt more than he had believed anything could.

Egon said, "Not bad. I suspect Peter feels worse than I do."

"You got that right, Spengs," muttered Peter as he stepped into the shower.

He stood there a long time under the pounding spray, feeling as if his very foundations had been shaken. This couldn't be happening. The guys acted as if everything was normal. Had they been playing him along all this time? If so, what would be the good if he was as much a loser as they thought he was? They couldn't think that? He couldn't have been so wrong, to be so comfortable in the easy camaraderie that existed between them. A long time ago, before he'd met Egon and Ray, he had suspected most people were out to use him, but Egon and Ray had never been like that. They'd managed to convince him he was as important a part of their lives as they were of his. He'd been so totally secure in that belief that nothing except their actual words to the contrary could have convinced him differently. Now he didn't know what to think, or even what to feel beyond the cold, hard, aching emptiness that settled itself into his stomach. Here, in his home, surrounded by his friends, his family, he felt more lonely than he could remember feeling since those miserable childhood Christmases when his father had broken his promises and failed to come home.

He couldn't hide under the water forever, so he finally dragged himself out, toweled off and headed for the bedroom with the towel draped around his waist. The other three were gathered around Egon's bed, talking together in soft voices, but they fell silent at his approach and turned to stare at him. He felt like a butterfly on a pin. "So what, did I turn purple or something?" he demanded suspiciously.

"Are you all right, Peter?" The genuine sincerity and concern in Ray's face and voice was so real Peter almost bought into it, but then he shook his head abruptly. Ray had admitted he liked Peter, but the psychologist didn't want to be liked in such a condescending way.

"Sure, for somebody so stupid," he retorted, unable to hold back the angry words. He'd make 'em feel guilty for trashing him like this, and he'd show them how wrong they were.

They all stared, their eyes full of perplexity as if they didn't have a clue what he was talking about. Sure, they'd cover it up. They'd been doing it all along.

"Maybe I wasn't the only one to be hit on the head tonight," Egon said. He took a step closer and grasped Peter's bare shoulders, the grip of his fingers the only warmth Peter could feel. "Something is very wrong with you and we'd be fine friends if we let it pass. Won't you tell me about it?"

"Nothing's wrong," Peter said, yanking away from the touch all the more quickly because it felt so good, so reassuring. Almost, he could convince himself the tape meant something else entirely, but it couldn't. Not when he'd been mentioned by name, and Winston had complained about his fender bender. Egon didn't pursue it, his hands dropping slowly to his sides. From the look on the guys' faces, the tape should have been a sham, but he knew it wasn't. He'd heard it, recognized their voices, heard their familiar tones. "I'm just being my usual stupid, frivolous self." He grabbed his pajamas and pulled them on, turning to find them still staring at him.

Egon's eyes held something Peter hadn't expected, hot anger. "Who said that to you?" he demanded as if he wanted to charge out with a lance and slay the dragon. That side of Egon was always there beneath the surface; he would defend his friends to the death. Peter hadn't expected to see it now, not when Egon had wanted to be rid off him, and he ached to believe it was real. "You may be frivolous on occasion but never when we need you, and as for stupid, you would hardly have achieved two doctorates if you were. Someone has been getting at you, and that's what this is all about, isn't it?"

"Yeah," insisted Ray. "Nobody picks on one of the Ghostbusters and gets away with it."

Peter stared back, lost and perplexed. He wasn't going to be lied to. He didn't know what was happening, and he felt too miserable to explain. He couldn't let down his guard only to be proven right. He couldn't let himself become so vulnerable. "This Ghostbuster can take care of himself," he said. "And right now, he's too tired to play stupid games. I'm going to bed and I'm going to sleep late and I'll fry the first person who wakes me up." He climbed into his bed, rolled over on his side away from them and pulled the covers up to cover his ears.

They talked in low tones behind him, moving over toward the window so he couldn't hear them though he strained to listen. The tone of their words was worried, as if they couldn't understand what was wrong with him. After a long time, he heard them separate to prepare for bed.

After the room was dark and quiet, he lay there stiff and miserable, unable to sleep, his thoughts chasing themselves round and round his brain. He couldn't understand it. Why would they say one thing on the tape and another to him? The general consensus of opinion seemed to be that he was a shallow, insensitive jerk who didn't pull his weight, who only thought of parties. It wasn't just the guys, either. It had been Charis, too. Peter knew he liked to take it light, to party, to offer up smart remarks in a crisis, but his system worked. The guys knew how much he cared, and not only for them but for the people they helped, folks like Mrs. Faversham. Okay, so his surface persona seemed frivolous (God, he was starting to hate that word) but it was only the surface. The guys had to know that. He had been so sure they'd never let him down, they'd always back him. Now he found himself lost and floundering, adrift without a paddle. The breakup with Charis had retreated into a mild regret, meaningless in the face of this larger disaster. He moaned silently, rolling over in a futile attempt to relax and sleep and pounding his pillow savagely. He couldn't sleep. How could he unwind enough to sleep when everything had fallen apart around him.

He did doze restlessly, nearly asleep then catching himself, and finally falling into a restless slumber just before dawn, a sleep full of nasty dreams, the guys packing his bags and shoving him out the door, the guys going on busts without him and being hurt or killed because he hadn't been there to back them, worse, busts with him along where the same thing happened while he admired his reflection in store windows and mugged for the audience.

The sound of the alarm bell woke him and he jumped up groggily as voices emerged from the lab. "It's a call." Ray sounded eager and delighted.

"Should we wake Pete?" Winston asked. He sounded worried, probably that Peter would accidentally blast Ecto in the process. "After all, your wrist is still kinda tender, homeboy, and Egon got whacked last night. We're hardly up to strength."

"Peter needs his rest." That was Egon, calm and reassuring, but Peter was already up, throwing on his clothes as fast as he could. Never there when they needed him? He'd show them. He'd be the star Ghostbuster of the century and prove to them how wrong they were, and then they'd be sorry.

"You're up," cried Ray from the doorway, evidently summoned by movement within the bedroom.

"Yeah, I get up for calls sometimes, Stantz," Peter returned, shooting the occultist an irritated look. He zipped up his jumpsuit and sat down on his bed to pull on his boots, watching Ray out of the corner off his eye.

Ray's face fell. Maybe he'd thought Peter would be back to normal today, but then 'normal' wasn't a state Peter was sure he'd recognize. He watched Ray put deliberate brightness into his expression determined not to react to Peter's sarcasm, as if they'd talked it over and decided to ignore his behavior. That didn't make him feel any better. He hated being condescended to.

"You up for the bust?" Ray asked.

"Yeah, it's what they pay us for." He stalked past Ray into the bathroom where he ran a hasty razor over his face and a toothbrush over his teeth. He half expected the others to have gone when he emerged but they were waiting for him in a row at the top of the stairs and none of them said a word about lateness or delay. It was as if they were on their best behavior. He wished he could trust it but right now he couldn't even trust himself not to fall apart. He said with forced brightness, "We gonna stand around here all day or are we gonna get out there and earn our keep?"

Slimer came squirting through the wall, looked around and spotted Peter. He gave a cry of rapture and flung his arms around Peter's neck with obvious and unfeigned delight, and for once Peter was grateful for the spud. Here was somebody who liked him just the way he was and it felt good. He didn't push Slimer away, though the feel of slime oozing down the neck of his jumpsuit was no more pleasant than usual. "Hiya, Spud," he said, reaching up and patting the little green ghost on the head. "Good to see you."

"Are you sure you're all right, Peter?" Ray asked, regarding this unlikely display in blatant disbelief.

Egon's eyes were curious and thoughtful, but he didn't speak, evidently considering the evidence of his own eyes and weighing it against Peter's behavior since the guys had returned home last night. He said, "Hmm," under his breath, then added, "I suggest we move, gentlemen, or we'll fail to collect our full fee." He cocked an expectant eyebrow at Peter, inviting him to share the humor, but Peter only said:

"Right," and pushed past him, stomping down the stairs.

"Well, this is gonna be a fun bust, I can tell that," he heard Winston mutter behind him. "What's eating him anyway?"

Peter almost whirled around and told him, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. Once he acknowledged what he'd overheard there would be no going back. Instead he hurried down the stairs and went over to face Janine, who was holding out the work order.

"You guys are a little slow this morning, Dr. V. You look terrible, like you lost your last friend of something," the secretary observed, pursing her lips as she studied his face.

"Well, yeah," Peter began involuntarily, reaching for the work order, but she jerked it away abruptly at the sight of Egon's bandaged forehead, leaving him standing there feeling like an idiot.

"Oh, Egon, you're hurt," she cried in alarm, circling around Peter to stop in front of the physicist and reach up to touch the bandage with gentle fingers.

Peter turned, too, and saw Egon completely unaware of her touch. He was looking past her at Peter, his eyes shadowed with worry, his glasses sliding down unnoticed. The psychologist realized he was thinking about Peter's response to Janine just now instead of the redhead's attentions. Seeing Peter regarding him with complete skepticism, he frowned, shoved the glasses into place with a long finger, and lifted Janine's hand away from the bandage. "I'm fine, Janine," he assured her as he took the work order from her other hand. "Hmm, Midtown. It sounds like a class seven."

"And that's bad, right, Egon?" asked Winston with a grimace. "Something like a demon, right?"

"Possibly," agreed Egon in absent tones as he folded up the form and turned for Ecto.

"I'll drive," Winston insisted, sliding behind the wheel. Ray plunged forward eagerly and slid into the 'shotgun' position beside him. He cast a quick, worried look at Peter as he got in, and said something to Winston Peter couldn't hear.

As Janine returned to her desk, Egon caught Peter's arm. "I didn't think of it last night, but have you had bad news about your father?" he asked, the typical Egon concern for a friend not even thinly disguised. This was Egon as Peter expected him to be, not the man who had said it might be better to get rid of Peter. He couldn't tell what game they were all playing.

"About the only good thing going is that Dad isn't here to mess things up," Peter returned coolly, noticing Janine's surprise at his words. He could see her mentally backtracking to find his answer to her earlier question, and her mouth dropped open as she remembered his words.

"Are you sick? Did you get bad news from your doctor?" Egon's face held genuine alarm. "Peter, talk to me. Getting you to talk hasn't been the problem in the past. Usually it was getting you to shut up." He added more seriously, "I know you don't like to share your problems, but you know I won't use them against you."

"No, you'll just toss me out the door," Peter pushed, hoping for a response. The only one he got was blank incomprehension in the blue eyes. "Damn it, Spengs, you're good," he snapped. "What kind of fool do you think I am?" Before Egon could answer that, Peter stalked over to Ecto and climbed into the back seat. Egon hurried after him and got in beside him, his face still perplexed and thoughtful, though he didn't persist..

The drive to the bust was not one of the most pleasant rides Peter could remember. Ray turned around and hung over his seatback as soon as they were in motion, shooting a questioning look at Egon, who shook his head slightly. Peter could tell what would come next. Egon would give him a little space, watching him ever minute. It wouldn't dawn on him that Peter had heard the tape. But eventually he'd reach that point. Egon wasn't stupid, and he was interested in the problem. Peter resented that; he didn't want to be a guinea pig in one of Egon's riddles, especially when there was no real riddle for Egon to reason out.

Winston made a few comments about the traffic, which caused Ray to tease him and warn him not to get into a fender bender. "Ecto's not as young as she was. All this battering can't be good for her." He hung over the seatback again, grinning at Peter as if encouraging him to share the joke. When Peter glared at him in outrage, stunned that Ray would do that, the occultist heaved a sad little sigh and turned around again, his shoulders slumping.

"Ray is trying to be nice to you," Egon said in an undertone. Obviously his spurious concern for Peter wasn't enough to come between him and Ray.

"Yeah, right. I don't like being patronized," Peter muttered back.

"No one was patronizing you, nor would we want to," Egon insisted. "I don't understand what is making you behave like this, but Ray has done nothing to deserve an attack from you."

"Right." Peter turned away and beguiled the rest of the journey by watching the passing traffic in complete silence. Egon was equally silent, and Peter could feel those knowing blue eyes on his back. In the front seat, Ray and Winston talked a little, speculating stiffly about the bust, as if they didn't want to say anything that might provoke Peter. He wished he'd never heard the tape, because then this would be normal, filled with their usual good humor and bantering back and forth, but it would have been a fool's paradise, none off it real. The pain of that thought, none of it being real, crashed through him like a tidal wave and he could hardly believe it. This had to be a big mistake, but he could think off nothing to convince himself of it, only the memories of good companionship and trust, the warmth he'd always felt when with his friends and the understanding they were so good at. He didn't want any of that to be lies.

The ghost had taken up residence in an office building not far from Scribner's, on Fifth Avenue, and they parked in a no-parking area, flashers on, and hurried into the building, settling proton packs on their backs. It should have been no different from a hundred other busts, each of them secure in his skills and in the knowledge the other members of the team would back him. This time, there were a few uneasy glances, all of them at Peter. Egon asked after Ray's wrist, and the younger man insisted it was just fine, and only sore if they had to keep blasting for long periods. He wore an ace bandage for support on a bust, though he was able to leave it off now the rest off the time. Egon didn't seem hampered by last night's slight injury, though Peter found himself watching the physicist as they rode up the elevator to the twenty-second floor where the entity was terrorizing the steno pool. The thought of all those secretaries didn't even win a few comments from Peter. They were like four strangers who had been nominated to work together and weren't sure of each other, though Peter knew without hesitation they would fall into their usual patterns as soon as the ghost appeared.

The minute they got off the elevator they knew they were in the right place. Screams and the thudding of running feet greeted them, along with a uniformed security guard of late middle years and a florid complexion who stood in the hallway, eyes wide with uneasiness. At least he didn't have his gun out like some people did when confronted with a ghost. Peter could have told them a gun would have no effect on ectoplasm and would most likely only irritate the ghost.

"Thank goodness you're here," the man burst out, eyes wide with uneasiness. "It's in there." He pointed at a closed door across the entryway, labeled 'Stenson and Riggs, Attorneys at Law.' "It's horrible," he continued.

"Yeah, lawyers have that effect on most people," Peter muttered automatically, winning relieved grins from the other three members of he team. Unwilling to let them believe they were forgiven, he glowered at them sourly and, when their faces fell, asked the security guard, "What does it look like?"

"It's big and yellow and it's got sharp teeth," the guard babbled. "It ate a whole stack of files in there and a telephone and everybody who could get there is hiding in the boardroom.

"It doesn't sound like they all made it," Ray pointed out. "Come on, guys, we'd better move before it eats a secretary."

They flung open the outer door to the lawyers' office and confronted a stern-visaged secretary who had been cowering under her desk. At their entrance she bobbed up, holding her telephone receiver like a weapon, lowering it when she realized who they were. "It's about time you got here," she said. "I don't know what that thing is, but it's big and mad, and it's disrupting the day's business."

"And we wouldn't want that, would we?" Peter glanced at the inner door. "Through there?" Ordinarily he would have smiled at her and tried to reassure or charm depending on his mood, but now all he wanted was to take down this ghost as efficiently as possible. He intended no frivolity on this bust. "We're here to stop it. Don't worry. We're the best in the business."

That they were the only ones in the business was fact as well. He ignored that, following her pointing finger and flinging open the door. At once the screams sounded louder and he got a glimpse of a huge, yellow nasty pursuing a beautiful brunette secretary, who paused periodically to fling files and clipboards at it.

"Never fear, the Ghostbusters are here," Peter announced and plunged into the fray, adjusting his thrower for maximum gain and charging the monster, his first beam striking it dead center and halting it in its tracks. It bellowed and raged, struggling to break free of the confinement stream. From the strength of its pull, he was sure he couldn't hold it long.

"Yo, guys," he hollered over his shoulder. "I could use a little backup here, if it's not too much trouble."

"We're coming, Peter," Ray returned.

"It's a class seven," Egon confirmed, looking up from his P.K.E. meter. "Very powerful. Tighten your beam, Peter. All right, everyone, fire."

Peter heard the thrum of the other packs powering up behind him, but just then the monster lurched forward, dragging Peter with it. He held the bucking thrower for all he was worth, sure the ghost would not be so easy to confine next time. With the other three yelling behind him and their streams taking out ceiling light fixtures and other pieces of furniture and equipment as they raced to catch up, Peter was tugged into a long corridor with offices spouting off it on either side. Several doors were ajar but as the monster roared, three doors slammed shut. Filing cabinets spaced at intervals presented obstacles for the ghost to evade and, worse, weapons to fling at the hapless psychologist, who flung himself flat to duck one that missed him by inches, crashing behind him to block the door he'd just come through. Sprawled flat on the floor, Peter presented an even better target for the yellow entity, and he rolled to one side just in time to keep from being flattened, realizing the entity had given up trying to flee and meant instead to smash the nasty human who had hurt it.

Aligning his thrower, he popped his head up over the edge of the cabinet and took aim again, just as the huge yellow ghost flung another file cabinet at him. He ducked back and it crashed against the one that sheltered him. In the distance he could hear the guys yelling his name as they struggled to free the doorway to join him.

Peter reached up with one hand and unhooked the ghost trap from his pack and flung it at the ghost, who was not disposed to move, not while it still had ammunition to lob at Peter. It looked at the trap, and when nothing happened, it sneered and ignored it. Peter grinned as he popped up again and fired, just as the ghost started to grab another cabinet. His proton stream hit the ghost again and it bellowed in fury and flung the cabinet just as Peter stomped down on the trap's trigger and it opened, enveloping the writhing entity in brilliant light. Peter ducked the cabinet as the entity started to vanish into the trap, screaming ghostly curses at him. The cabinet hit the one sheltering Peter, knocking it sideways and tipping Peter forward as it caught him across the shins. He let out a yelp of pain and panic as he pitched forward, his head slamming against the second cabinet with a burst of blinding pain. As the trap's doors closed over the furious ghost the cabinet behind him went flying sideways with the strength of the other Ghostbusters' anxiousness to get to him. Peter collapsed against the cabinet, sprawled across it uncomfortably as he rolled to his side, moaning pitifully at the mind-blurring pain in his head at that slight motion. He heard someone giving brisk and urgent orders, but the words ran together, leaving him limp and spent, nearly blinded by the agony that beat against his skull. He whimpered with the pain.

Someone bent over him, his face a blurred oval in Peter's tunneling vision. "Don't try to move, Peter," Egon urged, his voice full of so much alarm it was hard to believe he'd ever spoken those damning words on the tape last night. "We're calling 911." His hands appeared out of the gathering darkness, one flat against Peter's chest to keep him from moving, the other examining Peter's forehead with gentle fingers. Even though the pressure hurt, Peter longed to press himself into the comfort because this was his own Egon back again, the one who really cared. He didn't understand it and his mind was too chaotic to make sense of it, but he was grateful for the touch. Without it he would already have tumbled into blackness.

In the background he heard Ray asking frantic questions. "Is he okay, Egon? Is he awake? Gosh, he looks awful. Peter, can you hear me? Is there anybody here who knows first aid?" In the background came a vague chorus of noes.

Peter struggled in vain to sit up, realizing muzzily he would have been unable to do so even if Egon hadn't been holding him down. "Got...ghost, E-egon," he muttered through his teeth, the words faint and broken. "I c'n...hold up my...end of the...job." He wanted to be sure that was clear.

"Of course you can, Peter," Egon soothed, and though he tried to sound calm and reassuring, the one sure thing Peter heard in his voice was desperate worry. "I know you can. You did an excellent job, as you always do." His voice faltered momentarily before he steadied it. Behind Egon, Ray caught his breath painfully.

Peter fought the overwhelming blackness that pressed down upon him, making it difficult to breathe. The only thing clear was the vivid blue of Egon's eyes and he locked his fading gaze to them as if they were a lifeline. "Guess you won't...want to...get rid of me...now," he breathed. The blue gaze faltered with an emotion Peter was no longer able to read.

"Peter, no," Egon began, but there was nothing left but the darkness. Peter sank into it down and down and down, until he could feel nothing more.

*****

"Peter, no," Egon gasped, unable to believe he had heard Peter correctly. Peter couldn't believe Egon wanted to be rid of him, yet if for some unbelievable reason Peter did believe it, it would explain his strange behavior. Unable to make sense of the puzzle, Egon slid his fingers to the side of Peter's neck and felt for the pulse there, holding his breath in agonized doubt until he felt it thumping against his fingers. Alive, then. But the way his head had impacted with that filing cabinet, he could have a concussion or skull fracture. He was sprawled uncomfortably over the last cabinet the ghost had thrown at him, his head rolled limply toward Egon, his face utterly blank. Egon knew just from looking at him and hearing the unsteady rasp of his breathing that this was nothing to be shrugged aside. Peter might be gravely injured. With a shivering twist in his stomach, Egon lifted his fingers from Peter's neck and gently brushed back the tumbled lock of hair from the unconscious man's forehead. His skin was clammy to the touch.

"Is he--" Ray faltered, kneeling at Egon's side, one hand on the physicist's shoulder the other reaching for Peter's wrist. Ray sounded very frightened and Egon couldn't tell whether the occultist's tight grip on his shoulder was meant to reassure Egon--or himself. He suspected both of them needed it equally. Peter looked terrible, completely lax and boneless as if everything that made him Peter had been beaten out of him with the blow that had rendered him unconscious.

"He's alive, Ray. He's breathing." Egon's fingers felt the injury site very carefully, applying almost no pressure. "I don't believe there's a depressed fracture, though there could be either a concussion or a skull fracture." He lifted an eyelid, then the second one. "His pupils seem responsive to light. I wish I had something to cover him. He could go into shock and we need to keep him warm. I hope Winston hurries." He realized as he said those words that it was a foolish thing to say. Naturally Winston would hurry. He'd probably browbeat the 911 answering person if he wasn't taken seriously enough. Egon realized he was suffering from a kind of shock himself. Though Peter had been behaving badly, he evidently believed he had a reason for it though the reason Egon hypothesized from his last words made no sense. But his obnoxious behavior wouldn't have mattered. Peter was Egon's oldest friend, and now he was lying here pale and limp, maybe gravely hurt, maybe even... He let that thought slide away, unwilling to conceptualize it. Head injuries were such tricky things. Peter might wake up in the next few minutes and be fine--or he might not wake up at all. Egon wasn't one to borrow trouble, but this time he felt it the worse because of Peter's pathetic belief that Egon wanted to be rid of him. No matter how mistaken he was, he had clearly been deeply hurt by his erroneous belief. If--if he didn't awaken, he would never know he had been mistaken.

"What did he mean, Egon?" Ray asked unhappily, curling his fingers around Peter's unresponsive hand. "That we wanted to be rid of him? Why would he think anything like that?" He sounded so worried, not only about Peter's health but about Peter's false assumption. "We couldn't do without him and he has to know it. Why--do you think Charis said something to him that made him believe it?"

Now there was a distinct possibility. He would have to explore it later. Egon tried to make Peter more comfortable without moving him much. He had no way of telling how much damage the injury could cause. It had been a strong impact. Peter might even have a spinal injury as a result. Although he wanted to gather Peter up and hold him as if to reassure him Egon and the others hadn't wanted to be rid of him, he didn't dare move him as much as that. At least the wound hadn't broken he skin and he wasn't bleeding.

Winston came rushing back, pushing his way through the crowd. "They'll be here in five minutes," he called as he pushed his way through the gathering of employees of the law firm who had ventured out the minute they realized the ghost was gone. One of them handed him a hand-knitted afghan, and Winston passed it to Egon to spread over Peter. "Oh, man," the fourth member of the team groaned, sliding in beside Ray and dropping a gentle hand on Peter's shoulder. "He looks bad. Hang in there, Pete. You're gonna be okay." He lifted doubtful eyes to Egon, looking a question. Egon raised his shoulders in doubt, then bent to tuck the afghan over his injured comrade.

"His leg is bleeding," someone ventured from he crowd, and Ray gave a crow of distress and pushed Winston back to examine it.

"That must be when he hit his shins on the cabinet," the occultist said. He dug into the pocket of his jumpsuit and pulled out a knife, bending to cut the fabric away. Winston helped him, and they uncovered a long scrape where his leg had hit, where the flesh had been scraped. It wasn't a serious injury, but Winston handed Ray a handkerchief to put over it in a pad to stop the bleeding. Peter didn't need any additional complications.

Egon sat back on his heels beside Peter and grasped the unconscious man's hand, squeezing his fingers. "I don't want to be rid of you, Peter," he said with sternness that took a real effort. "I do not plan to be rid of you, and I want you to realize that. I won't give you up. Is that c-clear?" His voice caught and he fell silent, shivering. Peter's wistful and unhappy words before he passed out stabbed into him like a blade, and he couldn't stop playing them back in his head.

Ray made a pained sound and flung his arm around Egon's shoulders, leaning against him. "He'll be okay, Egon. I just know he will," he vowed with stubborn optimism. "He's healthy and fit and too stubborn to give up."

"Maybe," Egon replied. "But he believes we've turned against him. I won't allow him to believe that."

"What the hell do you mean, believes we've turned against him?" demanded Winston, reaching out and grasping Egon's forearm. "Why would he think something like that?"

"I don't know, but he does," Egon replied. He tightened his fingers around Peter's. "He was so determined to show us he could handle the job, as if he thought we believed him incompetent. That's w-why he was so--so gung ho, when we got here." He bowed his head. Now he could look past Peter's anger and resentment and see the pain that had glittered in the back of his green eyes. Peter had been pushing them so hard because he'd wanted them to jump in and deny the things he said. They hadn't understood, and hadn't reassured him enough, and now-- Egon sighed, his free hand coming up to cover his face, unable to think beyond the cold fingers he held and the roughness of Peter's breathing.

Ray tightened his grip around Egon's shoulders. "It's not your fault, Egon. It's not ours either. We never made Peter think we didn't like him or want him around. You know that." His voice was slightly muffled, and Egon caught himself and reached up to pull Ray closer against his shoulder. Winston stretched down and dropped a hand on each man's shoulder.

The paramedics arrived very quickly, finding Peter still unconscious, and they busied themselves checking his vital signs and doing all the things paramedics do, moving Egon, Ray and Winston out of their way while they did it. One of them asked questions, how the accident had happened, and Egon stepped forward to explain, describing the way Peter had crashed into the filing cabinet. After that the two paramedics conferred in low tones, and then moved Peter very carefully. "We'll take him in."

"I'm coming with him," Egon insisted. He hesitated, looked at Ray. "I know you'd like to go too, Raymond, but we can't all go, and Peter seemed to feel a need to prove his worth to me. If he revives on the journey, he won't be alone, and I shall be able to reassure him of his misconception."

"It's okay, Egon." Ray looked as if he wanted to argue it, but he didn't. "It's what would be best for Peter." He pulled himself to his full height and tried to get his expression in shape. He looked lost and lonely, and Winston draped an arm around his shoulder. "Come on, homeboy, we'll meet them at the hospital." He turned to one of the paramedics and asked a few quick questions then, with his arm around Ray's shoulders, he turned and led him out of the corridor. Egon followed the paramedics, watching the way they moved him carefully, and noting that Peter didn't stir when he was moved.

The drive to the hospital seemed to take hours. Egon sat beside Peter, gripping his hand, squeezing it periodically in hopes of a response, but there never was one. Peter was attached to monitors, and Egon listened to their reassuring beeping that confirmed his friend's continued survival. Though the job was dangerous and all of them had been hurt before, a serious injury was always frightening. The EMTs said nothing about Peter's condition, but their very lack of encouragement along with their serious faces convinced Egon this could be a life-threatening injury. He bowed his head over Peter's hand. He couldn't begin to imagine what life would be without Peter.

Once they arrived at the hospital, Peter was wheeled away on a gurney, and Egon was shut out of the room. After a few minutes, a doctor came out and asked if there was a relative who could be reached. That question was one Egon had hoped not to hear, but he assured the doctor that each of the Ghostbusters the right to sign for him in case of a medical emergency. He gave permission to perform whatever treatment was necessary and the doctor vanished again, ignoring Egon's questions. A few minutes later, Egon was dragooned by a woman in a white uniform, who steered him over to her computer and proceeded to inquire after Peter's medical history.

He had just finished with her when the other two arrived, plying him with questions he couldn't answer. Ray looked around the waiting room, his eyes too large in a far too white face, and then stared at Egon. "It's bad, isn't it?" he asked.

"The doctor hadn't had time to examine him," Egon replied. "We'll know as soon as possible."

Winston frowned. "You look all in, homeboy. Come on, sit down, and I'll round us up some coffee." He guided Egon and Ray to a nearby couch and sat them down side by side. "Be right back." He went away, looking lost and alone.

Ray sat rigid as if afraid leaning back and relaxing would somehow seal Peter's doom. "He'll be okay, Egon," he insisted. "I know it. I'm sure he'll be okay." Convince me I'm right, his eyes pleaded.

Egon put his hand on Ray's shoulder. "Peter is in excellent health, Ray. That will count for much." He heard the doubt in his voice and bowed his head.

"But why would he think we'd be so terrible to him?" Ray asked, his voice stricken. Egon looked up at that, and Ray continued, "I think that's what he meant last night, why he was acting that way. I think we ought to call Charis and find out what happened last night. He was fine when he went out, in a really good mood. So if something happened, it had to involve her."

Egon felt rage begin to burn within him. He didn't have a quick temper like Peter did--he was slow to anger, but when it came it was all the stronger for having been denied. He said, "I'll call her. I'll get an answer." Looking around, he spotted a pay telephone and headed for it, putting his hand in his pocket to search for change. Charis worked for CBS as a transcriber, he remembered, and it didn't take long to look up the general number of the office on West 57th Street. After a few connections, she picked up the line.

"Charis West speaking."

Egon had met Peter's latest flame only once, but he recognized her voice immediately. "This is Egon Spengler," he said coldly.

"I can't believe it. Did Peter put you up to this?" Her voice became defensive. "I don't know what he told you, but nothing you can say will change my mind. I care for Peter a great deal, I might even love him, but it's better if we don't see each other any more. I told him I didn't want to play second fiddle to the rest of you, and he made it perfectly clear nothing could ever come between the four of you."

"But you came up with a reason, didn't you?" he demanded in icy tones. "What did you do to him, Ms. West? He was fine when he went to see you, but when he came home..."

"I'm sure his mood was no better than my own," she snapped. "I didn't want to hurt him. He's one of the nicest guys I know. But we're at different stages. I'm ready to make a commitment. He isn't."

"He is entirely capable of commitment," returned Egon. "He's made a commitment to a difficult job and has made a commitment to risk his life to save innocent people. Maybe he values that too much to give it up for you. But that's not what I want to know. What did you tell him? How did you contrive to come between him and the rest of us?"

"I don't know what you mean," she said with genuine perplexity. "He called after he got home last night. He said the three of you had gone out to catch a ghost without him and he wanted to know if there was a message on my answering machine for him about where you'd gone. I didn't have a message and I was a little huffy about it. He said your work was dangerous and implied I didn't care if one of you had gotten hurt. We pretty much hung up on each other. That was all. True, we didn't exactly part on the best of terms, but I'm not really a vindictive woman, Dr. Spengler. I just wanted to know I was in a relationship that was going somewhere, and ours wasn't. It was fun, but it wasn't going to go beyond that."

"After three weeks, you're far too impatient," Egon said coldly. "Something happened to Peter after that conversation, something which made him believe he wasn't welcome with the three of us either. Today on a bust he went out of his way to prove how necessary he was to us--and believe me, he is very necessary. He was injured, and right now we're at Roosevelt Hospital waiting to find out how serious it is."

"Oh no!" She sounded truly stricken. "I'll come right away."

"You won't come at all," Egon insisted sternly. "Peter will be confused enough when he revives. I won't have you here to give him false hope."

"But..." Her voice trailed off. "It's bad, isn't it?"

"He struck his head. The doctor hasn't yet told us how grave his condition is, but..." He cleared his throat. "I've seen Peter injured before, a number of times. This--looks quite serious."

"I'm sorry. I've only known him a few weeks, but you're part of his family. He said so last night. He said you were more than friends. You were family and you'd saved his life and he'd saved yours. I knew then it wasn't going to work. I hadn't realized how close you were. I thought you were just four guys who worked together. He loves you and your friends. I can't imagine what would make him think you didn't return the sentiment. I'm sorry, Egon."

He ended the conversation by agreeing to notify her when he heard anything, and rang off, promptly dialing the firehall. When Janine answered, he said, "It's Egon--"

Alarm leaped into her voice. "What's wrong? You sound horrible, Egon. It's one of the guys, isn't it?"

"P-peter." He steadied his voice again with an effort. "He's badly hurt, Janine. Still unconscious when they brought him in. We're all here at the hospital, waiting for news."

"Oh, Egon, that's awful. And he sounded so strange this morning. I thought maybe he'd broken up with the new girlfriend."

"He did but there was more to it than that." He drew a breath and steadied himself, pushing his glasses into place with a savage thrust. "Just before he passed out, he said to me, 'Guess you won't want to get rid of me now.' I don't know why he would believe I would wish to be rid of him. I--he's my friend, Janine. I don't want to lose him." He couldn't say that to Ray; he had to be strong for his colleagues, but he knew he could speak these words to Janine, because they must be spoken, and he wasn't allowed in with Peter to speak them to him.

"Oh, Egon," she breathed in ready sympathy and willingness to share his pain. "Where are you? I'll come straight there."

He told her and hung up, returning to Ray just as Winston showed up balancing three Styrofoam cups of coffee, handing one to each of his friends. "Any word?" asked the black man.

"Not yet," Ray said. "I don't know why it's taking so long."

"It takes time to process X-rays," Egon reminded him. "I notified Janine. She'll be over right away."

"I didn't even remember her," confessed Ray guiltily. "What did Charis say?"

"She didn't know anything about what's wrong. She did break up with Peter. Evidently her biological clock is ticking loudly, and she wanted Peter to drop us and the business and devote himself to her. She knew he wouldn't, so she ended it. Peter informed her he wouldn't accept a relationship t2hat would shut us out. I can't understand why he would assume we would do the same thing to him." He curled his long fingers around the coffee cup, grateful for the warmth of the hot coffee.

"Come on, Egon, sit down. You look like you're about to fall over," Winston urged him, steering Egon back to the sofa and dragging up a chair to sit facing him and Ray. "Odds are Peter probably has a bad concussion and they'll keep him here overnight to make sure he's all right."

Egon feared it was worse than that. He knew enough about first aid to understand continuing unconsciousness was a bad sign. The longer Peter went without waking up, the better the chances of permanent brain damage. Peter didn't have the incentive to recover he normally did, not if he believed himself rejected by the three of them. Egon racked his brain to understand what could have happened between the time Peter had called Charis because he was worried about them on the bust since Ray wasn't at one hundred per cent and the time they had returned from the job. Could a ghost have caused it? In their job the Ghostbusters didn't make many enemies, and those they did make were generally ectoplasmic rather than corporeal. Most of them were safely in the containment unit, though. This was too subtle of a ploy for someone like Walter Peck, who wasn't in the New York area in any case.

"I bet you're right, Winston," agreed Ray with determined hope. He frowned. "I just wish we could figure out what was bugging Peter. If we knew, we could reassure him. Because what if he doesn't believe us when he wakes up?"

That difficulty had occurred to Egon as well. He had tried to reassure Peter of his genuine concern at the firehall just before they departed on the bust, when he'd inquired about Peter's father and possible medical complications. He was certain Peter would have realized his concern--but Peter hadn't. And that reminded him of something else.

"We'll need to contact Mr. Venkman."

Ray looked up at that, his eyes worried. "Peter would want him here, but--gosh, Egon, even if we knew where he was, calling him means you think Peter is going to--to...." His voice faltered away to silence.

"We don't know that, homeboy," insisted Winston staunchly. "We're not giving up on Peter, but he is hurt. His dad has a right to know. But I think the best thing would be to wait for the doctor's verdict before we try calling around for him."

Waiting for the verdict took more time than they wanted it to. They drank cup after cup of coffee, and finally Janine arrived, rushing into the waiting room and flinging herself at Egon, who stood up to greet her and almost toppled back to the couch as she wrapped her arms around him and held on. "Have you heard anything yet?" she demanded.

"Not yet, Janine. They'll tell us soon."

She squeezed him tightly then backed off, looking up at his face, her eyes widening in alarm at the picture he must present. "I canceled this afternoon's calls," she said quickly, "and left the answering machine on. I had to fight Slimer to get him to stay at home, but they probably wouldn't have let him in here."

"Amen to that," muttered Winston.

Janine turned and hugged Ray then. "Are you all right, Ray?"

He nodded. "I just wish they'd come and tell us about Peter."

Janine patted his cheek then hugged Winston in turn, after which she took charge with as much energy as Egon's mother, managing them back to their chairs and stalking off down the hall in search of answers to their questions. She was back shortly, looking annoyed. "They're waiting for some test results," she explained. "They wouldn't tell me anything." Her lip curled. "At least it proves somebody's doing something. They'd better be." She sat down beside Egon, her energy spent, and he put his arm around her shoulders.

It wasn't much longer before a doctor arrived, a middle aged man with a receding hairline and bushy eyebrows, beard and mustache as if he had to compensate for the hair loss on his head. "I'm Dr. Watson," he announced adding at the sight of Egon's slightly lifted eyebrow, "Please don't mention Sherlock Holmes." He heaved a sigh.

"I'm Egon Spengler," Egon replied and introduced the others. "How is Peter?"

"Your friend is resting comfortably now. There's no skull fracture nor any bleeding. He's responding well to stimulus, but he is still unconscious, and that's what concerns me. Should he wake up soon and know who he is, I'd say we've been lucky. The problem is simply that he is not yet responding. I won't call it a coma yet."

"Yet?" asked Egon, rising and facing the doctor, realizing he towered over the man by a good eight inches. "When would you have to make that determination?"

"It depends on many factors, not simply his remaining unconsciousness. His pupils are reactive to light and they are equal. He seems to react to noise, though it hasn't brought him to full consciousness. He sustained a hard blow to the head, of course, but there are no complications such as spinal injuries or even whiplash. There's a school of thought which suggests an unconscious person may well hear things going on around him. I've known several instances where this has been the case. We've put your friend in a private room. What I'd like to suggest is that one of you be with him at any given time. Speak to him, try to get a response. He'll be checked periodically by the staff and he's attached to monitors so we can detect any major changes in his condition." He shook his head. "Quite frankly, I can't find any medical reason why he hasn't already revived. It may be you can evoke a response while I and the nurses can't. So which of you will be first?"

"I will," said Egon. He turned to Ray. "I'm sorry, Ray, but after what he said to me, I think I had better be the one. We'll take turns. Say an hour at a time." Giving his attention to the doctor again, he said, "Before this happened, Peter seemed to have gained a wrong impression of us. I think it important we reassure him he was mistaken. Perhaps this is what's holding back his recovery. Is something like that possible, Dr. Watson?"

"We've learned a great deal about the workings of the human body in recent years, made great strides but we don't always understand the human will and the way it interacts with the body's needs. I've seen people recover from things I would have testified in court it would be impossible to recover from, just as I have seen people slip away when there was no apparent reason for it. Doctors aren't mind readers or magicians. Talk to your friend. Assure him nothing interferes with your friendship. Come. I'll take you to him."

"Tell him we're really worried about him," urged Ray.

"Yeah, and tell him we need him back," Winston added. "Ordinarily I'd say tell him not to lie down on the job but that might not be the best thing right now."

"I'll tell him," Egon agreed and let the doctor lead him away.

There was always something about the sight of a close friend of family member lying unresponsive in a hospital bed that had disturbed Egon, but the sight of Peter now, white-faced and curiously shrunken beneath his blanket, with tubes and monitors attached made the physicist's stomach twist. Peter was so alive, so vital. Egon had seen him asleep, of course, Peter being as far as possible from being a morning person, but Peter's delighted slumbers at the firehall were a far cry from this.

Egon hooked the room's one chair with his foot and pulled it over to the bed, dropping into it as if his legs would no longer support him. Up close, the bruise on Peter's forehead had begun to darken spectacularly, with attendant swelling. It was an alarming sight and Egon bit his lip at the sight of it to hold back an involuntary outcry. Peter looked even worse now than he had at the law office. Reaching out carefully, the physicist captured Peter's nearer hand in both of his own and squeezed gently. The flesh felt cold in his grip, and he gently chafed Peter's fingers to urge warmth into them. They didn't curl against his own--he didn't respond to the touch at all.

"Peter, it's Egon. The doctor said you could awaken at any time, and that you might be able to hear me now. That being the case, I want to reassure you immediately. I don't know what made you believe I wanted to be rid of you, but it isn't true."

Peter made a faint, petulant sound and shifted uncomfortably against his pillow almost as if he meant to pull away.

"Listen to me, Peter," Egon urged, tightening his fingers around Peter's. "You are my closest friend. There is nothing in this world or any other that could make me wish you gone. Life would not be complete without you there, and Ray and Winston feel the same. I have never lied to you and I won't lie to you now. You are a part of us, and we can't do without you. We love you, all of us. Even Janine is here, worried about you as we are. If you feel, for some reason, that we have turned against you, tell us about it. Let us prove to you that you are mistaken, that we are your friends."

No answer. Egon sighed and bent his head down over Peter's hand, resting his forehead against the back of it. "I don't want to be rid of you, Peter. Nothing could make me want that. I need you. The others need you. Try to wake up, Peter. Please, try."

Peter stirred again, and this time his fingers pressed slightly against Egon's, not in an actual grip but as if he felt something and didn't understand what it was. He turned his head on the pillow toward Egon's voice as if he were listening.

"Peter, it's Egon. If you can hear me, press my fingers."

Nothing. Egon sighed, lifting his head to watch Peter. The doctor had warned him Peter was restless, but Egon wanted to take every slight motion as a sign Peter was responding, even when it only meant he was uncomfortable and in pain.

"Listen to me, Peter," Egon continued, allowing the sound of his own unhappiness to color his voice in hopes it would penetrate Peter's awareness and arouse him. "I need you to wake up. I need to know you're all right. Talk to me, Peter. Help me."

Peter shifted against the pillow again, moaning faintly. The doctor had said they didn't want to medicate him for pain because of the head injury. When he awakened he would no doubt be in a great deal of pain. But he had to wake up, to return to consciousness, because the longer he didn't the worse were his chances for complete recovery.

"Peter!" Egon said sharply. "Can you hear me?"

He moaned again, louder this time then struggled to speak. "Uh--uh..."

"Yes, Peter, I'm here. I can hear you."

"E-egon?" The question was so faint and confused Egon wasn't sure Peter was consciously asking it or if he were merely talking in his sleep.

"Yes, Peter," he prompted reassuringly. "It's Egon. I'm here."

His hand shifted in Egon's grip, tightened faintly, this time as if he were making a conscious effort to respond. "D-d-d-" he tried to say.

"What is it, Peter? What do you want?" asked Egon, alarmed at this display of confusion. The doctor hadn't said Peter might have brain damage already, and although he had explained Peter might be in some confusion when he first awakened, Egon wasn't reassured by his failure to respond. "Please talk to me," he urged.

"D-don't... don't...g-go 'way," Peter muttered, struggling to make his words clear. He wasn't fully conscious yet, not entirely aware, but his fingers suddenly tightened around Egon's with something approaching his normal strength. "Is'at you, E-egon?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes, Peter. I won't leave. I promise you that."

"Won't g-go 'way?" the injured man pleaded as if he needed extra reassurance.

"I will stay right here for now, and Ray and Winston will be here, too. We'll take turns staying with you. You won't be alone."

"P-promise?" The grip tightened and his eyes slitted open, revealing an edge of green. He squinted at Egon blurrily, singling him out and holding the look as if he feared Egon would vanish while he wasn't watching. "Gotta promise."

"Yes, Peter. I promise." Egon heard an edge of desperation in his friend's voice, and he squeezed his hand. "You won't be alone."

As if the reassurance had finally penetrated his blurred comprehension Peter settled himself against his pillows, his mouth curling in a faintly reassured smile, and he drifted back into unconsciousness again, still holding on.

That was the most Egon could get out of him while he stayed at Peter's side. Dr. Watson popped in near the end of his hour, accompanied by a nurse, and ran a series of tests, and he seemed pleased to hear that Peter had roused and known him.

"But it wasn't really a conversation," Egon protested. "He seemed dazed and confused.

"He knew you, though. That's progress. He'll probably rouse like that several more times before he completely wakes up. See how restless he is now. Squeeze his hand."

Egon obeyed, gratified when Peter returned the gesture.

"He's peripherally conscious now. He may have some memory of anything that's said to him. This is an excellent sign."

With that Egon had to be reassured.

Ray sat curled up in the chair at Peter's bedside, watching him sleep. He had muttered faintly at Ray's first greeting and half opened his eyes, then he'd dozed off again, and hadn't stirred since. Though Ray had pleaded with him to awaken, he had merely curled himself up against the pillow, though he did seem aware of Ray's voice. When the occultist fell silent to pour himself a drink of water, Peter muttered faintly in protest and groped with his hand.

"Gosh, Peter, I'm still here," Ray assured him. He sipped the water, then set the glass aside and took the fumbling hand. "We're not going to go away."

"Won't...get rid..."

"No, we don't want to get rid of you. I don't know why you think that, but we want you to stay."

Peter settled back then, but he didn't let go. It was as if he feared if he did he would be abandoned.

Ray hated that. He couldn't think of anything that would make Peter believe such a perverse thing. "We're all here. Winston will be next and then Janine. We'd even have brought Slimer, but the hospital wouldn't let us. Besides, Slimer's really in Winston's black books." He made himself chuckle, hoping the sound of amusement would encourage Peter. The doctor had said to talk to him naturally. Maybe that would help. Peter hadn't been there for Slimer's latest escapade. It might make him smile, and it might add a sense of normalcy. "Yesterday after you left, Slimer went on one of his rampages. You weren't the only one who wanted to blast him."

Peter didn't respond, but Ray made himself go on anyway. "You know Egon's latest experiment? The differential gateway? You know, the one you said if he didn't stop using such big words about it you'd blast it--or him?" He smiled at the memory. "Slimer wasn't supposed to go near it because ectoplasmic contamination would render the tests null and Egon had been running the test for six hours? Well, we went up to the lab yesterday afternoon right after you left and found that Slimer had been sitting on it eating cold pizza left over from the night before. He'd spilled pepperoni down inside it and everything. Gosh, Peter, you should have heard Egon. I didn't know he could swear like that. Course he can, but usually it's some weird stuff like 'holy Heisenberg.' This time it was stuff they would have censored on our TV show. You should have seen Slimer take off. Egon was really steamed."

Peter muttered something Ray couldn't make out but when Ray said his name hopefully, he only mumbled something that sounded like encouragement.

"I tried to tell him not to take it out on the little guy," Ray proceeded. "But he was really mad. That's when Winston got into the act. He'd made himself a pot of tea and he was going to put some of that honey in it, you know, the really good stuff his mom got at that truck farm upstate? Only when he went looking for the jar, he couldn't find it. So then we didn't think anything about it until we had a call for a quick bust in the middle of the afternoon. We headed for Ecto and found Slimer in there, with the honey and all the bread in the firehouse. Slimer had been pouring it on the bread--and the upholstery, and one of our proton packs, and the steering wheel. I never saw such a mess. I thought Winston would go ballistic." He chuckled. "We had to clean everything up right then, you know, mop it all up, wash it with soap, set up heaters and driers before we could even sit on the upholstery. It took hours. We had to call the client back and tell them to hold on because we couldn't have used it until we got the worst of it out. That's why we were still on that bust when you got home, that and having Egon checked out to make sure he was okay after that class three lobbed a cookie jar at his head. I think the front seat was still a little damp this morning. You were lucky. You didn't have to sit on it."

"Mmmm..." Peter replied.

"Sure, you can think it was funny," Ray replied, encouraged by the sound. "We didn't think so at the time. We were all pretty steamed at the little guy." He caught himself. "Poor Slimer didn't mean any of it, and I guess it's kinda funny now, but it sure wasn't yesterday. Egon has to reset his whole experiment, and Winston was just getting over feeling so protective about Ecto after that crazy cabbie cut you off in the Holland tunnel. Ecto's his baby." He shook his head ruefully. "It's sure been a strange couple of days."

Peter didn't waken. Though he rolled over on his side facing Ray, he didn't open his eyes. The doctor came in again then, and noticed the shift in position, and bent over to lift one of his eyelids. Peter squinted at the light and grunted, "Lemme sleep."

"I think he's closer to full awareness," Watson said. "He should be waking up within the next few hours. I want you and your friends to stay with him, though, as you've been doing. He's showing some awareness when you talk, isn't he?"

"Yeah. He seems to know I'm here. Are you sure he'll be okay?" Ray asked wistfully.

"His vital signs are good, and his reactions are normal. He took a very hard blow to the head. I'd be more worried if he were not responding, but he does know you're here. We'll see how he does over the next few hours." He gave Peter an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "You won't make a liar out of me, my friend?"

Peter abruptly sat up, opened his eyes and said, "I don't care what's going on, I'm not getting up yet," and lay back down again, relaxing immediately into sleep.

"Well, that will teach me not to disturb him," Watson said with a grin. "Is he a late riser as a rule?"

"You have to pry him out of bed to get him up before noon and it isn't easy," replied Ray, grinning a mile wide. "That's just what I'd expect him to say. Peter, we're not letting you sleep in this time. I mean it."

"You're...no fun, Ray," Peter muttered and pulled the blankets up over his head. In a few minutes he was snoring.

"Better and better," Watson said, smiling.

Egon had been dozing in the waiting room when Janine returned from her visit to Peter, but he woke up as Ray and Winston jumped up to question her. "How is he?" "Did he say anything?"

"Wellll...." she let her voice trail off and then grinned. "He tried to pinch me. Said if I was a nurse I should be stroking his fevered brow, and when I said, 'not on your life, buster,' he told me I wouldn't be getting a raise." She smiled reminiscently and Egon had the idea she had been doing a bit of brown stroking but would never admit it not under pain of torture and right now was hoping like mad Peter hadn't been alert enough to remember it. Though Janine and Peter shared a relationship that seemed abrasive on the surface, underneath where it counted they were good friends who understood each other well enough to occasionally make Egon a little jealous, though he hardly ever admitted it, even to himself.

"You mean he was awake and you didn't call us?" Ray demanded, eyes wide with disappointment.

"Half awake is more like it," she replied. "No, he's just coming out of it. I think his head hurts a lot, but they don't want to give him anything until they're sure he's going to stay awake for awhile.

"Did he ask about us?" Ray persisted, wanting every detail. Since Peter had spent a lot of the time Winston was there muttering vague and obscure things about Ecto, and had obviously recognized Janine as well, Dr. Watson had said he thought Peter would wake up any time now. Ray wanted to be in at the act, as they all did.

"He asked for Egon," Janine replied. "He kept saying something about not wanting to go. I don't know what you guys did to him, but if you don't put it right, you're on my shit list from now till the year 2000. Only don't tell him I said so."

"I'll go at once," Egon replied, pausing to face Janine. "We did nothing to hurt him, Janine. We're as puzzled about it as you are."

"Yeah," agreed Ray. They'd been speculating about it for the last hour while Janine sat with Peter. "He said something about being frivolous and stupid, like we'd accused him of it, and we wouldn't."

"We have accused him of frivolity on occasion," Egon said thoughtfully, "but we can put up with that. We tease him about not studying, but in actual fact Peter is quite gifted and didn't study often because he absorbed everything like a sponge--as long as it interested him. As for implying we wanted him to leave, you know better, Janine."

"I thought I did, but he sounded so sure of it." She shook her head. "Poor Dr. V. I really felt for him." She glanced in the direction of his room. "Go on, Egon. See if he'll tell you about it."

"Yeah, Egon," Ray urged, his face full of worry. "I hate it when Peter gets like this."

"Yeah, he can be really moody if he thinks somebody's got it in for him," agreed Winston, standing up and stretching so hard Egon expected his joints to pop. "He usually fights back, though."

"Not when it involves you guys," Janine said, putting her hand on Egon's back and pushing. "Go on, will you."

Egon went. He wasn't sure what he expected to find when he reached Peter's room, but it wasn't what he found, Peter lying back against his pillows, his eyes open, brow wrinkled with pain, his fingers energetically massaging his temples, or at least as energetically as he could manage when raising his hands like that took a considerable effort. When Egon came in, Peter's eyes fell on the physicist with recognition and he said automatically, "Geez, Spengs, if you wanted to...get rid of me so bad, why didn't you just...blow me away. It wouldn't have...hurt this much." His voice was weak as water, but there was knowledge and awareness in his expression.

"You're awake!" Egon exulted, though Peter's choice of greeting alarmed him. Whatever had bothered Peter before was still haunting him.

"I give you Egon Spengler, stater of the obvious." The words were typically Venkman, but the tone was different, as if he were half afraid to let himself sound normal, as if he expected to be shot down for it. He closed his eyes very tightly for a minute, rubbed them with his thumb and forefinger and opened them again. Egon could see them glitter with unshed tears that might have been a result of the pain in his head, but then again might not.

Peter cleared his throat and fastened his gaze on Egon with an almost painful intensity. "I never knew...you guys had to work so hard to...put up with me," he said, refusing to turn away. "Why didn't you ever...tell me you thought I wasn't pulling my weight?" Weak and tired and sore as he must be all his guard was down and the vulnerable words spilled out like water from a broken dam. His voice was faint and bodiless and he had to pause frequently to catch his breath, but grim determination made him keep on going, eyes narrowing every time Egon tried to interrupt. "No more use to you, and you...think you should get rid of me and Ray says I can't help it...because I'm stupid, and Winston hates me because I banged up...Ecto, and goddam it, Egon, I'm not gonna put up with pity...because you're 'fond of' me in spite...of how frivolous I am. Give me...a break." Tears spilled over and ran silently down his cheeks but he didn't turn his face away. Egon doubted he was even aware of them but maybe that was as well, because if he realized he'd probably shut up and try to preserve his image, and that was the last thing needed right now.

Egon's stomach twisted at the sight of his friend's misery and at the hurting words Peter had poured out. "This is all nonsense. The accident with Ecto wasn't your fault, none of us thinks you're stupid, but if we remind you how bright you actually are, you become quite full of yourself about it. As for frivolous, you know when to do it and when not to, and we'd miss it if you stopped--very much. I don't know where you obtained all this nonsense, but believe me when I say none of it is true." He sat down beside the bed, Peter watching his every movement, and gripped the invalid's hand, encouraged when Peter grabbed onto him as if he would never let go. "Fond of you? I love you, Peter. You're like a brother to me. I shudder to contemplate what my life would have become without you. The last thing I would ever want is to be rid of you."

Peter closed his eyes again, but instead of allowing himself to relax, he tensed, pain carving lines across his forehead. "Sure, Egon. Be nice to me while...I'm down. You'd do that, it's just the way you are. But I...heard you guys. I didn't imagine it. You said it. And you can't deny it...because it's all on tape. I was worried about you going out on that bust without me...because of Ray's wrist, and I played the tape, and you were saying...all those things--oh, god, Egon, whatever I did to make you guys hate me, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. You know I didn't. Don't make me go away..." He choked, fighting down a sob and turned his face away, pulling his hand free and using it to cover his eyes.

"No, Peter." Egon reached out and put his hand on Peter's shoulder to stop the torrent of words. "None of that is true." Suddenly it dawned on him that Peter's words sounded familiar, and remarkably it all came clear. "Peter. Listen to me." He reached out, caught Peter's chin and turned his friend's face back and although the psychologist fought it, he was too weak to resist. Peter sniffled and scrubbed his hand across his eyes, trying to look everywhere but at Egon. His eyes were blurry with pain, but he was still alert.

"The tape you heard," Egon said very clearly, "was not about you. It was about Slimer. That is, I remember Winston complaining about Slimer's mess in Ecto--"

"Honey and bread crumbs," Peter said automatically then frowned, his face creasing. "Can't remember...heard somebody say..."

"Ray told you about it when it was his turn to sit with you. We've never left you alone, Peter. The doctor said to talk to you because you might hear us and wake up. Ray said he told you about the way Slimer messed up the car and how we had to clean it all out. A disgusting mess. That was Winston's complaint. He could hardly fault you for a dent that was ruled the fault of the cab driver who hit you."

"Slimer?" Peter echoed numbly, not quite daring to believe. "But he said something about me. And then the car."

Egon cast his mind back. He and Ray had been brainstorming the repairs of my differential gateway to the Netherworld when Winston came in to say the upholstery was nearly dry. "No, Peter. He said something about how he wished he'd let you blast Slimer yesterday when he slimed your new shoes. I think his actual quote was, 'I wish I'd listened to Peter yesterday.' After that, we complained about Slimer for a time. I said he was never here when he was needed, that he wouldn't concentrate and that while I was fond of him he might be more trouble than he was worth. Ray said he couldn't help it because he just wasn't very smart... " His voice broke off and he gazed at Peter in disbelief. "That's what you heard. And you believed we were talking about you?"

Peter's eyes were open now and focused with a desperate intensity on Egon's face. "Slimer?" he faltered, dazed with relief. "You were talking about...the Spud? Not me?" He looked so stunned Egon grabbed for his hand again.

"Of course not you, Peter. I admit there are times when you annoy me, just as there must be times when I annoy you."

"There are," Peter muttered faintly, then eyed Egon uneasily as if afraid he'd be chastised for it.

"You see. I've heard it told that an eavesdropper never hears anything good about himself, but in this case, you must have heard an ambiguous part of the tape. I do recall saying I might want to be rid of Slimer, but I didn't mean it, of course. Even Slimer wouldn't deserve that. Can you honestly believe Ray would turn against you? Or Winston? Or that I would?"

"I didn't, but you were saying it, and I couldn't believe it." Peter sighed and struggled not to cry again. "Charis ditched me. Said I wasn't serious enough, and then I came home and it was the same thing all over again."

"Bad timing then," Egon remarked with careful matter-of-factness. "Your normally overabundant ego wouldn't have allowed you to believe it otherwise."

Peter shivered, looking as if the relief might cause him to break down completely. He tugged at Egon's hand, too weak to sit up, and Egon leaned down, gathered him carefully into his arms so as not to disturb his precarious equilibrium and hugged him as hard as he could. "You are quite a fool, to believe your friends would betray you in such a manner, Dr. Venkman," he said, his voice no steadier than Peter's.

"I--" Peter stifled a sob against Egon's shoulder, his arms tight around the physicist. "I--always trusted you guys. I thought there must be...something wrong with me."

"There is. Many things. Shall I enumerate them?" Egon asked, as carefully flippant as possible.

He startled Peter into an unwary chuckle, and that broke the dam. Helpless because of his weakness, Peter cried, but it must have helped him relieve the stress, because he caught himself a few moments later, sniffing and letting go. "Well, if you're gonna start listing faults, Spengs..." he began.

"Outside of an obvious tendency to jump to conclusions?" Egon asked, arching an eyebrow expectantly.

Peter giggled weakly, accepting the handkerchief Egon passed to him. He mopped his eyes, blew his nose strenuously, sucked in his breath at the way that particular operation must have hurt, and then offered the wadded ball back. Egon eyed it with considerable distaste.

"I'll make you a present of it."

Peter dropped it on the covers. He looked up at Egon with a vague and gentle smile, obviously too exhausted to move a muscle. For a moment, they simply held each other's eyes, as if measuring their relief at having passed this milestone. Then Peter said in a voice so faint Egon had to bend closer to hear him, "Mad at me?"

"What on earth for?" Egon asked, startled at the question.

"Because I didn't...trust you enough?"

"You did," Egon said. "Because in spite of what you heard, you still wished for our friendship. That's trust, Peter. What you heard must have sounded very convincing, especially after Charis. And I'm very sorry about that, by the way."

"I'm not. She wanted me to...dump you guys. No way." He let his eyelids slide down over his eyes. "Yo, Spengs?" he muttered, the words a mere breath.

"Yes, Peter?"

"Think you could get the doc...to do something about this killer headache?"

"Immediately, Peter," and he started for the door.

"Egon?"

He turned back.

"You guys are gonna...stay around?"

"All night if necessary, Peter. You won't be able to be rid of us."

Peter smiled all over his face, then his eyes slid shut, his breathing deep and regular.

Egon stood there for a long moment, steadying his own breathing, then he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes before putting them on again. "I'm sorry for what you thought, Peter," he said very quietly. "And I'll see you never have to think it again." Then he went to tell Dr. Watson and his friends the news.

Peter came swimming up out of darkness several hours later, and lay there quietly, eyes still shut, savoring the relief from the mind-crushing agony he'd been feeling behind his eyes. His head still throbbed, but not with the fierce. blurring pain of earlier. It meant he could think again.

He'd been an idiot, but it had come out all right after all. When they let him out of the hospital he'd have to listen to the whole tape, not that he didn't believe Egon, especially when he had seen the utter shock on the blond man's face as he realized Peter's misconception and heard the complete reassurance in his friend's voice. Now Peter lay here comfortably, ignoring the dull ache behind his eyes, secure in the circle of his friends. His life was the way he wanted it again and even if he would have to live down his gaffe, that was okay because the guys wouldn't push him too hard before he was ready. They never did.

Slitting his eyes open, he saw the dark rectangle of the window and realized it was night. There was only silence; the beeping of monitors he'd noticed subliminally when talking to Egon had silenced, and the subliminal hospital sounds; the swish of a starched skirt, the quiet whispers of the nurse at the station, the sound of distant equipment almost too faint to hear, were muted as if his room had been wrapped in a big fuzzy blanket. His monitoring equipment was gone. That must mean he wasn't going to croak in the next five seconds unless he was hooked up to every device known to medical science. He stretched carefully then eased still again, realizing that while everything worked, he wasn't quite ready to jump up and run around the room.

Yet he didn't feel alone. Concentrating, he realized he had been hearing a familiar sound all along, one so well known to him he hadn't really registered it. It was Ray, snoring.

Peter turned his head cautiously, grinning when the pain didn't intensify much too much, even if his stomach felt woozy. He was pretty sure he'd start barfing if he tried to sit up, but as long as he was flat on his back and careful, he wouldn't toss his cookies. Yep, there was Ray, curled up in what looked like a horribly uncomfortable position in the chair, his chin on his chest, his eyes closed. There were lines of worry on his face, just beginning to fade. Even with the evidence of his concern, he still looked young when he slept, hardly older than the naive and innocent freshman Peter had met long ago at Columbia. Peter grinned at him in sheer delight, secure in the knowledge Ray was still his friend--he should never have doubted it--and his world was back in order.

As if he had sensed a change in the quality of the room, Ray sat bolt upright, blinking in alarm as if he'd caught himself in a blunder. His eyes fell upon Peter and widened in relief and delight. "Peter? Oh, gosh, I fell asleep. I didn't mean--Peter! You're awake!"

"You know, I've got really smart partners," said Peter in pretend amazement. "You and Egon are so observant. Brilliant, too. You can recognize open eyes mean 'awake'. Do they give medals for that?"

Ray's eyes lit up and he lunged down automatically to give Peter a quick, relieved hug. Though he couldn't risk sitting up to lean into it the way he would have wanted to, Peter dragged lead-weighted arms from beneath the covers and hugged him back.

"Gosh, we were worried about you," Ray admitted when Peter's strength gave out and he let go. "Ever since we got home last night. We didn't know what was wrong and nothing you said made any sense."

"It better not have," Peter returned, embarrassed.

"Well, you were an idiot," Ray pointed out affectionately. "To think we were talking about you when we were just grumbling about Slimer. Maybe you've got a guilty conscience or something." He eyed Peter anxiously as if he'd worked that line out ahead of time and wasn't sure how it would be received.

"Yeah, Ray, right. Guilty consciences and me don't go together." He grinned. "That's your department."

Ray smiled back at him and stretched out his hand to pat his shoulder. "How do you feel?" he asked anxiously. "Head still hurt?"

"As long as I don't move very much, I think I just might live," Peter decided, wiggling a little more comfortably into his pillows. So what's wrong with me anyway?"

"You've got a bad concussion. You'll probably spend the next few days throwing up whenever you move. I'm supposed to call the doctor when you wake up," Ray concluded, starting to get to his feet.

"Suppose you can wait on that one?" Peter asked, considering the monumental task of getting up alone and rejecting it out of hand. "I think I need somebody to haul me to the john." Once the subject had been called to his attention, the need was compelling. He hoped he could get there in time.

"If you get up, you'll probably be sick," Ray warned him sternly, but he must have seen the urgency in Peter's eyes, because he nodded. "Okay, but you'll have to be careful."

"Yeah, I'll be careful, but if I don't move soon, my bed will float away. Come on, Ray, give a buddy a break."

"Well, okay, but slowly. That might make it easier." He grabbed for the bed control and began to raise the head of the bed a little at a time. Peter closed his eyes and concentrated hard. 'Easier' wasn't the word he'd chosen. His stomach protested but he balled his hands into fists and fought against it. No good. "This isn't gonna work, Ray," he muttered.

Ray took his hand off the button immediately. "I could bring you a bedpan," he volunteered.

Peter slid open one eye and favored Ray with a dark glare. "Never mind. I can do it." With Ray helping him, he climbed out of bed with extreme care, his head pounding and stomach churning, and made it all the way to the bathroom before his stomach revolted. He was barely conscious of Ray steadying him and holding him while he brought up everything in his stomach. Ray kept up a litany of reassurance and encouragement the whole time, until the dry heaves finally stopped, and continued to support Peter as he finished his business.

"There," said Ray, mopping Peter's face with a washcloth as he settled his hospital gown into place with shaky hands. "Now you feel better."

"'Better' being the operative word," Peter mumbled weakly. "I've felt better before, and it...was never like this. Wanna lay down, Ray."

"I know. We're going back." Ray tossed the cloth in the sink, flushed the toilet and put his arm around Peter's waist to hold him upright for the stagger back to bed. "It's okay. I've seen you worse off than this."

"When?" Peter demanded suspiciously, casting his mind back to other injuries of long ago.

"In college, after some of those frat parties," explained Ray, and Peter could hear the grin in his face though it would have taken too much effort to turn his head to check it out. "It's okay, Peter. You helped when I had the flu last year after all."

"Yeah, and when...Egon sprained both wrists falling off the roof of Ecto on that bust just after Christmas and we had to take...care of him," Peter recalled, his breath coming a little faster. He was cold and sweaty and felt every bit as strong as a bowl of jello. Quivered as much, too. What was worse, his stomach still felt queasy, although there was nothing in it to be queasy with. It wasn't fair.

By the time Ray helped him to lie down again and lowered the bed gradually flat, Peter felt like he'd been working a forty eight hour shift. He couldn't have moved again if his life depended on it. "Sorry, Ray," he muttered weakly.

"You don't have to be." Ray vanished into the bathroom, came out with a clean cloth and sponged off Peter's face again. It felt wonderful. Now that he was flat, he could appreciate being taken care of, and even begin to revel in the concern in Ray's face. Although he knew he had been wrong about the tape, it still felt good to see the proof of it etched in Ray's anxious expression. How could he have believed even for one second what he had heard on that tape? He should have known it was Slimer they were talking about. Maybe if it hadn't come so soon after Charis' rejection he could have reasoned it out better.

Ray finished and set aside the cloth, reaching out and grabbing Peter's hand instead. "Did you really pinch Janine?" he asked, probably in an effort to distract Peter from the ache in his head and the sourness of his stomach.

Peter struggled after the memory that slid around the surfaces of his mind as if it had been oiled. "Well, hey, a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do. She steamed at me?"

"Welllll...." Ray let his voice trail off suggestively. "I think if you know what's good for you, you'll pretend it never happened, and she'll probably do the same."

"Gotcha." Peter wished he could really remember it. That might be a good memory; instead it was vague and dreamlike, blurring into a series of confused images of the guys taking turns at his bedside, talking to him nonstop. If he concentrated, he might even remember something suitable for blackmail purposes. Not that he'd use it. Yet.

"It's okay," Ray reassured him. "She's on your side for now. You should have seen her reading us the riot act."

"What for?" asked Peter blankly.

"What for? Because she thought we'd done something nasty to you. She was worried."

"Janine was?" Peter grinned. "This could be interesting." He closed his eyes and rubbed the fingers of his free hand over his eyelids. "I think there could be a lot of fringe benefits to all of this."

"There better not be," Ray returned sternly, but not with any real threat in his voice.

Suddenly Peter felt a sense of overwhelming love for his friends, the kind of feeling that usually lingers dark and safe in the deepest reaches of people's minds unspoken, emerging in times of stress. The guys were his again, maybe because of this they were more his than ever before, and though it was corny and sentimental to speak something that usually went without saying, he couldn't hold back a quick, "Ray?"

"Yes, Peter?"

"I-I'm really glad...you guys are here."

Ray leaned closer, his face warm, and patted Peter carefully on the shoulder. "Where else would we be?" he asked unanswerably as if he knew what Peter was really saying and was answering that declaration of love with his response. "I'll go get the doctor. Stay right there, okay?"

"Cute, Stantz. I was gonna rush out and enter a dance marathon, but, if you...say so, I'll hang around this palace for awhile longer."

Ray made a face at him and headed for the door. Peter eased himself against the pillow more carefully. If he ignored the quivering of his spent muscles and the mariachi band behind his eyelids, he felt wonderful.

"Okay, Peter, take it easy now."

"I'm sick of taking it easy, Winston. All I've done for the last couple of days is take it easy. I'm bored with 'easy'. I want to party."

Winston pulled Ecto into the open doors of the firehouse and hit the horn. He needn't have bothered. Ray and Egon were waiting at Janine's desk and all three of them converged on the converted ambulance as if pulled by magnets.

"Gee, Dr. V," Janine observed, reaching out to touch his forehead. "You've got the most multi-colored bruise I ever saw."

"Yeah, and a black eye, too," Peter agreed, remembering his last look at himself in the hospital mirror before he'd left that place behind for good. He looked horrible, but if nothing else it would win him the sympathy vote, even if it did look a little like he'd been brawling. He felt a little like he'd been brawling, too, aching in unfamiliar muscles to accompany the still-present headache. It had faded to such a gentle pain he scarcely noticed it unless he moved too quickly or tried to exert himself. Standing up was wearying, but at least he could do it and not throw up any more. He even had the idea he could make it up to the third floor if he took it slow and paused to lie in front of the TV first, waited on hand and foot. He'd been looking forward to that all day. "This is not good. Peter Venkman is much more gorgeous than this as a general rule." He shook his head at the thought of the reporter who had sneaked in yesterday afternoon to get an exclusive interview. He hadn't expected to find Egon guarding Peter from just such an occurrence. The guys had taken turns staying with him all that first night and most of yesterday, finally going home last night to catch up on their sleep. By then they'd needed it more than Peter did.

The reporter had heard of Peter's 'heroic' capture of the entity at the insurance company and wanted to glamorize it. Peter ate it up, loving every moment, and Egon sat there, an inscrutable look on his face until the reporter went away, mentally composing his article. Then the physicist said quietly, "If I catch you grandstanding again the way you did in that insurance office, I shall have to speak to you quite severely." It was half a joke, and half the remnants of the fear Peter's injury had caused his friends to feel, the possibility he might die or suffer permanent brain damage, something they'd reluctantly admitted to him had been possible once he finally woke up. Peter acknowledged it, but knew he had to distract him from thinking about that.

So he had looked back, winked at him, then added in a quieter tone, as if in apology, "Come on, Egon, I had to pull my weight."

Egon leaned forward, grasped both of Peter's wrists and squeezed them hard. "You do pull your weight on a bust and always have." His eyes were serious and meaningful, then they started to twinkle. "When it comes to cleaning the firehall, however...

"Aw, geez, Spengs, give a guy a break. I don't pick on you when you're down, do I?"

"Yes," Egon returned, "and enjoy it." His face grew serious then and he dragged up the chair with his foot and sat down. "You do realize your imagination was partly responsible for all of this? And you know, I hope, that we value you and would never speak that way of you?"

Peter nodded slowly. "Yeah, Spengs. But it was one of the worst moments of my life when I was listening to that stupid tape." Winston had brought the tape player in a few hours earlier and the three men had made him listen to it, proving beyond a doubt that Peter had chosen to listen to the only part of the tape that would have allowed such a misconception to occur. He'd lain there listening to it, his eyes stinging with sudden moisture as he remembered his utter misery, when if he'd hit the stop button two seconds later none of this would have happened. Ray had taken up the conversation where Egon had left off with his, "I admit I would miss him, were he gone," with a wicked, "Not as much as Peter would."

"Peter?" Winston had echoed in disbelief. "Peter hates the spud."

"Not really," Egon had said knowingly. "Though he and Slimer both enjoy the game. Peter won't admit he likes Slimer and we'll leave it at that."

"Not if you tortured me," Peter had muttered under his breath, falling silent immediately to listen to the rest.

"You can leave it, but look at that mess in Ecto-1," Winston had persisted. "I should've let Peter take it on his date after all, just so it would be safe from Spud attacks."

Egon had switched off the tape. "You see, Peter," he said reassuringly. "None of that was about you."

Too weak and vulnerable to speak without losing it, Peter had gazed up at them gratefully, while Egon nodded at Winston to take the tape recorder away. "I'm glad you guys brought it in," he had finally managed.

"I wanted you to be absolutely certain," Egon had explained. "However, that doesn't mean we'll let you get away with a blunder of this magnitude again. Next time, I hope you'll choose to ask us what's going on. Trust us, Peter. We're your friends. See that you remember it." Ray had nodded encouragingly in agreement.

"Or you'll sick Slimer on me?" Peter had asked, a spark of mischief lighting his eyes. He was starting to regain his equilibrium, and it was time he stood up for himself and started ribbing them again or they'd get soft, and all his hard work would be in vain.

"He wanted to come today," Egon had said. "I told him no, you'd rather see him at home--where he can do a much more thorough job."

Delightedly Peter had stuck out his tongue at him. Then he sobered. "Guys, I've gotta know. I don't think I would have bought into any of that stuff on the tape if Charis hadn't said I was frivolous. You get on my case for it, too. You know you do. Do--should I--" He couldn't quite finish the sentence.

Egon had made a quick gesture at Ray for silence, fielding the question himself. "Peter, you sometimes are very frivolous, and I must admit you do irritate me at times, but at other times, I'm glad of it, and those times far outweigh the irritation. We need a light touch in our jobs. We need someone to know how to relieve stress and tension and make us laugh. We even need you to irritate us on occasion. But we have all chosen you to be our friend, and we knew what you were like when we made that decision. You have never let us down, on the job or otherwise, when we needed you. And we enjoy your sense of humor. We would miss that side of you, very much, if you tried to 'sober up.' I hope you won't consider it."

"But Charis..."

"Charis had different expectations from the relationship than you did, Peter. You went into it hoping to have fun and get to know her slowly. She went in looking for wedding bells, immediate wedding bells. Simply because she had expectations I find rather unreasonable after such a short time doesn't mean you were ever at fault. Charis is ready to fall in love, marry and settle down; I suspect she is desperate to do so. If you asked, you might find several of her friends have recently married." Peter had nodded, knowing that was true. She'd told him all about the most recent wedding. Egon caught the nod and continued, "You're ready to fall in love and have a good time. There's nothing wrong with that. If and when you do marry, you'll make some woman very lucky. But until that time, don't let the Charises of this world try to make you into something you are not."

"Yeah, and we'd really miss you if you got married and moved away," Ray had murmured in the background.

Peter grinned, realizing Egon had talked good sense. Because he had not lived up to Charis' expectations didn't mean those expectations were the right ones. She was rushing toward something that should be taken more slowly, and in the process she had closed herself away to enjoyment of the journey. Peter felt his perspective adjust itself and heaved a sigh of relief.

"What makes you think I'll move away?" he'd teased. "I'll rip out the front half of the second floor and make us a suite and you and Egon can babysit when we have kids. We'll name them after you guys. Well, after Ray anyway. Maybe naming a kid Winston or Egon isn't exactly the best way to start out life..."

Egon had grimaced at him. "It's stood me in excellent stead, Peter," he had said repressively, though his eyes were shining with amusement. "And I shall tell Winston you said so."

Remembering that conversation now, Peter grinned broadly then, recalling something else that had been said, he looked around warily as his buddies led him toward the stairs. "I'm not gonna get dive bombed by the spud, am I?" he asked uneasily.

"Of course not, Peter," Ray assured him self-righteously. "We'd never do that."

"You might not do that, and Winston might not do that, but I've seen that wicked gleam in Egon's eyes before, and I trust it as far as I can lob the World Trade Center." The one thing he didn't want to happen was for his friends to go too easy on him. He might not be physically fit for the next few days, but he was coming back, and his brilliant wit was unimpaired, or so he believed. Verbally he could hold his own against them, and he didn't want them to give him too much ground. It wouldn't feel normal.

"Peter. I'm deeply wounded you would believe such a thing of me," Egon returned, his hand steady under Peter's arm as they gained the second floor. "I even prepared the couch for you. A soda for you to drink, complete with ice, a pillow for your feet, a blanket (carefully free of slime). A tape of a John Wayne movie, though why you would choose that when you could be watching The Story of the Quark is beyond me."

"I thought Quark was a Ferengi," Peter muttered suspiciously. The other shoe was going to drop with a loud thud any minute now.

Yet as he eased himself down on the couch and Ray and Winston pulled off his boots for him, nothing terrible happened. They settled him against pillows and Janine gave him a glass of Coke, and Egon even popped the tape into the player for him and turned it on. Peter felt suspiciously sent