Archive of Our Own

Peter sniffed the mixture doubtfully and drew back with a grimace. "Not quite." He glanced at it again. "I hope." He set it down and shuffled the papers with Lo Si's instructions, squinting at his chicken-scratch.

"Oh, thank god!" Kermit all but threw himself into the room and collapsed on the couch.

Peter looked over at him, immediately alert. "Something wrong?"

"I'm camping here till Friday. You mind?"

He shrugged. "Mi sofa es su sofa. What's up?"

"You taken a look around Chinatown lately?"

Peter frowned, running that morning's scenery through his mind, comparing it against the previous days'. "It looks pretty much the same as always."

"Exactly."

Peter looked at him for a moment, then nodded and gestured. "And…?"

How anyone wearing dark glasses could give him such a dirty look, he had no idea, but Kermit always managed. "Have you looked around anywhere else lately?"

He started to shake his head, then remembered — he'd gone to see Annie a few days ago, and everywhere he looked… "Christmas overload?" he asked with a grin.

"Oh, yeah." He sighed and pulled off his glasses to rub his eyes, pointing the glasses at Peter for a moment before shoving them back on. "Which, by the way, you are not getting entirely out of. Simms expects to see you at the department party."

Peter snorted. "I'm not a cop anymore, Kermit. One of the perks is not having to make nice for the commissioner and mayor."

"When did you ever make nice for them?" Kermit asked dryly.

"Once a year, at the Christmas party," he shot back.

"Well, too bad. The captain wants you there, I promised I'd bring you. Besides, I could use the backup. And it keeps me from having to find a date."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Fine. When is it?"

"Saturday, the twenty-ninth." He snorted. "Organizers screwed up the arrangement, couldn't get it earlier. Pick you up at seven."

"Deal." He waited, but Kermit settled back quietly, looking at the ceiling, so he returned to his chopping and mixing.

"What is this, anyway?" Kermit's voice was right in his ear, and his hand rested on Peter's shoulder as he leaned over to look.

"Homework, from Lo Si." He waved at the pots and folded papers of powder. "Chemistry and herbalism's never been my strong point."

"So I see. Or rather, smell."

"Think you can do better?" Peter gave him his own dirty look.

"Only if it blows up or puts out toxic smoke."

"I'll keep that in mind." He shook his head. "Think I've screwed this part up, anyway. I can't tell if that bit says gou or an." He dusted his hands and stretched, dumping his latest attempt. He cleaned up carefully, and Kermit watched him, saying nothing. "Want a drink? Water, tea, beer, orange juice?"

"No thanks." Kermit sat back down on the couch, staring at the silent TV in the corner.

After a few more minutes, Peter rolled his eyes. "So?"

Kermit looked over at him innocently. "So, what?"

Peter crossed his arms and looked at him. "So when are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

"Why does anything have to be wrong?"

"As my father would say, the turbulence in your chi disturbs the air. Not to mention, you have a tell." He smirked. "What's up?"

"What do you mean, I have a tell?" Kermit frowned.

"You think I turn off all my training at the poker table? Give."

"I'm never playing with you again." Kermit gave him another look, then sighed. "You busy on Christmas and the weekend before?"

"Not that I know of. Annie's heading down to Florida to see her folks; I hadn't made any plans yet. Why?" He tamped down his curiosity, kept his tone one of polite and friendly interest — nobody knew where Kermit went for Christmas.

"I…have something to do. And I could probably use a friend," Kermit admitted.

"No questions asked?" Peter asked with a smile, sitting next to him.

"No, you'll probably have a lot of them, if I know you." Kermit laughed and smiled back at him a little ruefully. "Just give me a while."

"Take all the time you need." Peter clapped him on the shoulder. "Meanwhile, I have some errands to run for Mr Chang. You want to come help me, or sit here when Lo Si comes, and watch his soaps with him?"

Kermit scrambled up. "I'm helping, I'm helping. What are we doing?"

They spent the afternoon unloading grocery crates, then Chang had them in for dinner; by the time they climbed back up to the apartment, it was already dark. Kermit had grown quiet over the trip back, and Peter had left him to his thinking. Now as he often did these days, he opted for his father's lighting system over the electric lamps, the candles making the space seem more cozy and intimate. It made him miss his dad a bit, and he made some tea for them to compensate, handing Kermit a cup as they settled back on the couch.

They sat and sipped for a while in silence, and Peter tried to project as much calm as he could. After a while, Kermit began speaking, staring into the flickering shadows of candlelight.

"Years ago, I was doing some work for…certain government agencies. It took me to the Pentagon a lot. I was liaising with this colonel, and he introduced me to his sister. God knows why." He shook his head. "We had a good thing going for a few months. Then I shipped off to fight the next war."

"Did you look her up when you got back?" Peter asked.

"Not right away." He grimaced. "That one messed me up pretty bad," he confessed. "Once I got back on my feet, came back to the States, I found out she'd written me a letter. Only by the time I got it, it was five years later."

"Ouch." Peter winced in sympathy. "Did she still want to see you?"

"Not exactly."

Peter waited for more, then prodded him. "What was the letter about, then?"

Kermit looked at him. "What do you think it was about? You've met him."

Peter blinked. "Holy…" I've met him? "That colonel," he asked slowly, putting the pieces together, "he wouldn't happen to be a general now, would he?"

"Oh, yeah."

Peter just blinked at him. "Wow. Okay." He slotted that information into its proper place. Now that he thought about it, there was a bit of resemblance. "Hey, he's a good kid."

Kermit laughed. "I can't take any credit for that. His mom had married by the time I found out about him; as far as he knows, her husband's his father. Well," he corrected, "as far as he knew before a few weeks ago."

"Ah." The light began to dawn.

"Yeah."

"So you were, what — a family friend that visited for holidays?"

"Huh?" Kermit seemed startled. "God, no! I've always gone to Mac's and drunk myself stupid on Christmas."

Peter looked at him. "That's the big secret?"

"What big secret?" Kermit frowned.

"The 'where does Kermit go on Christmas' thing?" Peter prompted.

"That's a secret?" He peered at Peter as if suspecting him of a joke.

"Well, nobody ever knew!" Peter said, exasperated.

"Nobody ever asked." Kermit cocked his head. "Except for Simms. And there's some things it's not a good idea to tell your boss."

Peter laughed. "Come on, admit it. You just like being mysterious."

Kermit just gave him an inscrutable look, which made him laugh harder. After a moment, Kermit joined in.

"Okay, so you can't need my help to get drunk. You said…" he searched for the name a moment "…Jim just found out about you? So I take it you're going there?"

"Christina thought it would be a good time to meet. Officially meet, I mean." Kermit sighed and took his glasses off, rubbing his eyes again. He looked more tired than Peter could remember seeing him in a while; he'd shaved again a few months ago, but now he was sporting a bit of stubble; the candlelight smoothed the lines on his face, but his eyes gleamed out of deep shadows.

Peter opened his mouth, wanting desperately to ask a billion questions, starting with, are you okay with this, really? Then shut it again and smiled. "When do we leave?"

They flew out Friday night; enough time for Peter to wrap up a few things with the local businesses and let his landlord and Lo Si know he'd be gone for a few days. Kermit took over Peter's couch when he wasn't at the precinct, and brought him dinner as a kind of rent.

It was nice having someone around, actually. Well, nice having Kermit around, he admitted to himself. Even if he did have to do a bit of extra meditating. And hanging out in the shower, when that didn't work. He and Jordan had tried to keep things going when he'd left the precinct, but they'd understood each other less and less, and finally called it quits while they could still be friends. He'd missed the sex less than he'd have thought (or would ever admit), but a few months of only his hand for nighttime company wasn't much defense against hearing Kermit's voice, feeling their hands brush as they passed food between them, or smelling his scent after he'd showered in the morning.

I'm damn lucky he's not Shaolin, Peter thought wryly. He was pretty sure he was good enough to hide the signs from even a really observant cop — hell, he'd hidden from the whole 101st for years — but he'd caught Lo Si giving him the eyebrow, and he was just glad, for once, that Pop wasn't around.

He couldn't see Kermit's eyes, but he'd swear he blinked at him. "That's all you're wearing?"

"What?" Peter looked down at his leather jacket and jeans.

"It's twenty-five outside, and snowing."

"So?" Peter tried on his most innocent look.

"Oh, now you're just showing off," Kermit grumbled.

Peter laughed and pulled out a scarf, tucking it around his neck. "Better?"

"Much. Come on, our flight leaves in a couple of hours."

Kermit got his own back when they got on the plane; they were led to their seats, and it was Peter's turn to blink. "First Class?"

"You have a problem being comfortable? I can always get you moved to Coach…"

"No, no! I'll manage," Peter assured him, draping his jacket over the back of his seat. "Somehow."

"You're so good to put up with these hardships for me."

"What are friends for?"

With slight delays for weather, they were on the ground at DC a few hours later. They'd both packed light, with only their carry-ons, and skirted the bunched crowds at the luggage stations. Kermit had rented a car — how he'd managed to get a green LeSabre, Peter had no idea, but he suspected arcane means.

"It's not quite the Kermitmobile, but it'll do," Kermit pronounced.

"Did you find us a green hotel, too?"

"Hard to tell the colors from aerial surveillance; I did my best."

"I'm sure you did."

The hotel was, in fact, a standard beige color on the outside. At least, Peter thought that's what it would look like; it was hard to tell under all the festive lighting. There were three trees in the lobby, too, and silver tinsel garlands stretched across the front desk like giant sparkling tentacles. Kermit sighed.

Peter smiled sympathetically at him. "You could always move to China or India."

"Too crowded, too hot. Hi," he told the smiling clerk, "we have a reservation. Griffin. I was considering Antarctica," he continued to Peter.

"Too cold, too far," Peter answered. He nodded and smiled back at the clerk briefly, most of his attention still on Kermit. They got the keys and headed for the room. "You really don't like Christmas?"

"Ah, it's okay," Kermit waved, dismissing it. "It just gets to be all a bit much sometimes."

Peter had a flash of insight, seeing the holiday from Kermit's eyes — bright lights casting moving shadows, noises and crowds, familiar things become strange with decorations. The world become disorienting and setting his nerves on edge. He nodded. "Hey, you can stay on my couch as long as you like."

"Thanks, Peter." Kermit's smile was sincere and grateful, and Peter couldn't help but return it, rubbing his friend's back for a moment.

The room was bare of decorations, at least, pleasant in the typical bland way of hotels everywhere. Kermit snapped on the lamp, and they tossed their bags on the beds and climbed out of their coats. Kermit glanced at his watch and picked up the phone, dialing from memory. Peter put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, and Kermit's lips quirked upward, just a little.

Peter could hear someone pick up, and carefully didn't listen, though his curiosity dug at him. "Hi, Bill; it's Kermit. Can I talk to Christina?" There was a pause as he waited. "Hi. Yeah, we're in. I — yeah. Tomorrow?" He blew out a breath. "Sure. Yeah, I know the place. Noon? Okay. Yeah. I'll see you then." He hung up and sighed, then leaned against the headboard and rubbed his eyes.

"Where are we meeting them?"

"There's this deli I know. We'll have a good lunch, if nothing else. Look, Peter — Ah, never mind. Let's get some sleep."

"Sounds like a good idea." Peter looked him over. "You really going to be able to sleep?"

Kermit twisted his lips in something not quite a smile. "I can sleep on wet ground with mosquitos and gunfire in the background."

"I take it that's a no?"

"Probably not."

Peter grinned. "Good thing I brought some tea, then. Should help with that. Don't worry, it's Pop's, not mine."

"I was going to say."

Peter dug the tea out of his bag and added some water to the room's little coffee pot to heat. "It'll be fine, Kermit. He's a good kid. And you've already gotten along pretty good."

"That was before he knew." Kermit shook his head. "I just don't know, Pete."

"I do." He handed him the tea with a smile. "It'll be fine."

Peter kept an ear tuned as he slept, but either the tea helped, or Kermit's natural ability let him sleep despite his nerves. When he finally stirred, there was light seeping under the drapes, and a glance at the clock told Peter it was just after eight. He listened to the sounds of Kermit moving around, then stretched and rose. He started the coffee brewing and started on a few more stretches as best he could in the confines of the room, listening until the shower shut off.

Kermit came out wrapped in towels and drying his hair, and Peter did his best not to stare, though his eyes caught on a scar or two. "All done?"

"All yours." Kermit waved him at the bathroom, and Peter headed in.

They ate breakfast in the hotel — well, Peter ate. "You might want to lay off the coffee a bit," he prodded Kermit gently. "And really eat something." He poked at Kermit's almost untouched plate with his fork.

"Yes, mother." Kermit gave him a look. "I can take care of myself, you know."

"Uh-huh. Sure. Don't come crying to me when you're bouncing off the walls. And by the way, I'm driving."

"Can't." Kermit speared a piece of sausage and smirked at him. "You're not on the rental agreement."

"Oh, like you care?" Peter rolled his eyes.

"Yep," Kermit lied blithely. But he started eating, and managed half a plateful before he gave up, so at least that was something.

"So, what's there to do around here for a few hours?"

Kermit shrugged. "Actually, I need to do a bit of shopping."

Peter looked at him in disbelief. "At this time of year? Are you kidding? For a guy who hates Christmas —"

"Not that kind of shopping," Kermit interrupted firmly. "I pulled Blake for the precinct's Secret Santa this year."

"Great. You can get him a 'bah, humbug' T-shirt."

"Thanks; I'll take it under advisement." He tossed his napkin onto his plate and pushed his chair back. "You coming?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

Kermit drove them to a little shop that seemed to specialize in the sorts of things that made Peter glad he wasn't a cop anymore. At the tinkle of the bells, the man behind the counter looked up warily, then broke into a smile. "Kermit! How the hell are you?" He came towards them with a pronounced limp, hand outstretched, and they shared a hearty handshake.

"I'm good, Ace. Long time, no see."

"Yeah, phone's not the same. Who's your friend?"

"Peter Caine, Ace. Ace, Peter Caine."

Peter nodded at him and got a slightly quizzical nod back.

"You have what I asked for?"

"Right over here." Ace led them towards the opposite end of the counter. "Found a few you might like." He faced them across the glass and pulled a few boxes out from underneath, opening the first. "This is your basic tracker; range of half a mile in the clear, a bit less in the city."

Peter stared at it, then at Kermit. "You're buying Blake a bug?"

"What? He'll love it."

"Not exactly very Christmassy, is it?"

"Says the Buddhist. So what's so great about this one, Ace?"

"Undetectable unless you know the frequency." He pushed the box toward Kermit. "Magnetic clamps rated to twenty-five pounds."

Kermit picked it up and looked it over. "How many possible frequencies?"

"Eight out of the box; you can probably improve on that."

"Okay, what else?"

He pulled out the next item and started talking it up, and Peter looked on. The electronics were interesting, but watching Kermit was much more fun. He was in his element here, and seemed to be putting the nervousness of their trip behind him for the moment. It was good to see.

He stopped at the fourth item and turned to show it to Peter. "What do you think?"

Peter was embarrassed to realize he hadn't been listening and had no idea what it was. "Any chance of testing it first?"

Kermit nodded. "Good idea. How about it, Ace?"

Ace shrugged and gestured at the door. "Give it a shot; get it greasy, you're cleaning it; get it blown up, you bought it."

"Thanks. Be right back."

They watched him go, and Peter saw him doing something with it and the rental car. I probably don't want to know.

"You're a friend of Kermit's?" Ace asked, packing the other boxes up.

"Yeah. We used to work together."

Ace nodded. "Can't believe it — Kermit, a cop." He shoved the boxes back under the counter.

Peter found his attention drawn to one of the boxes under the glass, one of the unmarked ones. "What's in that?" He pointed at it.

"Which one?" He looked where Peter was pointing, and gave him an aggrieved look. "I was gonna pull that out when he got back. You gonna spoil my surprise?"

"What is it?"

With a sigh, Ace pulled it out. Inside were a number of unremarkable-looking floppy discs. "Put it aside for him; he said he was just buying for a friend today."

"Yeah, well, I don't have his present yet," Peter prodded.

Ace grinned. "Fair enough, then." He glanced to see Kermit was still outside. "Noise-canceling software. Better than anything on the market. It'll filter out different frequencies, repetitive noises, even make some damn good guesses as to distance. Comes with settings for boosting voices and button tones out of the box, but it's fully programmable."

Peter shook his head and laughed. "Yeah, that's Kermit, all right. How much?"

They'd barely finished haggling by the time Kermit came back in; Peter shoved the box into his jacket quickly and tried not too smirk too much. Kermit gave him a suspicious look, and he grinned.

"Oh, great. You behaving yourself, Ace?"

"Always." Ace grinned broadly. "So, you taking it?"

"Oh, yeah. Nice work."

"I do my best."

"How much?"

"How much you got?"

By the time they walked out with Blake's present (and Kermit's), it was close on ten-thirty. As they climbed back into the car, Kermit was already tensing up again.

"Let's go to the Mall," Peter suggested.

"Uh-uh, no way." Kermit started the car. "That's the worst place around Christmas."

"Not the mall," Peter clarified, exasperated, "The Mall. You know, Washington Monument, Lincoln Memorial? I've never been."

"I thought everyone had been." Kermit turned out of the lot. "Guess the temple wasn't much for field trips, huh?"

"Nah, not really." He shrugged. "Anyway, as long as we're here… And it shouldn't be too crowded or overdone, right?"

"On a Saturday?" Kermit laughed. "Oh, yeah."

"Oh, right." Peter grimaced. "Lost track of the day."

"Easy to do when you're not nine-to-five." Kermit glanced at him. "Seems to be working for you, though. You're a lot happier these days than I've seen you for a while."

"Oh, yeah," he admitted with a smile. He looked out the window. "I really wouldn't have thought it, even a year or two ago, but it just feels right."

"Admit it. You just like being your own boss."

"Ah, but we are all ruled by our surroundings and our karma."

Kermit snorted. "I'll keep that in mind."

Peter laughed.

The Mall was chilly and windy, so maybe not as crowded as it could have been. Despite the people milling around, there was enough space that it wasn't overwhelming. They looked up at the Washington Monument and down into the Reflecting Pool and walked slowly along the lawn, sharing a comfortable silence.

Eventually, Kermit sighed and looked at his watch. "We should probably get going."

"It'll be fine, Kermit," Peter soothed him again. He seemed to be saying that a lot today.

"Yeah." But he didn't sound convinced.

They got to the deli around eleven forty-five, settled into a booth, and ordered coffee. Peter warmed his hands around the cup. "So, how do you think the Sonics'll do this year?"

"Better than last year. Hard to do worse." Kermit sighed. "Look, Pete, I know you're trying, but —"

"Hey, it's okay, Kermit." He smiled and squeezed Kermit's arm. "It'll —"

"If you tell me it'll be all right one more time, I'm telling Lo Si what you got up to at last year's Christmas party. Annie, too."

"Okay, okay!" Peter held up his hands in surrender. "You win. We'll find out soon enough, anyway."

"Oh, yeah." Kermit looked past him to the door.

Peter turned to see Jim and an older woman that looked a lot like him walk in. He stood and waited for them, feeling Kermit do the same behind him. "Hey, Jim." He held out a hand to the young man, who took it with a tense smile. "Glad to see you looking good."

"You, too." Jim nodded back, but his eyes were on Kermit. Peter stepped aside and watched as they shared a nervous nod. "Kermit."

"Jim. Christina. You want to…" He waved at the booth. Jim sat on the edge, and his mother hovered for a moment.

"Hey, Christina, right?" Peter held out a hand to her. "Peter Caine."

"Mr Caine. Jim mentioned you helped him out a while back."

"Yeah, me and my father. Listen, I thought maybe…" he waved at an empty booth a little distance away. "Want to join me for some coffee?"

She smiled and laughed nervously. "That might be best." She wrapped an arm around Jim's shoulders. "We'll give you two some time alone?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Thanks, Mom."

Kermit gave Peter a look at once grateful and desperate. Peter smiled. "I'll be right over there if you need backup, partner," he murmured. He patted him on the shoulder, picked up his coffee cup, and led Christina to the other booth.

"So," she asked when they both had their cups to focus on instead of each other, "have you known Kermit long?"

"A few years." He nodded. "He's a friend of my foster dad, and we worked together in the precinct for a while."

"He's quit?" she asked, startled.

"Huh? Oh, no. I did." He smiled. "You're the first person from Kermit's past who hasn't said 'I can't believe he's a cop'."

She shrugged. "Well, he's always had a very strong sense of justice. I'm just glad he's on the right side now." She held up a hand. "I'd rather not know if he always wasn't."

"I think he has been when he's been able to," Peter temporized. "He's a good man." He looked over at the other booth; the conversation looked tense, but they were both still there and talking. "So's Jim, from what I saw."

"He is." Her head rose proudly. "He made rank faster than anyone thought possible, and his men respect him."

"He's got a wicked right hook, too," Peter remembered, rubbing his jaw and chuckling.

"He hit you?" she asked, frowning in confusion. Her eyes flicked back to her son, who was scowling at Kermit doubtfully.

"Picked a fight with me the first day we met. Did he ever tell you that story?"

"Not really." She shook her head. "He said I was better off not knowing."

"You probably are," Peter admitted. "Let's just say there's no hard feelings for either of us."

She nodded. There was an awkward pause as she looked around. "So…what do you do?"

They chatted and talked, and he did his best to put her at her ease, keeping his attention on Kermit and Jim, the way he suspected she was, too. Their conversation seemed to be going a little less well, but not badly. There were times they were obviously arguing, but even that was quiet, and a few times, one or the other of them smiled. When they finally stood up, Jim held out his hand hesitantly and Kermit took it in both of his.

Peter stood, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was after three o'clock. "I think our boys are done." He handed Christina up. "I'm glad to meet you," he told her with a smile.

"Likewise." They walked back to the others, and she hugged Jim tight, looking over at Kermit.

"Everything go okay?" Peter asked him quietly.

"Mostly." Kermit seemed a lot calmer than he had that morning.

"So, you have my number, if you need it?" Jim asked Kermit.

Kermit smiled at him. "Your mom has mine; she can give it to you. Anything at all, okay?"

Jim nodded and held a hand out to Peter. "It was good to see you again."

"Yeah." Peter grinned at him. "And I didn't even have to duck this time."

Jim laughed. He took his mother by the elbow, and they left.

Kermit blew out a breath. Peter rubbed his back. "What now, Kermit?"

"Now? I need a drink."

Peter'd expected some local dive, but they ended up at a nondescript suburban bar, Peter drinking cheap beer and Kermit nursing a scotch.

"You know," Peter started after a while, "when I was in the orphanage, I kind of hated my father for abandoning me. I mean, I thought he was dead, but still. It felt like he'd betrayed me somehow by dying." He watched a few bubbles floating to the top of his glass. "Took me a while to get over that. And again once I found out he was still alive." He looked at Kermit. "Didn't mean I didn't love him. If I hadn't, I probably wouldn't have cared as much."

Kermit took another sip and smiled at him. "It's not quite the same thing for us, but thanks." He took a deep breath and blew it out. "The truth is, I did abandon him."

"You left him with a loving family. Could you really have given him anything better back then?" Peter asked gently.

"Probably not," Kermit confirmed. "Hell, Bill's about as interesting as watching paint dry, but he's probably still a much better dad than I'd be."

"Oh, I dunno." Peter cocked his head at him. "I think you'd be better than you think."

"Yeah, well, not anxious to try any time soon. So, our flight doesn't leave until tomorrow afternoon; anything you want to do until then?"

"We'll think of something. You going to see Jim again?" Kermit hesitated, and Peter prodded him. "You can't learn everything about each other in just a couple hours together. Why not do the tourist thing with him?" He smiled, inspiration hitting. "What about the Air and Space Museum?"

"He's in the Air Force. He's probably been there before, you know."

"Not with you."

"I've been there before, too."

"Not with him." Peter grinned. "Or with me. Come on, it'll be fun."

"I'll think about it. Pete —" he interrupted, as Peter tried to say something else, "I'll think about it, okay?"

"Sure thing, Kermit."

They picked Jim up at his parents' house the next morning; Peter got to meet Bill (Kermit's description of him was apt, if not kind) and Jim's brother and sister, who looked like they were dying of curiosity, but were too polite to ask any questions.

"Do they know?" Peter asked Jim, nodding back at the house where Kermit was still talking to Christina, the rest of the family hovering.

"Yeah," Jim answered, giving his siblings an exasperated look. "Did Mom tell you how I found out?" Peter shook his head. Jim grimaced. "A cousin on Dad's — Bill's, I mean — side got leukemia. We all tested to find out if we were a match."

Peter winced in sympathy. "Ouch."

"Yeah. 'Hey, by the way, you're not related to her at all…' So yeah, they know, too."

Peter opened the car door and climbed in the back. "Did they find a donor?"

Jim nodded. "Dad's — Bill's — brother was a match." He sat down and they waited for Kermit.

"Hey." Peter patted Jim's shoulder. "He's still your dad. He raised you. You've just got another one now, is all."

"I…guess I know that." Jim shrugged. "It just takes a bit of getting used to."

Peter laughed. "Tell me about it. Remind me to tell you about my family some day."

"Don't take him up on it," Kermit warned, climbing in behind the steering wheel. "You really don't want to know. Besides, then he might have to kill you."

"Ha ha." Peter made a face at him in the mirror. "I think you're mistaking our families."

"Blaisdell," Kermit shot back.

"Okay, point." He sat back and clapped Kermit on the shoulder. He could feel the tense muscles under his hand, and slid it down, surreptitiously massaging until he felt him relax a little. Kermit glanced at him in the mirror, the lines of his face a smile that only Peter could read. Peter smiled back.

It wasn't a bad day; on a personal level, Kermit and Jim seemed to get along pretty well. Not that there weren't any disagreements, but they were both trying, and for the most part, Peter just stood back and let them. When they dropped Jim off, Christina and Bill asked to speak to Kermit. Peter patted his shoulder and murmured, "Remember, no bloodshed," earning himself a look.

"Beer?" Jim came up next to him, holding out a bottle.

"Thanks." Peter nodded and took it.

"Mind if I ask you something?"

Peter smiled. "As long as I can do the same."

"Deal." Jim touched their bottles together. "Not that it's not good to see you, but why did you come?"

Peter shrugged. "Kermit asked me to."

"What, just for moral support?" Jim asked, scoffing.

"Don't knock it." Peter pointed his bottle at him. "He really wants you to think well of him. It's important."

"Well, I already think he's a pretty good guy; I mean, he helped bust us out of that prison, right?"

"Mm." Peter nodded. "So, my turn to ask — why now?"

Jim frowned. "Well, I only found out a few weeks ago."

Peter shook his head. "And it couldn't wait until after Christmas? Why ask him before if you didn't want him spending the holiday with you?"

Jim looked startled. "Who says I didn't? I asked him yesterday. He said he had other plans." He shrugged and looked to where his parents and Kermit had disappeared. "I can't say I blame him; it would probably be a bit awkward. But it only seemed right." He looked at Peter. "Christmas is about family. What you said before, about Bill being my dad — he is. He always will be. Family's who you love, who's there for you no matter what, not who you're born to." He took a deep breath. "Kermit's not family. Yet, anyway. But that's his decision. If he ever wants to try, I'm willing to give it a shot. And if he needs me, he can call. You make sure he knows that, okay? Think of it as me owing him one."

"I will." Peter smiled and shook his hand. "And if you don't mind me saying so, I think he'd have a good thing if he does."

"I never mind a compliment." Jim grinned back. "At least, I think that's what that was."

"Oh, yeah."

Peter left Kermit alone about it until they were back on the plane and it was obvious he wasn't going to open up on his own. "I think that went pretty well, all things considered."

"Yeah, I guess." Kermit stared out the window.

"What did Christina and Bill want?"

"They wanted to know my intentions toward their son." Kermit snorted. "Just parent stuff, really. I made sure they know I'm not stepping on their toes this late in the game. If Jim needs me, I'll be there; that's — what?"

Peter smiled. "He said pretty much the same thing."

"Well, of course; you wouldn't expect any son of mine to be less than brilliant, would you?"

Peter rolled his eyes.

They didn't speak of anything important until they were back at Peter's. They dropped their bags on the floor, and Peter pulled the balcony doors closed; it was just pleasantly chill inside, and he smiled and reminded himself to thank Lo Si when he saw him. He filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove to boil. Kermit leaned against the window frame as if watching the street, but Peter could feel his eyes on him. He was halfway done with the tea when Kermit spoke.

"Look, Peter —"

"Hm?" He did his best to sound encouraging without pressuring.

"I know you're used to spending Christmas with the Blaisdells, when you're not working."

"Yeah." He nodded and poured the water into two cups.

Kermit took a deep breath. "Since Annie's in Florida…you want to come with me to Mac's this year?"

Peter looked up at him, startled. He chose his words carefully, fiddling with the cups as cover. "I thought that was time for just you and Mac. That you didn't like your two worlds colliding."

Kermit laughed a little bitterly. "It's not like we plot killing people. Just two old bachelors getting drunk over being alone for the holiday."

Peter brought him the tea. "So why did you turn Jim down?" he asked gently. He smiled as Kermit stared at him. "He told me he asked you. You didn't want to stay?"

"Why should I?" Kermit turned back to the window, his jaw twitching.

"Because he's your son and he asked you to?" Peter gave him an exasperated look.

"He may be my son, but that isn't my family." Kermit shook his head.

Peter didn't push. "So why don't you go to Marilyn's? Don't tell me she didn't ask you."

"There's too much about me she can't deal with," he said, with an air of finality. "I won't do that to her holiday. Look, I'm going to Mac's; are you coming or not?"

Peter held up his hands in surrender. "All right, okay. I'll come."

Mac, it turned out, lived in Boston, so it was back on a plane.

"First Class again?" Peter asked.

"The only way to fly," Kermit said firmly. "Though I could probably arrange a trip in the back of a Herky bird, if you'd rather."

"You know, your threats get worse every time."

"'Cause I get more annoyed every time," Kermit answered mildly. "Go pack."

He thought about asking how Kermit could afford all of this, but suspected he already knew as much of the answer as he would ever get. Instead he packed for a couple days, and tucked his last bottle of good scotch in among the clothes.

Kermit gave him a look of resigned disgust when he was ready to go. "You make me cold just looking at you."

"Jealousy is unbecoming." Peter fought down a smile.

Kermit looked at him.

Peter sighed. "Hold on." He searched in one of the boxes he hadn't quite unpacked yet, and dug out a hat and gloves, pulling them on. "Better?" He rolled his eyes at Kermit.

"Much." Kermit twitched Peter's scarf closer around his neck. "It's not always good to stand out, you know," he added quietly.

"Says the man in the green glasses." Peter thumped said glasses with a finger.

"Hey, no ragging on the shades." Kermit straightened up with exaggerated dignity.

"Never," Peter vowed with a smile. "We going?"

"We're going, we're going." Kermit waved him out.

Mac met them at the curb after their flight; he shook their hands and gave them each a rough hug before waving them into the car. "After you. If we hurry, we might just miss the worst of rush hour. Though hopefully it won't be too bad today."

Peter climbed in the back and leaned forward; Mac smiled at him and Kermit. "Glad you could come." He checked the mirror and pulled out. "I live just off-campus," he told Peter, glancing back at him. "It's not terribly large, but it'll certainly be nicer than the last place we stayed together!"

"You can say that again. Better company, too," Peter assured him.

Mac smiled at him and squeezed Kermit's shoulder.

Any lingering worry that he might not be welcome was dispelled by Mac's happy chatter as he pointed out parts of the city they passed, then showed them around his house. There was a bedroom each for him and Kermit, and they were tidy and pleasant, though they both had an air of disuse. Peter put his bag down, shoved his clothes in a drawer, and put the scotch on the dresser.

"Nice." He turned to see Kermit lounging in the doorway. He nodded at the bottle.

Peter shrugged. "Thought I might as well do my part." He stripped off his outer layer and followed Kermit out to the main room.

"You drinking with us?"

"I doubt I'll get drunk, but I'll share a bit. Why?"

Kermit shrugged. "Never saw your dad with hard liquor, at least not when there wasn't something screwy going on. Wasn't sure if you were allowed."

"I'm not my father, remember?" Peter gave him a look, then shook his head. "There's nothing saying I can't drink whatever I like. I probably just shouldn't get too drunk. Besides, you guys should have someone looking out for you."

Kermit laughed. "The worst that's ever happened is the year Mac fell into the tree. Had to wait till we both sobered up the next morning to untangle him."

Peter held up his hands as if praying. "Please tell me you got pictures."

"No can do. I couldn't untangle Christmas lights, you think I could work a camera?"

"Kermit, no-one can untangle Christmas lights. I think it's a law of the universe or something."

"Hm. Point. Bet your dad could."

Peter laughed, a little wistful as the mention made him miss him all over again. "If anyone could, he could," he agreed.

"All settled?" Mac came bustling in with a package under one arm and a pile of mail in the other. "This is for later." He set the bag on the table and quickly shuffled through the letters. Then paused and frowned at one of them. "And this is for you," he said quizzically, holding it out to Kermit.

Peter could feel the tension in him, and he went on guard himself. "Who else knows you're here?"

"No-one." Kermit approached the envelope in Mac's hand warily.

It didn't look threatening, but with Kermit… "Is there a return address?"

"France," Mac supplied, still obviously bewildered.

Kermit looked at Peter. Peter looked back. "Pop," he pronounced at the same time as Kermit's, "Caine."

Kermit took the letter from Mac and shook his head. "I'm not even going to ask how he knows. But why is he writing me?"

Peter nudged him. "Hey, he cares about you, too. Open it, you'll find out." If he stopped and focussed, he could feel his father, knew he was safe and well, and could sense his love. But on paper or phone… "I haven't heard from him in a few weeks. He didn't mention anything about you, but you know Pop."

"Mm." Kermit slid a finger under the flap and tore it open, unfolding a page of Caine's slanted handwriting. He read it for a moment, then smiled. "Greetings, Kermit. First, let me assure you that there is no sinister reason for my writing to you. I hope you will say hello to your friend Mac for me, and pass on my love to Peter." He read silently a moment longer, then folded it back into the envelope. "I can read the rest later. So, Mac, what's for dinner?"

They ordered from a place Mac knew, amazing Italian food delivered by the owner on his way home for Christmas Eve at his own place. He smiled and chatted, and made Mac (and Kermit and Peter if they were there) promise to come by on New Year's Eve. They sat around Mac's well-worn dining table eating out of the foil dishes and drinking Bass from bottles. It was warm, and cozy, and whatever Kermit had called it earlier, it was much more quiet celebration than pity party.

Afterwards, Mac turned on the radio and tuned it to a station playing carols, and they sat playing cards, Kermit eyeing Peter suspiciously.

"I'm not telling you, Kermit. I'd never win a game again."

"Telling him what?" Mac asked.

"His tell." Peter grinned.

"Oh, really?" Mac looked at Peter delightedly. "Years I've been trying to find one, don't tell me you finally have!"

Peter smirked and Kermit scowled. "I don't think he has. He just likes to act like it."

"Yeah, say that again when I kick your ass."

"You have to get the right cards first." Kermit's grin was feral.

They were all pretty evenly matched, as it happened, but it was hard to keep track of who won more. They'd decided on pretzels for chips; Peter ate a few of Kermit's, just to get that look from him, and naturally Kermit ate some of his in retaliation. Between that and some of Mac's stories, they eventually gave up, laughing too hard to keep going.

Mac stood up, wiping his eyes. "Well, you youngsters may keep going, but it's past my bedtime, I believe. Help yourself to whatever you like, and I'll see you in the morning." He nodded at them both.

"Night, Mac." Kermit smiled at him.

"Night," Peter agreed, nodding and clearing his throat. He stood and swept up the last of the pretzels. Kermit grabbed a few bottles and Peter scooped up the rest, and they cleared the table in contented silence. Peter took a swipe at it with a towel, and Kermit tied up the garbage, then yawned.

"Man, I've been on a few too many planes this week." He folded his glasses in one hand and rubbed his eyes.

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Peter looked around. "All that's left is that," he nodded at the trash, "and the fire. Why don't you head off? I'll get it."

Kermit scoffed. "What, you calling me old?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "No, I'm saying it doesn't take me as long to bundle up to go outside," he explained patiently. "I'll be following you, most likely; I've been on just as many planes."

Kermit eyed him skeptically for a moment, then nodded. "Fair enough. Just don't forget to lock up. I noticed you're out of the habit lately." He gave Peter a pointed look.

Peter shrugged. "Pop never locked up. I don't think I should start."

"Yeah, and look how often it bit him on the ass," Kermit pointed out.

"He's still here. More or less," Peter retorted.

Kermit sighed. "I know when I'm in a losing battle." He turned to go, waving back over his shoulder. "See you in the morning!"

"See you, Kermit." He smiled and watched him go, then folded the towel and picked up the trash.

It took him a few minutes to get it out and fit it into the can; when he was done, he looked up at the stars and smiled, then closed his eyes and stilled himself, reaching out for that presence that was his father, and basking in its light for a moment. Then he opened his eyes, breathed deeply, stretched, and headed back inside.

Kermit was still sitting on the end of the sofa closest to the fireplace, glasses off and poker in his hand, staring into the fire. His forehead was wrinkled, and he looked a little lost. Peter paused.

"Hey, Kermit."

"Hm?" Kermit shook himself and looked up. "Pete."

"Everything okay?"

"Fine; why wouldn't it be?" His face smoothed out, and he shrugged and put his glasses back on.

Peter sighed. He came and sat down next to Kermit. "So, is this where I say, 'give, already, you should know by now I can tell when you're upset', or 'okay, I'm not gonna push'?"

"Sounds to me like you just said them both."

Peter rolled his eyes.

"I'm glad you came, Pete; I think Mac is, too."

"So am I." Peter smiled at him. "Thanks for inviting me."

"What do you think you would've done otherwise?" The question was casual, but it felt like Kermit was opening up a little, and Peter did his best to give it thought.

"Probably would've gone down to the hospital or precinct, done a bit of volunteer…something. I don't know; I'm not quite the storyteller Pop is." He smiled.

Kermit nodded as if this confirmed something. "So not with Jordan, then. That's definitely over?"

"Yeah, for a while now." He frowned a little, confused as to where this was going. "Why?"

Kermit shrugged. "She's a good kid; I like her."

"Yeah, so do I; that's why we called it quits." He shook his head.

"No-one else on the horizon for Peter Caine, the irresistible?"

"Not really." He shook his head again. "Haven't met anyone." He took a deep breath and suppressed the urge to shake out of Kermit whatever was up.

"What, no-one?" Kermit's tone was patently unbelieving. "I've seen grieving widows throw themselves at you."

Peter sighed. "That's — look, it's different now, okay? I can't explain it."

"Try me."

Peter gave him a suspicious look, but Kermit's tone was almost pleading. For whatever reason, he needed to know this. Maybe if he understood Peter's reasons, he could live better with his own aloneness? Peter took a deep breath, sighed it out slowly, and tried to gather his thoughts.

"I chose this path. I chose to become Shaolin, to try and do better for myself and everyone around me. Part of that's seeking the truth, being real. Being self-aware. I — god, this sounds corny — I need more from a partner than just sex. I need someone who can see me, deal with me. Jordan, she's not looking for anything more." He looked down at his arms as if he could see the marks through his shirt. "I think my brands scared her; she didn't even want to touch them. Couldn't understand them."

"So why not someone who understands better? Mr Lee's daughter's not bad —"

Peter snorted. "Yeah, have you seen the way she looks at me? The way almost everyone in Chinatown looks at me now? The proper respect due a Shaolin priest." He shook his head emphatically. "Definitely not what I want in my bed and my life."

"There's always Lo Si."

It startled Peter so badly, he burst out in laughter. And then couldn't stop. "Oh, god. Kermit!"

"What?" Kermit asked innocently, his own lips twitching. "He's smart, not bad-looking, he understands…"

"Not quite as well as he … Never mind." He cleared his throat and managed to stop laughing. "Let's just say, no."

Kermit raised an eyebrow at him. He shook his head.

"So." Kermit looked down at the poker in his hands, bouncing it as he ticked off points. "Someone who understands, but who's not deferential. Who can give you more than just sex. Though presumably quite a bit of that." He smirked.

"That about sums it up." Peter shrugged. "I'm trying to be a good Buddhist and not seek." He snorted. "Sometimes doing a better job than others."

Kermit smiled briefly. He freed one hand and reached over, sliding it gently up Peter's arm, watching it rather than his face. "Have you ever thought of seeking close to home?"

Peter froze, that gentle touch and voice going right through him. He looked at his friend, seeing only his profile, enigmatic as ever. And — nervous, maybe?"

"Kermit?"

Kermit sighed and started to pull his hand back, but Peter caught it, laying his own on top to hold it there. Kermit stilled. "Peter."

"What… It's not a bad thing. What brought this on?"

Kermit pursed his lips. "Does it matter?"

Peter laughed. "Not really, I guess." He looked down at their hands. "You're serious?"

"Oh, yeah. Never more so. Well, maybe sometimes, but you know what I mean."

"Oh, yeah." Peter grinned at him. Then he shook his head, growing serious again. "And this is… Kermit, I… we're friends. I don't want anything to change that."

Kermit looked at him as if he were being an idiot. "Are you still friends with Jordan?"

"Mostly, yeah."

"We'll manage. Besides, you're already more than that. You see Simms or Mary Margaret here?"

"No."

Kermit nodded.

Peter stroked Kermit's arm, a smile spreading over his face. "So what now?"

"I don't think it's been that long. I'm sure you can figure it out."

Peter's bedroom was closer to them, and further from Mac's, so they ended up there. They shared a quiet joy in discovering each other's bodies, and a nervousness in being discovered, and living in the moment was easy as it almost never was.

They lay there after, legs entwined, Peter sprawled across Kermit, breath calming as their sweat cooled. Peter ran one hand up into Kermit's hair, combing through the black and silver strands, and Kermit turned to kiss the dragon on his arm, tracing its tail with his lips. Peter shivered.

"You like that?" Kermit asked quietly.

"I should think that's pretty obvious by now," Peter answered in the same tone.

"Oh, yeah." Kermit smiled. "Let's hope they heal slowly."

"Should I be worried?" Peter yawned and settled further into the bed.

"Oh, yeah," Kermit murmured in his ear. He moved, and Peter shifted so he could cover them with the blankets, and they drifted off to sleep.

It was still dark when Peter woke, with the air feeling of early morning. He smiled and rolled over lazily, watching Kermit as he automatically adjusted himself, shifting closer. In sleep, the lines on Kermit's face softened, the experience written more gently. Where the blanket slid from his shoulder, a scar caught the filtered light from the window, and Peter mentally traced the others he'd learned this night as he lightly brushed one finger down that visible one. Kermit shifted and murmured in his sleep, and Peter draped himself over him and went back to sleep.

When he woke again, the light of a cloudy winter day filled the room, and he could feel Kermit's eyes on him before he lifted his head.

"Morning." Kermit rested a hand on him as if grounding himself.

"Morning." Peter nodded at him, sparing a moment to marvel at being here. He leaned his face against Kermit's, their lips barely brushing, and breathed in, mixing their breath.

"Hard to believe this," Kermit murmured.

"Yeah," Peter agreed. "Whatever made you say something —"

"It was your father," Kermit interrupted.

"—I. Wait, what?" Peter pulled back a little and blinked at him.

Kermit sighed. "Your father. In his letter. He said you…well."

"Well, what?" Peter frowned at him.

Kermit caressed Peter's shoulder, watching his hand. "He said that you loved me."

Peter hesitated only a moment before nodding. "I do." He said it again, firmly. "I love you, Kermit." He sighed, exasperated. "Though I would've rather told you that myself."

Kermit snorted. "Let's face it, Peter, if I'd waited for you to say something, we wouldn't be here till we were too old to do anything."

"Oh, like you would've said something on your own?" Peter gave him a look.

Kermit shrugged. "Maybe not. But there's a reason he wrote me and not you."

Peter rolled his eyes.

"You know the feeling's mutual, right?"

Peter laughed. "I sure hope so, 'cause I'm not letting you out of this any time soon."

"Mm." Kermit didn't seem too upset. "Well, maybe out of this room, though. I'm calling it breakfast time."

"Sounds good." Peter stretched and kissed him, then rolled to his feet. He rubbed his face and hunted up clean clothes, heading for the bathroom to scrub up a bit.

"I'm not wearing these again." Kermit shrugged into his suit of the day before, somewhat rumpled by its stay on the floor overnight. "See you out in the kitchen."

"See you," Peter agreed. He washed up and dressed, felt his jaw and skipped shaving, and headed out. The smell of coffee lured him to the kitchen; Mac was there, and nodded at him with a look he couldn't quite interpret. "Morning, Mac."

"Good morning, Peter. You had a good evening, I trust?"

"Oh, um. Yeah. Hey, you need any help with breakfast?"

"Only if you want it hot." Mac nodded. "There's eggs in the refrigerator, if you like. Or oatmeal in the cupboard, or cold cereal."

"Oatmeal sounds good. This one?" He pointed at a cupboard and opened it when Mac nodded. "What about you?"

"Oh, I've just finished. I wasn't sure how late the two of you would be getting up."

There was that look again. And Peter realized — you could see the hallway from here, including a good view of his and Kermit's doors. He winced internally and poured the oatmeal, making enough for two.

"Mac, I —"

Mac held up a hand. "Please. We're all adults here. I'm only a little jealous. Coffee?"

"Please."

Breakfast started out slightly awkward, but aside from those looks, Mac did seem to be fine. As the meal went on, though, he seemed to get more and more restless. As they finished, he stacked the dishes quickly in the washer and turned towards the living room. "I think we've waited long enough; it's clearly time for presents."

Kermit chuckled and got another cup of coffee. "If you say so, Mac."

Peter got his packages from his room; he came back out to find Kermit settled on the couch the same place as the night before, and sat next to him again with a smile.

Mac handed them each a package, smiling. "I hope you enjoy yours, Peter; I'm afraid I didn't know you were coming until yesterday." He gave Kermit an accusing look.

"That's okay, Mac, neither did I." Peter shook his head and handed Mac his gift. "There wasn't a real big choice in the airport stores."

Mac opened his gift and laughed. "Seinfeld? I didn't know he'd written a book."

Peter shrugged. "Seemed appropriate."

"Thank you." Mac nodded. "And yours?"

He unwrapped it, then turned it over. And had to laugh, too. "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance."

"Well, I wasn't really sure what you liked," Mac apologized.

Peter grinned at him. "That's okay, I don't think I've ever read it."

"It's a book about a father and his son, as well as a bit of philosophy." Mac shrugged, self-deprecating.

"Yeah?" Peter read the back, then nodded as he set it aside. "I'll definitely read it. Thank you."

Kermit had gotten a book from Mac, too; a history of arms and warriors around the world. He thumbed through it, stopping on a few pages, and flipped to the back to see the references. "This is great, Mac, thanks." He smiled. "I suppose you want yours, now."

"Please." He leaned forward in anticipation. "You do have it?"

"Oh, yeah." Kermit pulled out a small piece of paper and handed it to him. "Bulgaria."

Mac took a deep breath and smiled. "Thank you." He folded the paper carefully. "I'll…give me a moment, please."

They both murmured their agreement, and Mac walked quickly to his room. Peter frowned after him, then looked to Kermit for an explanation. Kermit nodded in Mac's direction. "You remember why he was in that camp?"

Peter thought for a moment. "His son's in the CIA, right?"

"Mm. Undercover, mostly. Apparently, he's damn good at it. Luckily, I still have enough contacts to get a phone number once a year." He watched Mac's door. "Even if I'm pretty sure he doesn't use it."

"It's good just to know, though."

They stared after Mac for another moment, then Kermit nudged him. "So, where's mine?"

Peter laughed. "What makes you think you're getting one?"

"That box on the other side of you. Well?"

He grinned and handed him the box. "Merry Christmas, Kermit."

Kermit tore open the packaging carefully and methodically, frowned at the plain white box inside, then pulled out the booklet and read what it was. Peter swore he could see his eyes shining even through those glasses. He looked at Peter accusingly. "I thought you said Ace's stuff wasn't Christmassy?"

"Well, if it's good enough for you… You like it?"

"Oh, yeah!" He glanced quickly towards Mac's room, then seized Peter for a quick kiss. "Thanks, Pete."

"You're welcome. Enjoy."

Kermit set the box aside and produced a bulging envelope with a big bow on it. "Merry Christmas. Or whatever."

Peter slipped the bow off and undid the flap, pulling out a sheaf of official-looking papers. He glanced at Kermit, bemused, then read over them. And blinked. "A PI license?"

"Look, Peter, I know you're going to keep helping people, probably more than ever. And you haven't — well, you've got all of us behind you still, but not the weight of the department anymore. You don't have to hang a sign out and go pro or anything, but I figured this might help open some doors, smooth some feathers."

Peter shook his head, reading over the paperwork. He raised his eyebrows. "Don't you need some pretty personal information for this? Like, my social and everything? Not to mention my signature?"

Kermit looked at him. "On page three. What's your point?"

Peter laughed. "Do I need to turn you in to the cops?"

Mac came back, his eyes a little red, and laughed. "Not much point in that, is there?"

"Probably not," Peter acknowledged. "Thanks, Kermit." He gave him a warm hug.

"You're welcome. Okay, Mac, where's the spiked eggnog?"

There was a lot more alcohol than Christmas with the Blaisdells, and the stories were raunchier, and Peter missed Annie's cookies and brownies. But the air and the atmosphere were warm, and there were smiles and laughter, and when they poured Mac into his bed, he and Kermit went back to the same room, and a bed together was much warmer than one on his own.

"Did you have a good Christmas?" Peter smoothed one thumb over a scar on Kermit's arm.

"The best." Kermit yawned and stretched and smiled at him, and Peter had to agree.

Peter tossed his bag on the floor and collapsed on the couch. "Even First Class, that's way too many planes," he declared. "I'm not going anywhere for at least a month."

"Sounds perfect." Kermit dropped down next to him with a groan.

Peter smiled, stretched out his legs, and wrapped an arm around Kermit. "Done."

Kermit snorted and kicked off his shoes, stretching out along the couch with his head in Peter's lap.

"Comfy?" Peter asked wryly.

Kermit wrapped an arm around Peter, closing his eyes and breathing in his scent. "Home."

Peter held him close, sighing happily. "Oh, yeah."