"Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes."

                                                                                    Oscar Wilde

"Come on, Egon, don't be mad," wheedled Ray, watching Spengler's unyielding face for signs of relenting. In the background, Ecto-1's siren served as counterpoint to the blond's annoyance. Cars, taxis, and buses scattered before them. Maybe they could sense that the Ghostbusters' vehicle would go right through them if they didn't.

"I think he should be mad," Winston defended Egon, his mouth drawn in a disapproving line as he maneuvered the converted hearse north to their Upper East Side appointment. "This is a business. Staying out till all hours and refusing to get up to go to work isn't exactly professional. When we get home, we're gonna have to sit Peter down and read him the riot act."

Egon didn't even glance at the P.K.E. meter he held in his lap. "Peter has an obligation to go with us on busts. It's part of his job. This is not his day off." His face was full of annoyance.

"I know he likes to sleep in," Ray agreed. "But he hardly ever pulls anything like this. The last time he wouldn't get up for a bust was the time he had a bad cold and just didn't feel up to it and that was almost two years ago."

Egon paused. Ray could see him mulling it over to determine if he had been unfair. "He didn't sound like he had a cold," he reminded Ray. "At least, that time, he told us he didn't feel well. This time he just muttered about it being too early and for us to go away."

"We could have dragged him out of bed," Winston pointed out. "We've done it before. I just didn't think he was going to move. What time did he get in last night, anyway?"

"I know it was after two." Ray concentrated, trying to remember. "I woke up and went for a drink of water and it was 2:07. I noticed Peter wasn't in yet, so I went down to see if he was watching TV, and he wasn't there."

"It's very impractical to stay out that late on a weeknight when he knows he might have to work in the morning," Egon insisted sententiously. "You'd think by now Peter would have learned to accept responsibility."

"He does, Egon." Ray frowned. Egon was definitely pissed off--or maybe he was simply disappointed in Venkman. He got that way once in awhile, and he was right, of course. Peter shouldn't have stayed out that late or, if he had, he should have got up for the bust and snatched a nap later in the day. They didn't have many scheduled busts, only two for the afternoon. The early call was an emergency, but none of them had thought it sounded serious or they would have teamed up and dragged Peter to the shower and awakened him with an unexpected dose of cold water. A simple class five who was doing nothing more serious than chasing the family's cat and stealing snacks out of the refrigerator shouldn't be too hard to bust. For Egon, though, it was the principle of the thing. He got that way from time to time, usually after he'd been working so hard on a project he had neglected his chores and felt guilty over it. Ray didn't think this was quite the time to remind him of that. It would take Peter himself to charm Egon out of his bad mood. As for Winston, he would probably haul the psychologist off to one side and remind him that the others were carrying his weight on the bust, and Peter would shape up. He was a lot better about late nights these days than he'd been in the first year in the business, and Ray honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd refused to go on a bust. They might have to threaten him with immersion in a cold shower, but he'd force himself up and come along, pretending to be put upon--and then give 110% on the job. The time with the bad cold hadn't counted. Nobody was expected to work when he was sick. This time, Peter had simply been out on a date and had extended his time. Ray figured everybody was entitled to the occasional screw-up. It would be an unlikely world if everybody was perfect.

"I don't see this morning's behavior as a sign of responsible action," Egon said stiffly. "I gave up working on the negative valence meter I've been designing which will serve us on busts where we are forced to deal with physical entities in order to come along, but Peter chose to sleep in."

"You know, homeboy, you are being kind of hard on him," Winston put in. Before he had time to develop this theme, Ecto slowed and darted into a no-parking zone in front of a well-maintained brownstone. "I think this is the place." He glanced over his shoulder. "You know, I half expected Pete to make a comment about the owners having major bucks. Feels funny without him."

"Yeah," agreed Ray as they got out of the car. It did feel funny without Peter, although the entire team didn't always go on every bust. Sometimes they had to split up, sometimes one of them was away on a day off or out on a date when a call came through. Peter's deliberate refusal to accompany them this morning bothered Ray a little, too, but not enough for him to react the way Egon had.

"Thank goodness you've come, Ghostbusters," called a voice from the doorway of the brownstone. A harried man with a slender build and a very well-cut suit ran down the stairs to meet them. "I'm Chad Halifax, the one who called you. I couldn't go off to work and leave it running through the house. I have no idea where it came from." He ran a frantic hand through already-disarrayed golden hair. "My wife works the night shift and she wouldn't dare to sleep with that thing in there." He urged them toward the steps. "It's terrible. I've never seen anything like it."

All thought of Peter forgotten in the face of the client's panic, Ray led the way up to the front door, Egon a step behind him. The P.K.E. meter already shrieked out a stern warning. As he pushed the door open and entered an elegantly appointed entry hall, Ray heard the client demanding an explanation of the ghost-detection device and Winston telling him, "Wait out here. Is your wife still in there?"

"She should be home any minute. I'll stop her from going in."

Entering the hall to allow Egon and Winston to join him, Ray looked around for evidence of the ghost. A painting had been flung from the wall and a chair overturned. As the three men stood there, a cat raced down the stairs and out the open door, its ginger fur so bushy with fright it looked like a cat balloon. Ray could hear their client calling for 'Mitzi' before he saw the ghost bearing down on them in hot pursuit of the feline.

In that first instant, he understood Mitzi's alarm. The ghost was seven feet tall, as broad as a sumo wrestler, with long tentacles and a mouth full of pointed teeth as long as Ray's hand. Scaly grey, it might have emerged from the stygian depths of the ocean, intending to grab its prey and return to the abyss to devour it at leisure. Involuntarily, Ray backed up into Egon, who shifted sideways to get a clearer reading.

"This is no Class 5, guys." Egon's voice was grave. "It's a Class 7, and very powerful. I'm not entirely sure the three of us are enough to--"

"Egon!" Winston cautioned sharply before the physicist could complete the sentence. There was no way of telling if the monstrous entity could speak English but, if it could, revealing their difficulty was not a good plan. Egon hadn't brought the atomic destabilizer, either, but then the entity didn't seem physical so they might not need it. Ray could see the bannister through it as it dived right for him.

Leaping sideways, he powered up and fired in one swift motion, the beam catching the ghost in mid-chest--or what passed for a chest in such a nasty spirit. It howled so loudly Ray felt the hair raising on the back of his neck, then it zipped free of the confining stream as easily as if Ray had used a squirt gun, tentacles lashing out. Ray ducked, feeling one of them brush against his arm, creating a sensation of icy cold.

"One stream won't hold it," Winston muttered in the background. "Come on, Egon!" He fired, and Ray blasted the entity again. Egon's stream came in a beat later after he stowed the meter to free his hands.

For a couple of seconds, the ghost writhed savagely in the stream, bellowing in rage, then it jerked away, pulling them after it for a second before the particle beams lost contact. Ray's stream ran up the striped wallpaper, leaving a smoldering streak in its path before he shut down. The ghost reversed direction and floated smugly up the stairs.

"After it, guys," cried Ray, heading for the steps.

"Wait, Ray," Egon called. "We have to boost power to maximum. Three streams won't hold it at the normal settings. We need all four."

"Come on, Egon, we can do it at full streams," Winston shouted as he adjusted the dial on the handle of his thrower. "We'll get this mother."

"With Peter, it would have been far easier," Egon muttered, proof that he still held onto his determined grievance.

Ray reset his thrower as he raced up the stairs in hot pursuit of the entity, the other two right behind him. The early busts before they had hired Winston had proven that certain powerful entities required the concentrated force of four throwers to trap. Sometimes, three set at full streams could do it, but it was a dicey thing. Peter had once tricked a really powerful entity like this one into a trap without firing at all, but it had been as much luck as it had been timing. He'd held out his ghost trap at precisely the right moment and the ghost had been unable to halt its headlong rush before the trap's suction had caught it. Ray wondered if he could pull off something like that. If he could get Egon and Winston to distract it and drive it his way...

The ghost had vanished by the time he reached the top of the stairs. A hallway to the left vanished between bedrooms. To the right, a railing overlooked the lower entry before leading to a couple more rooms, thus creating the two-story entry hall of the house. "That way," Egon said, pointing along the railing.

Still in the lead, Ray had gone no more than four steps when the ghost came back, swooping down from the ceiling, tentacles waving menacingly in a dive-bombing run at Ray. Snatching the trap off his proton pack, Ray held it against his chest like a catcher's mask, letting the trigger fall beside his foot.

"Ray, what are you doing?" Egon cried, raising his thrower to fire.

It happened so fast, Ray scarcely had time to react. The ghost came right for him, clearly intending to toss him over the railing. Egon and Winston fired at it, but it swam through their streams without hesitation. Gleefully, Ray stomped the trigger and white light shot out. The ghost screamed, a horrible, twisted sound that made the occultist long to clap his hands over his ears, then the trap's suction yanked the ghost toward him even faster. It slammed into the trap so hard that it forced Ray back against the railing. The trap's doors slammed shut over the ghost but Ray dropped it and scrambled for balance. For a split-second, he thought he'd make it, then the impetus of the ghostly impact won out and he went over backward, falling, falling, falling to the first floor below him.

In an explosion of pain, he surrendered to the darkness.

"Ray!" Snatching the trap before it could fall and release the ghost, Egon set it on the floor in one smooth motion and let it lie as he raced down the stairs to his fallen comrade. He was conscious of Winston shouting Ray's name as he thundered after him. When they reached the foot of the stairs, the homeowner ventured dubiously inside, jerking to a horrified halt at the sight of the crumpled Ghostbuster who lay sprawled at his feet. He held the distraught Mitzi in his arms.

"What happened?"

"Call 911, sir," Winston instructed automatically, his face tight with worry. "The ghost knocked him off the balcony."

"Is it...still here?" White-faced, the client peered around, afraid to come any further into the house.

"No, we trapped it." Winston turned away from him as if he no longer existed.

Egon was vaguely aware of the client snatching up a phone receiver from the table near the door as he dropped to his knees beside Ray. Freed, the cat made for the back premises in a streak of ginger fur.

The first thing Egon realized was that Ray was breathing, and that fact enabled him to release the breath he'd been holding and draw another. But it had been a bad fall. They didn't dare risk moving him. His back could be broken. He could have a skull fracture. His breathing didn't sound normal. It was harsh and irregular and too shallow. Not a good sign. Egon's stomach knotted up. "If there had been four of us on this bust, this would never have happened," he said in a cold, hard voice.

"Whoa, ease up, homeboy." Winston lifted shocked eyes before bending over Ray. "You can't know that." He put his hand on Ray's neck, checking the pulse that beat there. "I think he's in shock. We don't dare move him. I couldn't see how he landed, but I think his shoulder's dislocated."

"His head is bleeding." Egon put out his hand and gently touched the place. The blood on his fingertips made him shiver. "Ray? Can you hear me?"

Ray didn't respond.

"They're coming," the homeowner assured them uneasily like a man who fears himself to blame. "I'll get him a blanket. If he's in shock, you'll need to keep him warm."

"Be careful of the full trap," Winston cautioned as the man raced up the stairs. "It's all right to leave it there but don't trip over it. We don't want to let the ghost out."

"We sure don't." The man vanished down a hallway. Egon couldn't remember the client's name.

"This is Peter's fault." It hurt to say those words. Peter was his oldest friend, the first friend he'd ever had in his life. Now, because of Peter's careless disregard of the team's need, Ray, the second friend he'd ever made, lay unconscious, possibly gravely injured. Egon could feel something shriveling up inside. If Peter had come with them, they could have trapped the ghost before it went upstairs, and Ray wouldn't have fallen. If Peter had come with them, Egon wouldn't have had to be angry at him.

Winston stared at Egon, and the physicist saw that Zeddemore's eyes were bleak with worry, a sign that Ray might be hurt very badly. Winston offered no reassurance, and Egon realized Ray might not recover. He might be paralyzed. And it was all Peter's fault.... "You don't know it was Pete's fault," Winston chastised as if he could read Egon's thoughts. "You don't know it would have gone down any different if he had been here. You're blowing this all out of proportion."

"He let us down, Winston, and now Ray is injured." That was the bottom line. Egon hated it but he couldn't think past it.

"Yes, and those are two separate things." He took the blanket from the returning client and spread it over Ray with a gentle touch. "Thanks, Mr. Halifax."

"How is he?"

"I don't know. His breathing's too shallow and his pulse is too fast. He's in shock."

Helpless to do anything for Ray, Egon sat back on his heels, his hand gripping Ray's lax one. The fingers lay still and unmoving in his own. How could you do this, Peter?

"Don't go this way, Egon." Winston reached across Ray's sprawled form and clasped Spengler's shoulder. "Don't dump this on Pete. Sure he should have come on the bust with us, but none of us dreamed anything like this would happen. You know how protective of us he is. The ghost was tougher than we thought, that's all. If we'd known it was so powerful, we would have made Peter get up and come along. You know that. And he would have, even if we'd had to force-feed him half a dozen cups of coffee first. Sure he shouldn't have stayed out so late on a work night. But all that means is that he made a bad judgment call. Don't tell me you never screwed up, homeboy."

Egon hardened his heart to Winston's reasoning. How could Peter have let them down like this? A more-sensible part of his mind realized it was easier to blame Peter than to dwell on the possibilities of Ray's injuries, but he pushed that thought aside.

"Come on, Egon." Winston was the team's voice of reason. Of all of them, he was the best at it in a crisis, not because he didn't care but because he'd learned, perhaps in Vietnam, that flying into a state when things go wrong never made them better. Egon had quickly realized that when a bust went bad, Winston was a tower of strength. He'd leaned on that strength more than once when the situation looked black. He knew Winston was speaking common sense now, but he didn't want to hear it. Willing Ray's hand to move in his grip, Egon's eyes never left the still face.

Winston had pressed his handkerchief over the bleeding scalp cut and held it in place. They didn't dare move Ray. Why didn't the paramedics come? Why didn't Ray wake up? Why had Peter let them down so badly?

"Damn it, Egon," Winston snapped, for once forced out of his reasoned calm. "Don't you think I'm worried sick about Ray, too? Blaming Peter only makes it worse. You haven't even stopped to think he might have had a good reason for not getting up. You automatically assumed he was at fault."

"I've seen him do this before," Egon replied tightly.

"Well, I haven't. I've seen him protest getting up for a bust and complain about it afterwards, but he always does get up. He might not like it, but he does it. Come on, Egon, he's your best friend. Don't you think you owe him a chance to explain himself? Even if he just got carried away last night and stayed out too late, he sure didn't do it so Ray could get hurt. And he doesn't make a habit of it. It's not like you to be so unfair."

"Ray's hurt, Winston," Egon insisted desperately. "He might be hurt badly."

"Yeah," Winston agreed, darting a distressed glance at their fallen teammate. "And how do you think Pete's gonna feel about that?"

"Guilty," Egon said coldly.

"You're damn right he is. Doesn't that worry you? Come on, Egon, don't let this tear the team apart. You were mad at Peter before we even got here. What the heck is wrong? Did you and Pete have a fight yesterday?"

"No."

"Is it because you had to give up working on your meter to come on the bust?"

Somehow, delaying his research time seemed less important now. "At least that would have been something useful," Egon replied. He wasn't sure how he'd become so angry with Peter. Deep down inside, Egon knew how horrified Peter would feel when he found out about Ray, and Egon was sick at the thought. But he couldn't release his anger. With Ray lying so pale and still, the only fact that registered in Egon's mind was that it was Peter's fault. And if it was Peter's fault, then how could he ever trust him again?

The paramedics arrived very quickly and fussed over Ray, talking to each other in low tones as they examined him. Egon stood back to allow them room, although he would have preferred to linger at Ray's side. That wouldn't help Ray, though. He needed what these trained professionals could do for him. Egon never registered the EMT's faces. They weren't individuals to him, just help Ray needed desperately. One of them could walk into Ghostbuster Central tomorrow and Egon wouldn't even know him.

Winston stood beside him, an arm slung comfortingly around his shoulder. "They know what they're doing," he insisted, and in that tenacity was the need for it to be true. Egon knew that Winston had seen buddies die horrible deaths in 'Nam. He never talked about it, scarcely mentioned Vietnam at all, although sometimes after one of them had been hurt on a bust, he'd have a nightmare or two, remembering the steaming jungle, the threat that had surrounded him and his squad Once or twice, Egon had heard Peter get up in the night, talk quietly to him, take him downstairs for an hour in front of the TV and a chance to sound off. Probably of all of them, Peter had the best idea of the horror of Winston's war, although none who had not been there could ever really understand. Feeling the slight tremors that rocked the African American's body, Egon put his arm around Winston's shoulders in turn.

"Of course they do," he agreed. He couldn't reassure Winston that Ray would be all right. The pallor of Ray's still face precluded lying for encouragement. It would be fair to none of them. Ray was strong, he was healthy, but others had been strong and healthy and had lost their lives or their mobility. Egon had a friend who had taught physics at Columbia with him who had been in a car accident and now was quadriplegic. He could maneuver his electric wheelchair and could use a computer by holding a stick in his teeth. A brilliant, gifted man, he was now a prisoner within his own body. For Ray, so energetic, so full of life, that would indeed be a prison. Egon couldn't help shivering. If only he would wake up....

"We're ready to transport," the older of the two paramedics said. "You can meet us at the hospital." He gave directions.

"Come on, Egon," Winston said. He paused to run upstairs to fetch the trap while Ray was maneuvered carefully onto a gurney.

As Winston clattered down the stairs, they carried Ray out the door. Mr. Halifax said something tentatively about payment, and Winston said, "We'll bill you." Then he caught himself. "I'd better call Janine. She can get Pete and meet us at the hospital." He snatched up the phone receiver and punched in the number of the firehall.

Egon followed the EMT's out the door and watched them put Ray in the back of the ambulance. They hadn't offered one word of reassurance. To Egon, that was ominous. He was afraid Ray would never wake up. Why, Peter?

Janine hung up the phone and sat at her desk, her hands pressed against her mouth. How awful! She could tell how worried Winston was; he'd sounded so grim. Poor Ray. Egon needed her and she was still here. But Peter--upstairs sleeping in? What the heck had he been thinking? It wasn't his day off. Winston hadn't quite sounded judgmental, but he'd sounded tense and unhappy, and he'd said quickly that Egon was pretty steamed at Dr. V. Janine was a little steamed herself. What right did he have to sleep in when he should be helping his friends? She'd put him right in no uncertain terms or know the reason why.

When she peeked into the bedroom, Peter was still sleeping, a shapeless lump beneath the covers. He didn't even stir when she stormed over to his bed and snatched away the blankets.

"Get up! Ray's hurt and it's all your fault!"

Peter's eyes flew open and he jumped up so fast he staggered and would have fallen if he hadn't grabbed her shoulders. For the first instant, his weight nearly bore her to the floor, but then he sagged back, sitting abruptly on the bed, one hand pressed tightly across his ribcage as he stared up at her. His face was as white as the sheets on his bed, only the beard stubble and the vivid emerald of his eyes giving it color. One of the sleeves of his pajamas had worked up to reveal a vivid bruise on his forearm, and there was a small dressing on his head right at the hairline. One ankle sported an ace bandage and, from the way he held his ribs, they were injured, too.

"Ray?" he cried in alarm, ignoring the pain that ran through his body. "What happened?"

"What happened to you?" she demanded in shock. "You look like you've been to the wars."

"Never mind me, what about Ray?" Peter grabbed her hand, gripping it so tightly she winced.

"Winston says he fell off the balcony on the bust."

"Bust?" Peter looked around blankly, registering the other empty beds. "They're gone."

"Winston said they tried to wake you but you wouldn't get up."

Peter scratched his tousled head. "I...kinda remember that. They gave me some pain medicine at the ER and I took it before I went to bed. I...don't remember anything after that. Once I thought somebody said something to me but it didn't get through. I...think I pulled the pillow over my head."

And covered up the bruises in the process, thought Janine. He could scarcely remember the attempt to rouse him. The medication must have made him groggy, but her words about Ray had kicked in his adrenaline and he was alert now, if shaken.

"How badly is Ray hurt?" Peter's grip tightened still further.

Janine worked her hand free and wiggled her fingers without realizing she was doing it. "He was unconscious when they took him to the hospital. The guys will meet us there. Are you well enough to go?"

Peter blinked at her. There was a combination of pain and the drugs he'd taken to ease it in his blurred expression. He fumbled under the bed and produced a cane. "I can make it. Let's go."

"You better get dressed first." She hesitated. "Do you need help?"

Ordinarily, Peter would have teased her unmercifully for the offer, but his thoughts had focused so completely on Ray that he didn't even think of it. "Can you get out some clean clothes for me?" he asked. He didn't even try to wheedle. It was just a straight request. Her heart went out to him and, ironically, she missed the old, irreverent Peter.

She fetched clean underwear and socks from his drawer, and turned her back on him to get a shirt and jeans from the closet while he put on his shorts. When she turned back he was sitting on his bed trying to work a sock on over the ace bandage. A pattern of bruising decorated his ribcage, and the way he was wincing made her fly to the bed and kneel before him to pull the socks on so he wouldn't have to bend over. "Are your ribs broken?"

"Only two of them," he said mechanically. "They said I couldn't wear a proton pack for at least a couple of weeks."

She worked his feet into his jeans and then let him lean against her while he pulled them up. "What happened to you?"

"Had an argument with a panel truck on the way home from my date," he admitted, the words coming as if by rote. "The truck won. They took me to St. Vincent's and patched me up in the ER. They wanted to keep me overnight--by the time they were finished with me it was three a.m. I don't know how long it took; it felt like years. I just wanted to come home," he concluded wistfully. "I knew the guys would take care of me...." He zipped up the jeans and sat down again. Touched by his pensive comment about the guys and home, Janine knelt at his feet and worked on a pair of loafers that would fit more easily over the swollen ankle than his tennies while he catalogued his injuries. "Two broken ribs, two cracked ones, sprained ankle, assorted bruises. I wanted to sleep in my own bed. I hate hospitals." His face tightened as he remembered Ray.

"Why didn't you call the guys to come and pick you up?" she demanded, imagining him coming home in the wee hours alone in a cab. He must have been a lot more shaken by the accident than he realized.

"I guess I didn't think of it. I wasn't making much sense last night." He shivered reminiscently. "I just wanted to get home and I guess I couldn't think past it. Janine, how bad is Ray? Tell me."

"They don't know yet. He might just be knocked out." She patted his knee as she climbed to her feet. "Come on, I'll drive us there. Do you think you can get down the stairs?"

"I got up them last night." He was still almost functioning on automatic. The shadows under his eyes were as dark as bruises. Grabbing the cane, he struggled to his feet and limped heavily in the direction of the bathroom. "I'll be quick," he promised and closed the door. In a second, she heard water running.

When Peter emerged, he had shaved and brushed his teeth and ruthlessly tamed his tangled hair, combing it forward to conceal the dressing in an automatic vanity he probably hadn't even realized. Pain tightened his mouth as he made his way down the spiral staircase. Janine insisted on going ahead of him in case he lost his balance, although he objected. "I'm bigger than you are; I'd just knock you down." That didn't stop her. Seeing Peter so diminished, both by his worry over Ray and by the pain of his injuries, hurt her inside. She knew from Winston's hasty explanation that Egon was furious with Peter. He hadn't known about the accident. But it infuriated Janine that Egon would fault Peter without taking time to find out the truth. How could he do that? He was usually fairer than that, especially when it involved one of his friends. She wouldn't even be able to give him a piece of her mind when they got to the hospital because he'd be so worried about Ray. You couldn't pick on people when they were down....

Janine ran back upstairs for Peter's pain pills and made sure he took one before they left for the hospital. As she slid behind the wheel of her VW Beetle, he slumped in the seat beside her, elbow braced on the door, chin in his hand. His eyelids drooped, half shut, but his body was braced and taut, and he winced every time she hit a bump or put on the brakes too abruptly. He ought to be home in bed, but she knew better than to insist he stay behind. He would have fought to rush to Ray's side if he had been in a body cast. Peter could drive her nuts, but she knew him too well to doubt it.

"Janine?" his voice was tentative. He straightened up carefully and turned to face her as they waited behind a taxi and city bus at a stoplight. Janine would have driven through them if she thought her bug could handle it. "What did you mean when you said it was my fault Ray was hurt?" From the way he spoke it was clear to her he'd been mulling over her impulsive words all along. Maybe the pain pill had finally kicked in enough for him to think clearly.

"I was wrong," she said hastily. "We didn't know you were hurt. You didn't tell anybody. You didn't wake the guys up when you got in so they didn't know you'd been in an accident. All they knew was that you'd stayed out late and wouldn't get up for the job."

Peter stared at her in astonished disbelief. "They thought I wouldn't go on a bust?" he blurted. New pain filled his eyes, all the more intense because he was hurt and vulnerable. "They thought I was goofing off? They believe I'd do that?"

"Well, they do have to drag you out by the hair sometimes," she reminded him carefully.

He avoided her eyes. "Come on, Janine, that's just a game. I always get up and go. Sure, I complain about it, but that's the way I am. Even if I'd rather be all cozy in bed, if there's a bust, I have to go. Who's gonna look out for Egon and Ray if I'm not there? Winston can't watch them both at once." He grimaced. "I wouldn't let them go off without me. You know I wouldn't. I--I just didn't really hear them. It didn't sink in." He shuddered. "God, Janine, I'm sorry."

"You hold it right there, Dr. Venkman." As the light changed, she hit the accelerator and dove in between two cabs to the accompaniment of squealing brakes and wild profanity from the drivers. "You didn't do anything wrong. You were hurt. You said yourself you'd taken that medicine and it just put you out. If you'd have really heard them, you'd have told them you'd been injured. They would never have taken you on the bust. It's not your fault and when they see you, they'll know it."

"I could've gone," he insisted. "Even if I couldn't wear a pack, I could have kept my eyes open and watched out for trouble. Tough ghosts need four of us."

"No! It's not your fault. They wouldn't have let you go, and you know it. Don't play this game, Peter. It won't help Ray. When they know about your accident, nobody's going to hold it against you. They're not so unfair as that."

But Peter slumped miserably in his seat. "Tell me what they said."

"Well, I wasn't here yet when the call came in. There was a note on my desk to say they'd gone on a bust. Ecto was gone. I didn't even know you were still upstairs until Winston called and said Ray was hurt. He...did say Egon was kind of mad, but you know how Egon gets. He'd be worried sick about Ray, but he isn't good at showing stuff like that. Maybe it's just easier for him to be..."

"Mad at me?" Peter concluded sadly. "Doesn't he trust me?"

The agony in that question broke Janine's heart. She knew Peter wasn't up to strength yet. He was groggy and in pain, worried sick about Ray, not yet capable of dealing with one of Egon's defense mechanisms.

"You bet he trusts you," she said tartly. "He trusts you more than life, and you know it, Dr. V."

"Yeah, and this is how he shows it?" He shook his head, then grimaced, regretting the gesture. "Can't you go any faster?"

"Not without breaking the sound barrier." She took one hand off the wheel and patted his shoulder. "Ray's strong. They're doing everything they can for him. You four guys need each other. Don't let this one time wreck all of that. Remember how much all of you trust each other, how much you care about each other. You're a family. Families screw up sometimes, but that doesn't mean they can't get past it. That's what being a family is all about."

Peter looked over at her and managed a weak grin, then he fell into silence and sat staring at a dark inner vision all the rest of the way to the hospital. She talked to him, encouraging him as best she could, but she was sure his mental image of Ray lying crushed and broken and his fear that Egon didn't trust him enough were more vivid to him than any reassurance she had to offer.

Egon paced up and down the waiting room, his mouth tight, his glasses sliding down his nose. Every so often, he would notice them and shove them savagely into place. "Why don't they come and tell us about Ray?"

Winston grimaced. It was the fifth time Egon had asked the question. He simply wasn't thinking. All the rational parts of Egon's brain had shut down when Ray fell over the railing. It took a major crisis to push past Egon's control; usually he just bottled up his feelings and acted as if he were fine when someone who knew him could tell without effort that he was anything but. Winston felt like he was being pulled in several directions at once. Egon was here and he needed the support he failed to notice, the clap of a hand on his shoulder, the quiet encouragement. Ray was getting help from those who were trained to do it and nothing Winston could do or say could change that, although he wanted to be in there helping, too. Stupid. It wasn't as if he knew enough to do anything except to talk to Ray and hope he could hear it even if he didn't seem to. That option was denied him, and that left Egon--and eventually Peter, who was going to feel like pond scum when he heard about Ray. He didn't envy Janine the task of breaking the news to Pete, but there hadn't been time for her to summon him to the phone when he'd called from Halifax's house. Janine and Peter would arrive any minute and then it would fall to Winston to play peacemaker.

He heaved an inaudible sigh. "They'll tell us as soon as they know anything, Egon. Come and sit down. I'll get us some coffee."

"I don't want any coffee." Egon was abrupt and definite. "It would make me sick." Hearing his words, he stiffened and went into a Spock imitation. Feelings vanished from his face and he pulled the P.K.E. meter out of his pocket and fumbled with it, his fingers clumsy on the dials.

That did it. Winston grabbed the meter out of his hands before he dropped it, put his hand on Egon's arm, and dragged him by main force over to the Naugahyde sofa. "Sit. Now."

Compelled by a more powerful force, Egon obeyed. He blinked up dazedly at Winston over the rims of his glasses, the Vulcan facade shattering. "Winston, that was a very bad fall. When I think of what Ray might have done to himself..."

"We don't know how bad it is," Winston declared firmly. At times like these he was glad of his ability to focus and do what needed doing, even if it caught up to him later. All of the guys could hang on during the heart of a crisis; they had to, no matter who was hurt, at least until the ghost was trapped. But when the crisis was over and they had the aftereffects to deal with, Winston was the best at keeping it together for the other guys. They'd come to rely on him to be strong when they were worried over an injured teammate. At times the burden was so heavy Winston wasn't sure his shoulders could support it, but they always did. Peter usually knew when reaction was likely to catch up with him and he always produced just the right words to break the tension when Winston was ready to fall apart. But Peter wasn't here, and when he showed up, he would probably need Winston more than Egon did.

"That's why I want them to come and tell us." Egon must have heard how irrational his answer was and he cleared his throat, rammed his glasses into place, and squared his shoulders. "I don't like waiting."

"Not my first choice, either, homeboy. But if they're working on Ray this long, that means there's something they can do for him." It means he isn't dead. And the longer it takes, the longer he goes on living. Winston could deal with any other problems when they came, as long as Ray was still alive.

"But suppose he--"

Winston made a chopping motion with his hand. "No. No supposing. That's stupid. You know it's stupid. You don't theorize without complete information. If I've heard you say that once, I've heard it a hundred times. Maybe they're just waiting for x-rays or something. We know he's got a dislocated shoulder, and his wrist looked swollen, too. That arm probably took the brunt of his fall. Anything else, we wait. I don't want to hear you speculating about what might never happen. You hear me?"

Egon nodded, a tinge of gratitude lightening his eyes. "I'm sorry, Winston. I'm not myself. Everything is going wrong. If Ray--" He caught himself before Winston could reproach him. "I'm sure we'll get news soon."

"You bet we will. And in the meantime, we're going to have some coffee. I don't know about you, but a hot drink would feel great about now."

"All right, but--" He fell silent, his eyes lifting and gazing past Winston. His mouth tightened and he erupted to his feet, circling around Zeddemore and heading for the door of the waiting room. Winston whirled, expecting a grim-faced doctor with bad news. Instead he saw Peter and Janine, standing side by side. Peter's arm was around Janine's shoulders, hers was around his waist, and his face was as white as milk. Winston couldn't remember ever seeing Peter look that miserable unless it was the day he heard about his mom dying. He looked like he'd lost his last friend.

Stunned by Peter's stricken countenance, Winston almost missed the cane in his free hand and the way it supported what weight wasn't borne by Janine. Was that the edge of a bandage just visible under the flip of hair that hung down over his forehead? What the heck had happened to him?

"You did this," Egon burst out. Winston could hear the pain in his voice, knew that Egon had gotten himself in so deep he couldn't climb out on his own, and that what he said was only digging him in deeper. Egon probably knew it too, but he couldn't help himself. "You didn't get up for the bust, and now Ray's hurt. It's your fault."

Peter jerked as if Egon had punched him in the gut, grew, impossibly, even more pale than before, then turned abruptly and vanished from the room in a limping run, the cane crashing to the floor unheeded at Janine's side.

"Egon, dammit!" Winston exploded but his warning words were drowned out by the sharp crack of sound as Janine raised her hand and slapped Egon hard across the face.

"How could you, Egon!" she cried hotly. Winston couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her so angry. "Peter didn't get up when you called him this morning because the medication made him too groggy to know what was going on. Last night, on his way home from his date, he got hit by a truck. He spent most of the night in the ER. He's got broken ribs. He's got a sprained ankle. Now he hears Ray is hurt, and that you blame him. You know what he said to me on the way to the hospital? He said, 'Doesn't he trust me?' Are you sure you don't want to go after him and stomp him into the floor? He might have a few spots left that aren't black and blue."

Egon stood gaping at her, a hand to his cheek, his eyes wide and stricken, his mouth ajar. He let her furious words flow over him like a tidal wave, and he rocked beneath their force. "Peter's hurt?"

Janine snatched up the cane and waved it in his face. "What do you think this is for? Looks?" Realizing Peter had dropped it, she started to go after him, then she whirled, thrust it at Egon, and said, "Take it to him. Now. And don't come back until you made peace with him." Only then did she pause and take in Egon's sorry condition, his worry about Ray. She yanked the cane back just as he reached for it, nearly pulling him over on top of her. For an instant, they tussled over it idiotically, then she let go and folded her arms across her chest. "I'm sorry I hit you, Egon, but you just broke Peter's heart. I always thought it was because of you that he ever could trust anybody. Now I don't know if he's ever going to trust you again--or anybody else, either."

"Oh, god." Egon stood clutching the cane, then he shook himself like a dog emerging from a pond. "What have I done?"

"Janine?" Winston clapped a hand on Egon's shoulder, tightening his grip when Egon tried to shrug away from it. "Why didn't Pete call us from the hospital last night?"

"I think he was so shaken he didn't really know what was going on," she replied. "He said so when I asked him. He's really in a lot of pain. They wanted to keep him for the rest of the night last night but his one thought was to get home. I'm surprised they let him go, but he said they got a cab for him when he insisted and made sure he got into it okay. Why didn't you stop and think? You know he complains about getting up early, but he always does it."

"He wouldn't have let us go on a bust without him just because he was tired from a late date," Winston said, slapping his forehead in annoyance. "I was kind of pissed with him before the bust, but I should have thought. The thing is, even if Peter does get up for the busts, we're so used to him complaining about it, I guess none of us took it any further. And that's not right. Egon, you have to go after him."

Egon stared at Winston as if he'd never seen him. "I have been a fool," he admitted. "And you have every right to chastise me, Janine. How could I believe Peter would ever betray a trust? In believing that, I became the one who did so."

Janine's face softened. "Oh, Egon, you weren't yourself. You were worried about Ray. Peter will understand."

"Even before Ray was hurt I was annoyed with him." He groaned. "I was annoyed because my experiment failed last night. I cannot get it to go right, and I meant to put in time this morning to see if I could trace what went wrong. I was annoyed at the timing of the call. And then, when Peter wouldn't get up--"

"You took it out on him," Winston said hastily so Egon wouldn't have to. "Come on, Egon, that's human nature. Nobody's perfect, not even you. You're entitled to make a mistake every now and then. I was halfway on your side even before Ray was hurt. And I didn't even have an excuse."

Janine stamped her foot in irritation. "Worry about who's to blame later. Egon, if you don't go after Peter right now, I'm going to have to hit you again. If Ray hadn't been hurt, this would be a lot easier to work out. But remember, even if he couldn't have gone on the bust, Peter still feels like he should have been there, like he could have done something to prevent what happened to Ray. Only he couldn't. He's not supposed to wear a proton pack for at least two weeks." When Egon stared at her numbly, she reached out and poked him in the ribs. "Go on, go." Then she shook her head, muttered under her breath, and hugged him hard before letting go. When he strode from the room, cane in hand, she turned to Winston, wrapped her arms around his waist and held on, shaking with the reaction she had refused to let Egon see.

"You did good, girlfriend." Winston rubbed her back between her shoulder blades until he felt her stiffness ease. "I feel bad about all this, and I know Egon and Pete have a lot to work through, but at least they'll be dealing with that and not just sitting here waiting to hear about Ray."

She wiggled out of his grasp and dropped down on the sofa as if the stuffing had leaked out of her. "How is Ray?"

Winston collapsed beside her. "We don't know yet." He stared at the door. "Should I go after Egon?"

"No, let them work it out on their own." She managed a wary grin. "At least they're in a hospital. If Peter collapses, we can get help for him right away."

"Pretty bad, huh?"

"He was so pathetic, Winston." Then she caught himself. Winston knew she cared about Peter but wouldn't want to show it. "He'll be okay," she concluded grimly. "If he's not, I'll just have to knock some heads together--and don't doubt I could do it."

Winston spread his hands. "I wouldn't doubt it for a minute."

To Peter's surprise, he found himself in the hospital chapel. His ankle had carried him only so far before he noticed the sensation of knives sticking into his foot and he stumbled to a stop, gripping the railing that ran along the wall, probably for patients to hold onto as they ventured shaky steps on their little walks. Using it to support himself, he blundered on until he came to an open door that wasn't a patient room. Soft music played in there, the light was dim and flickering. He ventured inside. Votive candles danced in ruby-red and sapphire-blue holders on either side of a non-denominational altar. The conventional lighting was set at dim.

Although Peter was not a religious man, the room felt peaceful, and he craved peace so badly he ventured inside, grateful to find it deserted. Collapsing in the back pew, he sat forward, folding his arms across the back of the seat in front of him and putting his face down on his arms. That put pressure on his ribs, so he slid forward until he was sitting on the very edge of the seat, his legs tucked beneath it. That felt a little better--physically. But he ached inside far worse than his ribs or ankle did. Ray was hurt, far worse than Peter had been hurt, and Egon blamed him for it.

Janine had talked a lot of sense to him in the car, and Peter knew, rationally, that what had happened to Ray was not his fault. He hadn't been operating on all thrusters last night or he would have had the hospital call the guys to come and get him. Then they'd have known he was hurt and no one would have blamed him for Ray's accident. But he hadn't been alert enough to do that sensible thing, and the hospital had evidently deemed him competent enough that they hadn't made the call behind his back. He'd never been unconscious, after all; he had no concussion. The cut on his forehead wasn't even serious. So his failure to call the guys hadn't been a crime, just a result of being shaken up. It was stupid but it hadn't caused Ray's injury. He knew that. His worry for Ray was a normal worry that one of his best friends was hurt, maybe badly.

Egon blamed him for it. Okay, so his injuries weren't especially visible and Egon wouldn't have seen the bruises on his ribs or the sprained ankle this morning, and Peter had tucked the cane under the bed where he could find it when he woke up instead of propping it against his night stand where all of them could have noticed it. Egon knew that no matter how much Peter loved to party, it came second to being a Ghostbuster. It came second to the safety of his friends. Yet Egon had believed him capable of slacking off like that when a job was at stake.

Egon didn't trust him. Egon thought him no more reliable than his dad.

Janine had talked to Peter about that in the car, too. "Don't fuss about it now, Peter. You're hurt, you're not thinking clearly. Egon messed up, but he didn't have any clues."

He had our friendship as a clue, Peter thought miserably. He had fifteen years of knowing me. Sure, I lounge around a lot and put my feet up and sleep in--but not when the guys need me. Never when they need me. I wish I was the one in there, not Ray. They have to know that. Egon has to know that.

But Egon didn't.

"Peter?"

At the sound of Egon's voice, he jerked upright, stiffening against the pain that stabbed through his ribcage at the unwary motion. He couldn't do this, not now. "Go away, Egon," he said desperately. He felt so shaky and sore, his reflexes dulled by the pain medication, that he knew he couldn't face another confrontation. Tightening his hands into fists, he continued, "I ought to be miserable enough to suit you. Go away and leave me to it. Unless you want to get in a few more kicks f-first." His voice faltered and he caught his bottom lip between his teeth to stop its trembling. He wanted nothing more than to fling himself at Egon in search of the comfort he always found there when he was lost and miserable. Egon had been the one sure refuge in his life for the past fifteen years, the one he went to when he couldn't hold out any longer against the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. But he couldn't do that now, not when Egon thought he was pond scum. If only he could think, if only his head didn't feel stuffed with cotton candy, twirling in sticky swirls, confusing him.

"Peter, I am so sorry." Egon's voice sounded as shaky as his own, but Peter hardened himself against it. "I had no right to accuse you like that. I didn't know you had been hurt."

"No, you just thought I was slacking off when you needed me. Well, thanks a lot, Spengler, but I don't need that. Have I ever let you down on a job? No. And I never would. But you believed I would. I guess I know how to take that. Now get out of here. I don't want to talk to you."

But he did. He wanted to reach out to Egon and bawl like a baby. It was the medication. Had to be. He couldn't let his guard down, not now, not to someone who didn't trust him. All these years of trust was just gone. If Egon didn't believe in him, how could Peter ever risk trusting him in return? Had his dad been right all these years, that everyone turns on you eventually and that only suckers believe anything different?

"Peter, I was wrong, but I do trust you," Egon replied, his voice full of sincerity. "You know I do."

"Yeah, I sure do. I just saw a shining example of it." Peter edged out the other end of the pew and made for the door. At least he could lean on the seatback as he walked. He tried to ignore the pain in his ankle, to stand tall, so Egon would move aside and let him past, but Egon didn't move aside. He slid into the doorway and stood blocking it. His left cheek was reddened with a palm print just the size of Janine's hand. Well, well.... Ordinarily, Peter would have asked about it, but he didn't have the heart for it now.

"Peter, the way I acted was unconscionable," Egon said. His eyes were full of pain. After that first glimpse of it, Peter didn't dare look him in the eye. He didn't want to see that. He didn't know how to deal with it.

Peter glared at him. "Yes. It was. Unconscionable." He didn't even challenge the big word the way he usually would. His answer hit Egon like a blow and he flinched from it. Abruptly, Peter felt like the pond scum Egon believed him to be. He tried to push past the physicist, and his ankle gave out on him. Grabbing wildly for the door frame to keep his balance, he found Egon's arms around him, holding him up until he found his balance. It would have been so easy to lean into that comforting grip, so easy and so impossible. He jerked free and fumbled his way back to the pew, collapsing into it and reaching down to massage his aching ankle.

"I don't have any excuse for my assumption, Peter." Egon didn't go away. He didn't back down. "I went to bed in a furious mood that was not your fault. You know I've been working on the physical entity meter for a month now. Last night, I realized I had been working on the wrong angle. It doesn't work. I was so angry with myself for following a false lead that I determined to resolve the problem this morning or know the reason why. When we got the call, I resented it."

"Yeah, and I got in the way. Thanks a lot."

"You did get in the way, but it wasn't your fault, Peter. It was mine." Egon bowed his head. "I had reached the point where I doubted myself badly. The experiment should not have failed. I would have taken it out on anyone who got in my way. When you wouldn't get up, I took it out on you. I felt..." He hesitated, eyeing Peter doubtfully. Peter could feel the eyes upon him but he didn't raise his head. "I felt betrayed," Egon admitted reluctantly. "I know how much I was overreacting. I know it was foolish, but if I hadn't been so angry at myself, I would never have taken it out on you. Had I been thinking clearly in the first place, it would have occurred to me that you wouldn't resist getting up so stringently unless something was wrong. I was so angry at myself for failing with the experiment I wanted to be angry at someone else, and there you were. I know you always get up for early busts, even if you complain about it. But when you didn't, I took my anger out on you. After Ray was hurt, I could not stop. I was...so worried about him I could not deal with it. I could not face the fact that his injuries might be--fatal. So I became angrier at you. You know it is easier to deal with anger than it is to worry about the possibility that Ray might not...be all right." Peter could feel Egon's eyes boring into him, but he still couldn't look up. He did know that, and he knew Egon so well he understood how he tended to block out his concerns and refuse show them. He was pouring them out now.

"Peter, please, I am asking you to forgive me. I know I was not fair to you. I had no right to take my own frustrations out on you. But I am very sorry."

He was doing more than that. He was asking Peter to trust him again, and it was so hard. Peter had always found faith difficult. Egon had been the first person other than his mom that he'd dared risk believing in. It was because of Egon that he was a normal, well-adjusted human being and not an antisocial con man who trusted no one. He had a life because of Egon, a good life. Okay, so Egon had screwed up, but if Peter didn't forgive him, did that mean maybe he wasn't worthy of being trusted himself? Wouldn't it mean he was screwing up at least as badly as Egon had? It would be so easy to push Egon away, to push everybody away and write it all off as a bad job, but could he do that? Wouldn't that mean Egon's false assumption was right?

Peter struggled with his feelings. If only he didn't ache so much. If only he could think. Suddenly Egon's hand came down on his shoulder and squeezed. It felt good. If Peter pushed him away, he could no longer expect the comfort and security Egon had always meant to him. He'd have to throw his whole life away, and then he would have nothing.

"Peter, Ray will need both of us."

That was true, but it wasn't the only reason Peter raised his head and risked a glance at Egon. When he met the physicist's eyes, he realized they were bright with unshed tears. Egon had held vigil for Ray until Peter could get here, fearing the worst. Now that he could no longer blame Peter for it, he had to face all the terrible possibilities head on. Peter knew what that was like. He used anger as a defense mechanism himself. But his anger had drained away like water out of a cracked glass. He felt empty, dried out inside, and there was only one way to be filled again. "Egon?" He couldn't get any more out than that one word, but he found the strength to push himself up, balancing on one foot until he felt Egon's arms close around him and he could lean his weight against his friend.

Peter wasn't sure how long they stood there, holding onto each other. He only knew he couldn't have moved if he had wanted to--and he didn't want to. He needed the comfort and reassurance that Egon didn't blame him, didn't hold anything against him, that Egon hadn't stopped trusting him. The grip was no less fervent for his gentleness. Egon was careful not to hurt his ribs. Janine must have really read him the riot act.

After a long time, Egon ventured tentatively against Peter's ear, "Then you do forgive me?"

Peter gave a sputter of shaky laughter. "Want every 't' crossed and every 'i' dotted, huh, Spengs?"

"I would feel better about it."

"I feel so light I think I could fly," Peter admitted. "God, Egon, I was scared. Yeah, I forgive you. Doesn't mean I won't make you pay a little." He strove hard for lightness and he could tell from the way Egon relaxed and undid his death grip that he had succeeded. Surreptitiously, Peter knuckled his eyes.

"I know the drill," Egon said, his lips quirking in a smile. He removed his glasses, ostensibly to polish them but really to copy Peter's gesture. Each man kindly overlooked each other's attempt to wipe his eyes. "You sprawl on the couch and I act as your slave until your ankle is better."

"Sounds pretty good to me," Peter said, then he caught himself. "No, I'll have the chair and Ray gets the couch. Come on, we better get back. Maybe there's news."

"Can you make it or would you like me to find a wheelchair for you?"

Peter kind of liked the idea of being wheeled around the hospital, but he shook his head. "No. I'll make it. Egon?"

The physicist passed him the cane. "Yes, Peter?"

"I'm...sorry, too. I got so hung up on my hurt feelings I didn't trust you enough. And that was stupid. It wasn't such a stretch for anybody to think that I'd sleep in like that. I'm always going on about how much I hate to get up. And there have been times when I almost didn't haul myself out of the sack. The urge was there. Maybe I overreacted because a part of me knew how easy it could have been for you to be right."

"No, I deserved it. Because no matter how much you might have wanted to stay in, you never did. You complained, but you always came along. Maybe the Peter I first knew in college would have failed to back us up when we needed it--but not for very long. Even then, when you were trying to find yourself, I soon learned how much I could depend upon you." He hesitated. "Of course I accept your apology. Next time, we'll talk first."

"And get mad second?" Peter grinned. "Sounds like a plan."

He started limping down the hall in the direction of the waiting room with Egon at his side, unhesitatingly suiting his steps to match Peter's halting ones.

Just as they reached the waiting room door, a doctor hurried toward them, and they waited for him in case he knew about Ray. He gestured them into the room with the others. Peter noticed Winston and Janine shooting questioning glances at him and Egon, and he nodded quickly to let them know it was all right before turning to face the doctor.

"I'm Dr. Levinson," the older man told them, shaking hands with Egon and Winston. He would have shaken Peter's hand, too but he was holding the cane in his right hand. Instead he gestured Peter toward the couch. "I've been with your colleague Ray Stantz."

"How is he?" Winston asked before anyone else could speak. Winston looked like the tensions of the day were catching up with him fast. Janine edged closer to Egon, venturing an apologetic look at him as she took his arm, and Egon stood at Winston's side.

"Very sore," Levinson told them. "He landed on his left arm, and the shoulder was dislocated, the wrist sprained and his little finger broken. In addition, he has a mild concussion, and that was the cause of his unconsciousness when he was transported to the hospital. However, he quickly regained consciousness while we were treating him."

"You mean Ray's awake?" Peter cried, bouncing up from the couch before he thought of it, staggering momentarily.

Egon caught him with practiced ease and put him back. "Stay there, Peter," he said sternly, but his eyes were twinkling.

"He's dozing now, but he is alert and responsive." He saw the hunger for reassurance on all their faces and smiled suddenly. "Barring totally unforeseen consequences, he should make a complete recovery. We'll keep him overnight to monitor the concussion. He's in a lot of pain with his shoulder and arm although he says his finger hurts the most. What happened to you?" he asked Peter. "Were you injured at the same time?"

"No, last night," Peter corrected. When the doctor lifted a startled eyebrow, he couldn't hold back a blazing grin. "Ghostbusting is a tough job, but somebody's got to do it."

"Believe me, you are welcome to it."

"Can we see Ray?" Winston asked eagerly.

"Not quite yet. If you want to wait I can arrange a brief visit in an hour. We're settling him into a room now. I'll send someone to tell you when he's ready for visitors."

Winston pumped his hand. "Thank you, Doctor. You don't know what this means to us."

Levinson looked at each of them in turn. "Oh, I think I can guess," he said with a quick smile. "Don't worry about him. He's uncomfortable now, but you'll have him home tomorrow."

When he had gone, Winston clasped his hands over his head like Rocky. "Yahoo! Ray's gonna be okay."

"So are we, I think." Egon quirked an eyebrow at Peter.

Peter grinned back at him. "We're gonna be just fine."

"Egon, do you forgive me?" Janine asked hopefully. "For slapping you, I mean?"

"No, I'm grateful for it," Egon replied. "Don't worry, Janine. You did the right thing."

"I did?"

"You didn't tell me about that part," Peter challenged, remembering Egon's reddened cheek. Now that he and Egon had made peace with each other, he was very interested in the story.

"It was better not to," Egon replied stiffly. Then he managed a smile. "I'll make sure such actions are added to Janine's job description. I know a certain psychologist who might have need of it on occasion--or even a certain physicist."

Janine eyed Peter warily, and he saw Winston's doubt, too, but he couldn't help grinning. "I suppose it's too much to hope you got a movie of it?"

"Far too much," Egon responded, and they shared a relieved look.

"Did I get the ghost?" Ray opened his eyes to find Egon and Winston gathered at his bedside, accompanied by Janine and Peter. He was almost positive he'd trapped the ghost, but if he'd dropped the trap or something and it had broken free of the miniature containment unit, he wanted to know about it.

"You sure did, homeboy," Winston praised him, leaning down to clasp his sound shoulder. "But next time you try such a stunt when there's a drop at your back, I'm gonna hog-tie you."

"I...fell, didn't I? That's what they said before, the doctors." He was alert, but he ached all over. The very thought of sitting up made his stomach rumble unhappily. "Peter, when did you get here?"

"Janine brought me. She makes a great chauffeur. You scared us, Tex." He caught up Ray's hand in his left one and gave it a squeeze as if to reassure both Ray and himself. Then he edged sideways awkwardly to allow Egon closer.

"We all had our share of scares," Winston admitted.

"Peter, is that a cane you've got?" Ray asked in surprise as it dawned on him that Venkman had been limping. "And what happened to your forehead?" Suddenly he snapped his fingers--fortunately on his good hand. "That's what happened last night, isn't it? You got hurt! Oh, gosh, we didn't know. Why didn't anybody tell us? Are you all right?"

"Easy, Ray, don't try to sit up," Winston prompted. "You've got a mild concussion and too much sudden movement will make you sick."

Ray knew that was true. His stomach was a lot queasier than he liked and that was from just lying flat. "But what about Peter?" he persisted. Egon had been so mad at him. Did Peter know? Ray glanced back and forth between them in alarm.

"Peter got hit by a panel truck," Janine explained. "He's got broken ribs and a sprained ankle. Egon and Winston will have to look after two invalids."

"And Egon got hit by Janine's palm," Peter said, gesturing to the faint reddening of Egon's cheek. "You missed all the action when you were lying down on the job."

Ray felt his eyes widen as he stared up at Peter doubtfully. Was it a joke? You could never quite tell with Peter. "Gosh, Janine slapped Egon? Why?"

"Because I deserved it," Egon replied without hesitating. "I was very unfair to Peter."

"Well, I probably should have woken you guys up when I go in last night, but it was so late I figured I'd just tell you in the morning." Peter shrugged, then winced. "Ouch. Hey, Ray, when we get home, I'll flip you for the couch, deal?"

Ray began to laugh. "Deal," he agreed. "Is...everything okay?"

"It is now," Winston told him just as the doctor came to shoo him out.

"Peter, I do feel guilty about you," Egon admitted that evening when the two of them were sitting in front of the couch ignoring a boring television sitcom. Winston had gone downstairs to check something under Ecto's hood. At least he said that was why he was going. Peter suspected he had done it to give his two teammates an opportunity to talk out their problems if they wanted one.

"Good. Let me revel in it." Peter grinned, then grew serious. "No, you don't have to. We both screwed up. Guess I'm too used to having you be right all the time."

"I'm obviously not right all the time. I nearly blew up the lab with that defective meter last night. And today I came very close to destroying the first and best friendship I have ever known."

"But you didn't." A part of Peter still felt a twinge of hurt that Egon had blamed him for Ray's injury but he knew he'd get over it, especially since Egon's words warmed a place inside that had grown cold with panic. He was so relieved to have the reconciliation behind him that he could cope with minor hurt feelings just fine. "I couldn't even hold it against you very long. I fought as hard as I could to blame you, but once you started explaining, I couldn't." He slanted a smile at the blond. "Come on, Egon, let's make a deal here, that we don't have to be right all the time. You don't have to solve every scientific problem in one day. I don't have to like getting up in the morning. But we do have to trust each other. Without that, the rest of it doesn't mean anything."

"I realized that today," Egon replied. "I knew I was at fault but, once started, it was impossible to stop. I was utterly shocked when Janine slapped me but, in retrospect, I am very grateful for it."

"She loves me, I know she does," Peter teased. He hesitated. "You know, we probably ought to give her a raise. She's deserved one for a long time, and she was great today. Any way you'd agree to say it was your idea, big guy?"

"No, we'll tell her it was a joint decision. We both owe her a great deal."

"And Ray's coming home tomorrow." Suddenly Peter grinned wickedly. "I've got it. We'll give her the raise but we'll tell her part of her duties are to fetch and carry for Ray and me until we're up to par again. Bringing us coffee and soda. Running our mail up to us. Making our beds. It will piss her off so royally. I love it."

"You are a wicked man, Peter Venkman."

"You bet I am. I practice it two hours every day."

Egon gave a snort of laughter. "Actually, Peter, I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but I feel it incumbent upon me to volunteer for some of that duty."

"You just don't want another slap," Peter challenged but, inside, he couldn't help smiling. He knew why Egon had made the offer, an attempt to atone for his behavior of the morning. Not that he needed to do it. The offer was good enough, although Peter wouldn't tell him so until tomorrow. He could tell that Egon needed to make it. "Boy, was she steamed at you."

"She was, wasn't she?" Egon fingered his cheek reminiscently.

"Guess you won't mind that I sent her a dozen red roses this afternoon--and told the florist to put your name on the order."

Egon's eyes widened in alarm. "You didn't?"

Peter nodded. "Had to. We can't have her quit. We need her too much for that. She's going to have to help out on busts for a week or two, after all." He looked at Egon. "Am I right?"

"Yes. But we'll also have to postpone all the really dangerous busts until you and Ray are up to strength. We don't want to go through anything like this again."

"You called that one right, Spengs."

Winston came clattering up the stairs and leaned around the corner of the dining room to see if they were ready for company. "Hey, guys, I'm gonna make popcorn. Want some?"

"Only if you keep the spud away," Peter caroled out. Slimer had been remarkably discreet all evening. The psychologist couldn't help wondering if Egon had coached him not to pester Peter while he felt so sore and achy. "I'm not a well man, remember."

"I doubt," said Egon with the comfortable amusement of a man who is secure in his friendships, "that you will ever allow us to forget it."

Peter gave him a hard nudge with his elbow. "Hey, Egon?"

One eyebrow came up, Spock-fashion. "Dare I ask?"

Peter gestured at his foot, ensconced on the coffee table on a big, fluffy cushion. "I need you to adjust my pillow."

Egon groaned--but he did it.