by Temaris

Peter smiled at his dinner companion and leaned back in his seat with a contented sigh. "That was very good," he nodded at the table and the remnants of a thoroughly enjoyed meal. "How come I never heard of this place before?"

"If I told you they'd strike me off," Katie smiled mischievously. "Didn't I promise it would be the best restaurant in New York?"

"You sure did. I am officially wowed, and believe me, baby, that doesn't happen often."

"So you liked it?" Her blue eyes were dancing and he laughed in response.

"That's the problem with dating a psychiatrist, you can't put a thing past them," he teased.

Katie laughed and wagged a finger at him. "Nah-uh, no talking shop. I promised not to ask about ghosts and you promised not to ask about Cornell." There was a tiny silence, and Peter chuckled, but not before she caught the frown that briefly darkened his eyes.

"Or do you need to talk? I'm always willing to listen." She reached a hand across the table and laid it on his wrist. His smile faded a little, not reaching his eyes at all. "You've not really been here all evening, have you?"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. It's just hard to come down, and it was a busy day." He smiled and shrugged it off. "So, do you still want to head upstate this weekend?"

"Sure -- where were you thinking of going?" She accepted the change of subject tacitly, and was rewarded by a real smile.

"Somewhere without ghosts!" he said easily, and turned his wrist so that he held her hand. He lifted it and touched his lips to her knuckles. "In the meantime, perhaps we should head home?" He looked significantly at the staff quietly clearing the tables and putting the chairs up around them.

She rose as he gestured for the check. "I'll be back in a moment." She brushed a kiss on his cheek as he stood politely, and headed to the restroom.

She splashed some water gently over her hands, then carefully checked her makeup in the mirror. A touch of powder, and some lip gloss. Lastly she paused, leaning forward to stare into her reflected eyes. For a moment they shone like pools of oil, black and rainbowed. Slowly they cleared back to blue again, and she smiled slowly. Nearly time.

--{--}--

The alarm bell hammered through Peter's head and he groaned. Buried deep under pillow and blankets he slowly let his options slide past his eyes. He could stay in bed. Someone would come and drag him out, and he would end up cold, wet or bruised. Or any combination of the above. Or he could get up, shower, and scare the living daylights out of the guys by turning up for breakfast.

After all, he was picking Katie up at five, jobs permitting, and they would have three days in the Hamptons, away from hospitals, ghosts, and loud, irritating bells.

He slid out of bed, navigated to the bathroom blind and was waking up under the shower by the time Winston came pounding up the stairs yelling, "Peter! Get your ass out of bed!"

He grinned, flipped off the shower and dried off quickly. Clothes on he unbolted the bathroom door and trotted down the stairs, waving cheerfully at the pajama-clad Winston as he stared suspiciously back.

"Hey guys!" He prodded at the food on the table. Apparently no one had got up in time to stop Ray making pancakes. "You made these?" he asked, snagging a plate and a forkful of pancakes. He drizzled syrup heavily over them, and took a mouthful. "Hey, not bad, kid," he saluted Ray with the dripping fork, and took another bite.

Egon raised an eyebrow, and the PKE meter he had been fiddling with, and directed it in Peter's direction. "You appear unwontedly bright this morning, Peter." It chirped briefly, and he slapped its side, frowning, and twiddled at the dials. "Hmm."

"I'm full of the joys of spring, Spengs," he replied around more pancake.

"You like my pancakes?" Ray said suspiciously.

"It is September, Peter. Although since you slept through much of the former part of the year, I daresay that you may well be proportionately still in the spring, if we were to compare your total conscious hours this year, with, for example, my own." He lifted the PKE meter again and nodded, apparently satisfied with whatever it said.

"Not everyone gets by on four hours sleep a night," but even Peter knew it was a feeble riposte. A hand settled briefly on his forehead. "What's with the readings, Einstein?"

"No temp." Winston pulled up a chair and started in on his breakfast. "Maybe he wants something."

"Interesting. You appear to have been near a Class Seven at some point in the last twenty four hours."

"You wound me." Peter clutched a hand to his heart. "I don't just get up when I want something." Three skeptical snorts undercut his look of wounded innocence. "And why are you all sitting around -- did you guys ring the bell just to get me up? What's up with the job?"

Winston merely grinned at him and took a leisurely bite of his breakfast. "Got a call. Sounds like a Class seven. Queens."

"Seven? 'Gon? And what's with the sevens?" Peter looked plaintively at Spengler. "Tell me we're not going to Queens. Not today. Today I want peace, quiet, maybe a couple of twos just to keep the money rolling in."

"I'm sorry, Peter," he didn't look remotely sorry, "There have been several reports, somewhat conflicting, but the broad tenor is as Winston said. Where were you last night?"

"Reports?"

"A number of people in the area have complained of paranormal events. Energy balls have been seen emanating from a small museum, and they have been damaging property."

"Energy balls -- pretty lights, right? Doesn't sound too bad," Peter shrugged. "Nothing world ending, right? Because I have a date with a beautiful lady tonight, and you know how I hate to skip out on you guys halfway through the end of the world."

"Peter!" Ray said indignantly.

Egon ignored him. "Initially it sounded more like a class one or five," he went on, "but this morning there was this on the television." He gestured at the pictures, and Peter frowned, his attention completely grabbed. A team of emergency workers were pulling bodies out of a burning building. Most were in body bags but the twisted, cramped shapes were themselves horribly descriptive. Egon turned the sound up.

"--scenes earlier this morning, when this building," the anchor gestured dramatically behind her to the still burning shell, "mysteriously caught fire, killing thirty five residents, and seriously injuring as many as eighty more. Nobody has any official explanation of the fire but reports of paranormal activity recently in the area have caused some people to wonder where the Ghostbusters were when they were needed."

Egon muted the sound again as Peter snapped, "Off! Turn it off!"

"You think it's been practicing?" Ray asked quietly.

Egon's face darkened, "Or escalating as it gains more power from the death and destruction it is wreaking."

"Thirty-five people is a lot of power," Winston sounded sick.

"We should not jump to conclusions before examining the site of the incident. After all, it may yet prove to have been an accident. Or someone taking advantage of rumors of paranormal incidents to cover up arson."

"Arson and murder," Peter pointed out, putting his fork of food down. Suddenly he didn't feel so hungry.

"That's awful," Ray looked sick. "All those people."

"Has anyone called us in?"

"It's not about getting paid," Egon said sternly, peering at Peter over his glasses, though how he could see anything at all, even at a table length away, beat him.

"Yes, but at least we should have someone agree that we're not footing the bill for any damage!" he countered. "And don't tell me there won't be damage. Anything over a Five, and there's always damage." He drew a deep breath. "Look, Spengs, I'm not saying we won't go unless we're paid. You know that. But I know these people at City Hall. Sooner or later they'll call us in, and we'll be ready, and we'll not get sued. The press is already asking why we're not there. Not good publicity for us, but I promise you, there's people over there thinking the same thing, who know that we can turn that around on them. It's not pretty, but it's reality." He continued as Spengler turned his head away in distaste. "I hate it too, you know that. But thirty-five dead? We've got to do this right, okay, and that means waiting for the call. Otherwise we'll end up sued by thirty-five relatives, who all want to know why we didn't trap it sooner. I'm fond of not getting sued for some reason."

"We thought we'd go just down there, have a look at the museum-- it's an amazing place, loads of stuff." Ray said meekly.

"What kind of museum?" he asked, with a sinking feeling.

"The Museum of Human Development. It's where the first sightings were, Peter, there were reports of orbs, some minor conflagrations. It is a museum of physical anthropology, and contains a number of interesting finds, including some which may not have been removed from their resting places entirely legally or ethically."

"So, lots of skeletons? And possibly pissed-off skeletons at that." Peter said sourly. "Great. Twiggy eat your heart out. Literally."

In the distance the phone rang, and they all stopped dead, straining to hear. Minutes later, Janine's voice rang up through the hall.

"We got one!" Chairs scraped harshly as they jumped to their feet. Egon clipped the PKE meter to his belt, and followed Ray, who was already running down the stairs. Winston disappeared back to the bedroom to finish getting dressed.

"And that'll be them right now," Peter said smugly, and scooped a last mouthful of food into his mouth, chewing as he hurried after the guys. "See, Egon, wait long enough and they coming flocking to your door."

"Certainly, they do seem to come flocking to the door," Egon agreed amiably, and started checking off his fingers, "Police officers, Environmental Health officers, social services, lawyers, military police, angry clients, angry members of the general public, angry fathers, brothers, boyfriends, husbands, process servers, repo men--"

"Hey, they were looking for the former occupants, okay?" Peter interrupted indignantly. "The repo man was not my fault."

"The former occupants were the New York Fire Department. I find it hard to believe that the bailiffs were unable to locate them anywhere except here." Egon's eyebrow raised at Peter, who grinned unabashedly back.

"Go figure, huh?"

"Hey, guys, come on! I wanna see the museum. Animated skeletons would be neat," Ray called back cheerfully. "Did you finish those pancakes?"

"No, but I might need a snack later--"

"Slimer! Food in the kitchen! Just the stuff on the table!"

Peter groaned. "If I'd known that's what you were going to do with the leftovers, I'd've packed a baggie." He scooped up the work sheet from Janine's outstretched hand. "Thanks, Janine. Anything interesting?"

"It's all on the docket, Dr. Venkman," she said shortly, and ducked behind her computer. Venkman raised an eyebrow. "Bad time of the month, Melnitz?" He peered ostentatiously at the calendar, "Yup, a red letter day." Any further words were choked off by Egon's hand in his collar pulling him towards the car. "Egon, you big manhunk you," he smiled sweetly up at his friend, batting his eyelashes, "Dragging me off to your cave?"

"If I could put you in one, preferably on a high mountain surrounded by impenetrable jungle, I would do so." Egon scowled at him. "On your own. Without a subscription to Playboy."

"Oh, now that's just cruel and unusual. Talking of cruel and unusual, hey, Egon, what did you mean I'd been near a Class Seven? Didn't see a single ghostie all night." He grinned. "Some stars, the moon, a beautiful lady, fireworks--"

"Enough, Peter," Egon said sternly, his eyes amused. "Where did you go anyway last night?"

"Some restaurant in the middle of Queens," he raised a hand and pointed at Egon, "That's it, right? We probably drove past the Twiggy Museum, right?"

"It is a possibility," Egon acknowledged. They looked thoughtfully at the car. "We really should have moved faster," Egon said finally.

Peter nodded rueful agreement. "Zed can have the front." They looked at each other and dived for the back seat. Winston could live with being thrown about by the maniac madly revving Ecto's engine.

--{--}--

"There appear to be several curiously different concentrations of psycho-kinetic energy pooling here," Egon said thoughtfully. He turned in place slowly and 'hmmm'd' as the meter chirped and blinked, the arms swinging gently up and down like the flapping of wings as he moved.

"Where's the Class Seven you were talking about?" Winston asked, shrugging his pack into place and pulling on his heavy leather gloves.

"There are no signs at present of any active paranormal entities. The residuals however are quite interesting."

"We're going to die," Peter said morosely. He cinched the belt of his pack tighter, then loosened the thrower in its sheath. "I hate 'interesting' goopers. We end up slimed, injured and/or sued." His eyes were wary, scanning the area outside the apartment block slowly and carefully. The stink of ashes clogged the air and was bitter at the back of his throat. He shook his head, letting his gaze drift up the burnt out building and he shivered. A horrible way to die.

"Peter, I have compared the residuals you were carrying this morning, and I believe that you may indeed have come close to the entity that we are currently investigating." Peter groaned, but before he could say anything, Ray rushed up.

"Wow!" Ray had been walking around the area in front of the building, eyes glued to his own PKE meter. "You've gotta come over here! Have you seen the valences, Egon? It's incredible!" He dragged Egon forcibly towards the charred exterior wall of the burned out apartment block. "I'm getting readings as though the ectoplasmic frequency was variable! You remember how you theorized that some entities might be able to manipulate their own energy readings, as well as the energies around them?" "So it wasn't arson?" Winston asked practically.

"Or our fire bug isn't human." Peter glanced at Egon and Ray. "Though the distinction is a bit fine for some people, apparently."

"This is quite fascinating. I believe we may have a chance to put my hypothesis to the test." Egon said gravely, stepping up to peer over Ray's shoulder and take his own readings. "You are quite right, Raymond. The readings are very like the predicted patterns. Although it may merely indicate two entities with very similar frequencies."

"Who phase in and out at the same time?" Ray asked skeptically

"And this means, what, exactly?" Winston demanded, eying the meters doubtfully.

"Egon thinks that some paranormal beings may be able to regulate the frequencies at which they live."

"Again, using little words," Peter said, one hand up and eyes shut as though to ward off the blinding light of science.

"We won't be able to track this one using the EMF readings that normal operation of the PKE meters utilizes," Egon began.

"Whoa-- back up," Winston stopped him. "What do you mean 'won't be able to track'? I got that bit loud and clear."

There was a crackle and a smell of ozone, and a fireball appeared out of thin air, hovered for a moment, then slammed into the ground.

"Like that?" Ray aimed the meter at the point where the fireball had emerged. "We can't predict where the entity is going to strike, because we can't predict the frequencies at which it will emerge."

"Shit!" Peter backed up, eyes running rapidly over the silent building. Winston stepped up to stand to his left, thrower at the ready. They waited tensely, only the chirp of PKE meters breaking the quiet. "Ray? Egon?"

"Yes, Peter?" Egon's voice was distant and Peter snatched a glance towards him. The man was turning in a slow circle, fingers delicately moving dials. A faint shimmer in the air between them warned him and Peter powered up and took swift aim. "We should still be able to get some readings if I de-tune the--"

"Egon! Down!"

Spengler dropped to the ground instantly, rolling to his side and pulling his own proton thrower free. "Venkman, if this is some kind of--"

His voice was lost under the crackle of proton fire. Peter squinted, holding steady on the invisible object that pulled franticly at the stream. "Got it!

"I see it, man," Zeddemore took aim and let rip. There was a shriek and the thing phased into visibility. "Damn that mother's ugly."

"Ray, watch out!" Egon called abruptly. Ray yelped and there was a thud, but Peter couldn't afford to look away to see what was happening behind him. He briefly freed one hand and grabbed at the trap on his pack, wrenching it loose.

"Trap out!" he called, throwing it underhand to land beneath the pale, tentacled being struggling in their streams. He kicked the trigger, and with practiced ease they pulled the thing down towards the small box and into the light that flooded out. It screamed, and two more fireballs shot wildly out, but they were its last. The entity and the bright light vanished with a snap, and the two Ghostbusters grinned victoriously at each other for a split second before whirling to meet the threat that had kept Ray and Egon from helping them.

Ray was lying sprawled on the ground, clutching his arm with his gloved hand. His face was tight with pain, and they could smell the sickly sweet scent of burned flesh . Egon was standing over him, thrower out, desperately recalibrating the pack. They ran.

"What happened?" Peter asked urgently, thrower at the ready, eyes keeping a sharp lookout. Winston dropped to his knees and pulled Ray's hand away.

"Jesus!" The profanity was so utterly unexpected that Peter let his attention drop from scanning their surroundings for danger to Ray's arm. He swallowed. There was some kind of thick residue, almost transparent, smeared across Ray's upper arm. It seemed to have eaten away his clothing everywhere it touched, and here and there at the edges material was apparently spontaneously bursting into flames as fast as Winston slapped it out, using his still gloved left hand. Under the residue the skin itself seemed to be scorched and blackened. Winston carefully scraped as much as he could off, quickly and carefully. Each lump of gel spattered as it hit the ground, and the grass around it flickered into brief flames, going out as the water soaked vegetation smothered it.

"What is it?"

"I don't know, but it looks like fucking napalm!" There wasn't any way for Ray's skin to go whiter, but Egon and Peter both did.

"That thing was firing blobs of napalm at us?" Peter asked incredulously. "How the hell is that even possible?"

"I don't have a better description of it than that, Pete. Look what it's doing to him. I've only seen anything like it once before." His eyes met Venkman's grimly, and Peter nodded.

"Damn it all," Egon swore. "I knew those things weren't ectoplasmic in origin. I was duped." He glared ferociously at the PKE meter, venting his anger with himself on the machine.

"But we got it, right?" Winston said urgently. "Because we don't have time to wait around here for ghost number two, we have to get Ray to a specialist burns unit, stat."

Egon shook his head gravely. "I am very sorry to have to tell you that the Class Seven I detected earlier is still present; it appears that you have only trapped a Class Five, which I suspect was playing decoy. Moreover, it clearly has some kind of store of these materials, and, most likely, an ulterior motive in setting us up in this fashion." He shook the PKE meter hard in frustration. "I do not understand the readings we are getting here."

"Venkman! Call 911!" Winston ordered tersely. He wiped his gloved hands off on the ground, then cautiously stripped the gloves off, letting them lie where they fell. Peter stared as the gloves burst into flame, and ran for Ecto.

He returned at a run no more than a couple of minutes later. "They're coming and sending burns specialists." He handed Winston the first aid kit from Ecto. "Here."

"Good." It wasn't clear which he was referring to. Winston rummaged swiftly through the box, "I don't know if that will do more harm than good, but--" He covered Ray's arm with the burn relief spray. Ray screamed, and passed out.

"God! Ray!" Peter dropped to his knees, reaching to touch his friend's face, then sliding his hand to his neck, checking for a pulse.

"Not good." Winston shook his head, "Damn, I hope that was the right thing to do. Maybe I should have left it." Peter shook his head sharply. "Don't second guess yourself. You had to do something." He gripped Winston's shoulder comfortingly for a second, then looked up. "Hey, boy wonder, anything to add to the festivities?" he asked Egon.

"Not as yet. I suspect I have discovered part of the reason for the unnecessary confusion, and may momentarily-- Peter!"

Venkman only had a moment to turn, just in time to see a creature with streaming blonde hair and rainbow eyes soaring at him before fire hit him full in the face, and he went down.

--{--}--

"And you're sure?"

"As sure as our instrumentation, under the not inconsiderable incentive of the near loss of two members of our team can make me." The police officer across the table from him sat back, and turned the tape recorder off with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Spengler. Thank you for coming in at such a time." He offered a hand, and Spengler took it, shaking with a firm grip. "Officer Malkowitz should be finished with Mr. Zeddemore. If you don't mind waiting a moment here I'll just go get this typed up for you." He popped the cassette and left the small interrogation room.

Outside he paused, his shoulders slumped. "Poor bastard," he said softly.

"Danny, you done in there?" He straightened to see Moshe Malkowitz looking like he knew exactly how Dan Ridwell felt.

"Yeah. Damn, Mo--"

"I know. But neither of them are dead yet. Right?"

"Right." It didn't really seem to help much though, and their eyes slid away from the doors which hid the two men. "God. Their faces."

"Blaming themselves."

"Yeah. We oughta let 'em get back to the hospital."

"I'll take 'em."

"Thanks, Mo. If I bring them down to the back entrance?"

"I'll be there in five, let me get the keys."

Dan knocked perfunctorily, and went back in. "Doctor Spengler, we're bringing a car around to take you back to the hospital." Spengler straightened out of his slump and sharp blue eyes met his.

"Have you had news?" The bass voice was strained and clipped.

"No, sir. We just assumed you and Mr. Zeddemore would want to go back."

"Ah. Of course."

Ridwell kicked himself mentally. Way to worry the man. "Sorry sir, we can take you back to Ghostbuster Cen--"

"No. No, the hospital would be ideal." Spengler looked like he really didn't know which way was up, and Dan opened the door, ushering him out.

"Winston..."

"Mr. Zeddemore will meet you at the vehicle, sir."

"Thank you, Officer--" his eyes flicked down to the name badge "--Ridwell. Might we prevail on your good nature further and ask your assistance in avoiding any members of the press that may be waiting for us?" He sounded bone tired, and Ridwell nodded.

"Yeah, we figured you'd want a quiet trip. That's what we're hoping to getya, Dr. Spengler. If you'll come down this way--" He gestured to a stairwell.

Spengler nodded, and hurried silently down the half dozen flights. At the foot he almost ran into Malkowitz and Zeddemore.

"Egon, man, you look like crap," Winston's frank assessment brought a fleeting lightening of Spengler's eyes.

"And you of course look so much more like you have but momentarily stepped from the covers of GQ."

"Point." Zeddemore slung an arm around him and they trailed after the police officers.

"We've got an unmarked vehicle. We'll decoy another one out in a second, and follow with this in a moment." Ridwell nodded over at a dark, tinted window sedan pulled out as the decoy, and ushered them over to an ordinary looking family car. "A little misdirection can work wonders."

Egon nodded acknowledgement and slid silently into the car.

--{--}--

Egon flexed his hands, gently unknotting them from their white knuckle grip on each other. His eyes were fixed on them, and he refused to listen to the racket and clamor of the hospital. They had not permitted him to see Peter as yet. A chair scraped against the floor, and a heavy sigh told him that Winston was back from visiting Ray.

"How is he?"

Winston shrugged. "They seem to think he'll be okay. He should get full use of that arm back."

Egon shifted to meet his despondent eyes. "Mostly due to your quick thinking," he reminded him gently.

"Did they-- is Pete--"

"Nothing as yet." Egon's eyes dropped back to his hands, and he carefully unclenched them again. "But we did clear the residue from his skin. Even more quickly than you did for Ray. We may even find that he is the better off of the two." He attempted a cheerful tone, and Winston's arm wrapped around his shoulders, gripping him firmly.

"Don't beat yourself up, Spengler. If it's not my fault it sure ain't yours. No way could we guess that spook was gonna start with the chemical warfare."

"And when I found out which retarded incompetent member of the armed services permitted that stuff to get into the hands of--"

"Whoa, whoa. You know, it probably just stole it. It was phasing in and out when we saw it."

"We must have more information. Otherwise I fear that we will have to face it again, with two of our number already removed from the field of play. Furthermore, as yet I still do not have any real means of tracking or trapping it. And I will not permit that. The PKE readings alone indicate some possible--"

"Are you here for Peter Venkman?"

Both men leapt to their feet. The white coated doctor was nearly as tall as Egon, painfully thin, and with unattractive stubble emerging unevenly across his cheeks and jaw. "I'm Doctor Sullivan, I specialize in acute burns, particularly the kind of injuries your friend has sustained."

"Dr. Egon Spengler. My colleague Mr. Winston Zeddemore," Egon introduced them, and Winston offered a hand, which the doctor shook.

"If you would like to come up to the unit office, we can discuss your friend's case."

"Thank you, Dr. Sullivan," Egon nodded stiffly, and the two men followed him. He took a seat behind a brightly purple, 'S' shaped table, and gestured them to two of the arm chairs across from him.

"Please, take a seat." As they settled he took a sip of coffee from a stained mug, and grimaced. "Coffee -- terrible stuff, but better than nothing," he smiled. "Would you gentlemen like--"

Egon shook his head, and Winston asked, "What about Pete?"

"Yes. Mr. Venkman has some very nasty injuries. Most unusual." He shook his head, and took another sip.

"What's the verdict? Come on man, don't spin this out."

"I'm sorry, I completely understand your anxiety. I myself was in a position not dissimilar to yours recently, but," he stopped himself, possibly in response to the faint growling sound coming from Egon. Winston rested a restraining hand on his friend's arm. "Mr. Venkman has severe burns to his face, neck and hands. You understand the natural reaction to a facial injury is to shut the eyes and fling up the arms, thus," he demonstrated, disappearing briefly behind his sleeves, and emerging again. "This was both good and bad." "His hands?" Winston said sharply. "I didn't see--"

"Mr. Venkman--"

"He is Doctor Venkman," Egon interrupted with terse annoyance.

"I beg your pardon." Sullivan looked confused and carried straight on, "Doctor Venkman's hands still had some of the burn agent on them when the paramedics arrived on the scene, as I understand it. We have sent it for analysis of course, but the length of time that they went untreated has added to the depth and severity of the injury."

The Ghostbusters simply glared at him until he carried on, sounding a little flustered. "Well, he managed to protect his eyes. There is no sign of damage there. And some parts of his face, a little across the left cheekbone and nose, the right lower forehead were also saved. But it was at the expense of his hands. The burns there are the deepest of all as I said. But all are under the most advanced, aggressive treatment that we can provide."

"So, what will happen? Will he be okay?" Egon said with quiet misery.

"Okay? Well, he will live. Beyond that," the doctor shrugged. "He shouldn't lose all use of his left hand, it was less affected. The right hand -- I can't offer an immediate prognosis on I'm afraid. We'll need to see how it responds to treatment over the next month or two." He hesitated, and said more gently, "Mister, ah, Doctor Venkman almost certainly will never regain full use of it, and frankly, it is not impossible that we may be obliged to intervene radically."

Winston swallowed. "You mean amputate."

Sullivan nodded slowly, his face somber. "The worst possible scenario that we are looking at may result in losing the hand completely. You should prepare yourselves that he will not be the same man you knew."

"And his face?" Egon asked stoically.

Sullivan pursed his lips. "He should heal sufficiently to be able to have a normal life."

"A normal life?" Winston asked, outraged. "Without his hands?!"

"He will never be the same, but his life is not over." He leaned forward and continued compassionately, "Keep that in mind when you see him. Your attitude will be fundamental in forming his own response to his situation. If you treat it like a life ending disaster, then he will believe it and act accordingly. I would recommend your friend find a good psychiatrist, we have several excellent ones on staff here."

"But--" Sullivan ignored Winston's half voiced protest. Winston threw a look at Egon, but the man looked lost, staring at the floor, his skin taut across his bones as though he were trying to hold his emotions in with brute strength. He looked back at the doctor, who went on.

"Now, as for actual treatment, we have a number of options available. We will be initiating skin grafts as soon as he is well enough, and further reconstructive surgery may become feasible, though he may not respond well to such intervention until he has had a chance to fully heal." He paused and eyed them closely.

"You understand of course that some of this is merely warning you of the worst that might happen. It may come through far, far better than we dare to hope right now. And of course, nothing will be done without either Mr. Venkman, or Mr. Venkman's next of kin's authorization."

"Of course." Egon nodded, his voice dry as dust. "Can we -- thank you, may we have sometime to consider this."

"Certainly. We are largely waiting to see how effective the current treatment is. We will keep you advised of any changes."

"Thank you." Winston drew a deep breath. "Is he awake yet?" he asked as Sullivan nodded as he got to his feet.

"No. Normal practice here is to keep the patient sedated until we are sure that healing has begun. He is in considerable discomfort, and being conscious will not be a kindness at this time. There are few more painful things than burns, especially to the face, where there are so many nerve endings. But so far as we can tell, he can feel them which is a good thing." He caught their incredulous looks, and for the first time, smiled.

"Yes, good. It shows that there has not been the quantity of third degree burns we initially feared. Anyway, the whole experience is stressful for the patient, not merely the physical pain, but the mental anguish -- for many, their sense of self is tightly bound up in their image, and the treatment itself. Debriding is not something I would want to experience whilst fully aware. The more time he has to heal, the better."

Winston's face pulled into a faint grin. "Image conscious. That's Pete all right." He swallowed, and glanced at Egon. "When will we know what will happen, if you're going to have to--" he trailed off, not wanting to say it.

"Three, maybe four days. We need to be sure he is stable, allow the healing to make some progress." Sullivan said carefully, and Winston was abruptly grateful that the man was not giving them all the gruesome details. His imagination and memory were more than sufficient.

"Thank you."

Egon lifted his head and he rose, and extended his hand. "Yes. Thank you. We-- would appreciate being updated on Peter's condition. And if we could see him as soon as possible?" He slid a business card towards Sullivan who glanced at it and nodded.

"You must understand that he will be in a sterile unit for some time, to minimize the risk of infection?"

Egon nodded, and released the doctor's hand. "Yes, of course," he said steadily, hiding his disappointment.

"If you are willing to wear sterile outfits I will see what I can do."

"Thank you," Egon smiled politely, and turned away. "We shall speak to you again shortly?"

"Certainly. And I shall arrange with the nurses for you to visit your friend. Dr. Spengler, Mr. Zeddemore." He shook hands with them, and they left to head back to the waiting room.

--{--}--

"Peter?" The faintest stir of singed eyelashes showed a glint of green, and Egon leaned forward anxiously. "Peter, don't try to speak."

The lashes dipped briefly then opened a little wider. He looked at Egon, keeping his head still. His tongue flickered over his lips, and he pulled a disgusted face as he tasted the ointment smeared across his skin, then froze with a moan.

"Keep quite still, please, Peter. You were injured quite badly I'm afraid." Egon rested a hand on his shoulder. "The doctor will tell you the details, but--"

"What, worst?" Peter's voice was as scorched as the rest of him. Egon's eyes closed briefly, and he ducked his head before sternly pulling himself together.

"Your hands, Peter. No, do not attempt to look." He pressed him down gently when he would have tried to lift himself to see. "There is no need for you to see it."

The faintest dip of Peter's head acknowledged his words. "Don't lie to me, Peter. Please, do not attempt to move, or I will have you restrained."

"Kinky," Peter mouthed. His eyes flickered shut and Egon leaned further forward. He appeared to be sleeping again. The doctor had assured them that Peter would drift in and out for some days before he regained full consciousness, and he accepted that they knew best, but it was still hard to live through. Not as hard as-- he looked away from the bandaging on Peter's hands. He couldn't stop his gaze from settling there every time he let his thoughts wander. He didn't dare touch the right hand, the worst of the two. The one Sullivan had threatened to amputate. The one that his nose, sensitized by years of mycological research and experimentation, could smell the sickly stench of rot emanating from only too easily. He shivered, the doctor's words still nauseating him.

He couldn't touch Peter's hair either. On other such occasions he had been able to brush back the soft, unruly tendrils. It was one of the few demonstrative gestures he permitted himself. He sighed. Most of it was gone, scorched away, or shaved closely back to allow access to the first and second degree burns that spattered across his scalp. His face too. There was only the small safe area rising up from his right cheekbone across to his left eye, where Peter's ruined hands had flown as the fire struck.

He dropped his head into his hands and sat quite still and silent. He had explained his injuries to Peter three times already over the last forty-eight hours as he slowly drifted back towards consciousness. It had been four days since the accident, and the doctors had started tapering off the drugs slowly, carefully, trying to find a balance between his comfort and his wakefulness, but each time he woke it was as though it were the first time. Each time was harder than the last, as the strain of keeping calm and confident for a man who could spot a lie from mere body language told.

"Egon?"

His head snapped up.

"Man, I'm sorry," Winston's face was sympathetic. "I thought you'd dropped off."

"No. I was quite awake." He shook himself. "How is Raymond?"

Winston half shrugged. "Awake. Healing. Asking for you. They're pretty happy with how he's doing, but he's kind of worried about you."

Egon's eyes went to Peter.

"I know. And he understands, really he does." Winston hesitated. "I wonder if you do?"

"Me?" Egon asked frostily.

Winston half smiled at him. "Thought you did," he said with satisfaction. "So, why--"

Egon's eyes settled affectionately on Peter's silent body. "Because, really, why would I wish to compete with the roller coaster of inappropriate liaisons that is Peter's life?"

"I sometimes think all those girlfriends are just another way of hiding the real Peter Venkman."

"Of course they are," Egon agreed calmly. "But it is his decision."

Winston looked as though he wanted to add something else, but said nothing.

"I'll visit with Raymond shortly, I promise."

"Did Pete wake up yet?"

"Briefly. I doubt he will recall it later." Egon stood and stretched, rolling the kinks out of his back and neck. "Doctor Sullivan indicated that he might well rouse briefly several times before returning to full consciousness."

Winston nodded, and jerked his head back towards the door. "Yeah. I was there too, Egon. I ran into Sullivan just now, cornered him -- Sullivan says he's definitely off the critical list; even better, he doesn't think they'll have to um, operate any more."

"That is good news." Egon smiled briefly. "If you don't mind then, I shall go upstairs and speak with Ray. If you wish to remain here I will meet you in an hour. And then perhaps we should go home. It has been a long wait, perhaps we should take the news as a propitious moment to do so. Personally, I rather feel that a hot shower is something of a necessity for both of us if we wish to remain in the good graces of the staff here." He met Winston's tired eyes. "We should try to get some sleep too."

Winston barked a short laugh. "Yeah. That's going to happen. Egon--" he changed his mind and simply finished, "Sure, I'll be here when you get back."

--{--}--

Ray waved cheerfully at Egon as he walked through the door. "Hey, look, they've got pictures from the bust last year when Peter got dumped out of the window and you nearly took his head off!"

Egon's eyebrows flickered up. The incident of the previous day was scrolling across the screen, and he frowned, briefly surprised that the accident was still newsworthy. "A moment we both treasure," he said dryly, and Ray grinned. "Peter will not be pleased with the pictures," he added with a faint smirk.

"He's better then?" he asked, responding intuitively to Egon's light hearted retort.

"Asleep. But he woke briefly about half an hour ago, he wasn't really conscious, and I don't doubt we will have to repeat everything I told him for yet a fourth time when he resumes consciousness. However, they are no longer speaking of amputation, and the skin grafts will begin day after tomorrow. Beyond that, we are told we must wait and see."

"Oh Egon," Ray's ready sympathy warmed him, and he smiled.

"Peter sleeping is nothing abnormal, and he is healing as well as he may for now. How are you, Ray? How is your arm?"

Ray lifted it, as though Egon could see anything through the bandages. "Okay. Kind of achy, but that's a good thing, no third degree burns." He smiled and lowered his injured arm carefully to lie against his chest. "They don't even think it'll need grafts. The burns are small enough, and you guys got that stuff off of me so fast-- hey, did you find out what it was? Was Winston right?"

"We haven't heard yet. The police would have left the results at the firehall, I'm sure Janine would have let us know if they had arrived." He shook his head. "I am confident they will contact us as soon as their laboratory has completed its analysis. Do you want me to arrange for additional analgesics, Ray?" Egon frowned over his spectacles.

"Great! When I get out of here, we can run a full ecto-analysis on it. I don't think I've come across anything quite like it in my books."

"Ray, do you require additional painkiller?"

"No. Honestly, Egon, I feel fine!"

"You would tell me if you were not, of course?" he insisted and Ray reddened.

"I promise, I'll ask if I need any more. But what about the goop? C'mon Egon. Did you get a chance to investigate it? Cos I've got some ideas about the spectral analysis that we could adapt the lab ectometer to test, and--"

Egon smiled and moved over to the near side of Ray's bed to sit down on it. "I don't want to disappoint you, Ray, but I suspect the police analysis will tell us everything we need to know about the material the Class Seven was using."

"You think Winston was right then?" Ray's eyes were wide.

"I bow to his more experienced opinion that the substance was weapons based, and not ectoplasmic in origin. There are few accelerants or pyretic gels that behave in quite the way we witnessed. I think the conclusion is reasonable in the circumstances."

"But Egon, how would a spook get hold of something like that? And why?"

Egon looked down at the floor. "I imagine it stole it from some facility or other. Winston believes, and I concur, that it was most likely some sort of deliberate ploy to harm us. Considering the evidence possibly the entity was deliberately targeting you and Peter."

Ray blinked, and asked tentatively, "Us? But, Egon, why?" His eyes widened. "You think it really killed all those people just to get at us? Maybe it was just self-defense. You know, just because it attacked us doesn't mean it was personal."

"It seemed very deliberate." Egon looked away and there was a brief silence.

"Maybe that's just shock, Egon," Ray said earnestly. "Just because you're feeling shaken up because of Peter. And me of course."

Egon finally looked up. "You could be right," he said finally. "I admit, you see, to a certain irrationality where Peter is concerned."

Ray leaned forward and rested his good hand on Egon's leg. "I know, Egon," he smiled at his oldest friend. "But you've got to remember he's going to be okay. Isn't he?"

"Probably. Eventually." Egon smiled painfully, grateful that Ray was confined to his room for the present, and could not call him on the lie.

"Well then." He patted Egon and settled back onto his pillows. "One day you're going to have to tell him."

"One day. Perhaps." Egon dropped his eyes to his folded hands. "I must admit this was something of an incentive to broach the topic. But he is not as yet conscious, and I do not doubt that good sense will have reasserted itself once he is fully awake, aware, and flirting with anyone who passes his bed."

"Oh, Egon." They were quiet for a while, Egon staring blankly into the distance, and Ray frowning as he thought over the events of the bust.

"'Gon?" Ray said slowly. "Maybe you were right."

"What do you mean?"

"About the attack. I think it really was targeting us, Egon. And there was something about it..." He hesitated, "I remember something about its eyes." He grimaced and slapped his bad hand down on the bed, and whitened with pain as the impact jolted through his burned arm.

"Ray! Be careful!" Egon jumped to his feet and hovered anxiously until some color came back into Ray's face.

"Not important. Why can't I remember?" Ray worried. "I don't think it's Tobin's. I think it's another book. Something I read a while ago." He wracked his drug fogged brain and then stared helplessly at Egon. "I know I know it! I just can't think, these stupid drugs they've got me on."

"What kind of book," Egon asked practically. "Maybe I could find it in the library at home."

"Not a reference book. It was a collection of anecdotes. Zombies in Russia and vampires in India kind of thing. It might be -- I don't know, I can't remember!"

"It's all right, Ray. I will find the book." He sat down again, in the chair this time, and looked thoughtfully at his friend. "So it might truly have been a deliberate attack? Not just a response to our endeavors to capture it? Or my own paranoia?" He considered the idea, and his face darkened. "If we are right, we should not leave Peter alone. Or you."

"Winston's with him right now, isn't he?" Ray caught his wrist with his good hand.

"Yes, but I should warn him--"

"Stay for a while, Egon. Maybe we can figure this out. That variable frequency thing. Did you have any luck?"

"No. I do not understand how it is even possible."

"You were the one who theorized it. Oh. Oh!" Ray looked stunned. "Egon, I don't think you'll like this."

Egon grimaced. "There is very little I like about this so far. One more thing probably won't hurt."

"What if it wasn't a Class Seven at all? Not ectoplasmic."

"A demon?"

"No. Something else."

"But it registered on the meters, Ray."

"I know. I know, I'm just thinking out loud here. Look, what if it was something else, something like, I don't know a vampire or a werewolf."

"Neither of those things is likely to have the abilities we saw manifest in the attack."

"I know that, Egon. I was there too. Assume it's something else. Something new we haven't seen before. What's the thing we always look for?"

"PKE readings."

"Right! So what if it knew, and could 'provide' PKE readings to throw us off?"

"Why would it want to? I think you're making this more complicated than it needs to be, Raymond. Perhaps it is the medication."

"No, Egon." He gripped his friend's arm tighter. "I saw it. Its eyes. There was something-- something greedy about it. It wanted something."

"Hunger doesn't make it sentient." Egon disagreed, the light of debate in his eyes.

"No, but malice and planning do," he replied soberly. "Why did it get hold of napalm when it could have just used psychokinesis to attack us? Plenty of polters have caused deaths and mayhem that way. I think it wanted something specific. I wish I could remember the name of that book." Ray yawned and his hand slackened on Egon.

"Rest, Ray. I will find the book and investigate the problem from that angle of attack."

"Oh--kay," he said around another yawn. "Be careful, Egon. It might be trying to get all of us. Not just, oh, sorry, me 'n' Peter." His eyes slid shut, and like that he was asleep.

Egon watched until Ray was deep asleep and snoring, before he left.

--{--}--

"I was out of town for the weekend, I just heard!" Katie brusquely dashed a tear away from her eyes, and looked desperately at the receptionist. "Can I see him? Just for a few minutes. I know the rules."

The nurse looked hesitantly at her. Doctor Weller was a well known face here. And certainly the hospital grapevine had been full of the news that she was dating one of the Ghostbusters. But they had been quite definite that no one should go in.

"Well, you are medical personnel here, Doctor, so it wouldn't really be against the rules," she made the decision. "And you're practically family anyway. He's in 408."

"Oh, god, thank you, thank you so much!" Katie turned away and hurried down the corridor, her eyes dry and gleaming darkly. She came to a standstill at the doorway, and her lips tightened in annoyance. Winston Zeddemore. Well, half the fun was doing it under their noses. She tapped lightly, hesitantly on the door frame.

"Winston?" she called softly when there was no response.

"Huh?" Zeddemore's eyes snapped open, one hand drifting down to the pack beneath Peter's bed. "Oh. Katie," he said flatly, his eyes cool and untrusting.

"I came as soon as I heard!"

"Pete was supposed to be going away with you on Friday." Zeddemore said conversationally. "So imagine our surprise when we didn't hear from you. At all. And couldn't get hold of you here or at home, or at the guest house Peter had booked. And now it's Tuesday."

"I had no idea, I-- I'm sorry, I had an emergency case, a private case, out of state. I tried to get hold of Peter."

"It made the national news," he replied coldly.

"I didn't watch it. I don't tend to watch the TV -- too many depressing things on it. God, Winston, I'm sorry!" she dropped her face to stare at Peter's silent form, and blinked rapidly until tears welled up, "If I'd known don't you think I'd've been here as soon as I could?" She sniffed and dusted at the tears. "This was my first chance. Please?"

"He's not really conscious yet," he said reluctantly, pulling his hand back up. "Be careful of his hands and face."

She moved into the room and picked up the chart from the end of his bed. One hand flew up to her mouth, and she blinked away more tears. "Oh! Oh, Peter, my dear." She clipped the board back onto the footboard and hurried the few steps to the head of the bed. "You're going to get better, Peter darling." She bent closer, hesitated as though unsure where she could touch him, then dropped a lingering kiss on his still lips.

"Careful!" Winston half rose out of his chair. Peter arched in the bed moaning in pain, and Katie gasped and backed away.

"God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt him," she babbled. "I -- I..."

"Get out." Winston said softly. "Call the nurse on your way."

She backed towards the door, "Peter, darling, I'm sorry. I'll be back tomorrow, I promise." Her eyes met Winston's and for a split second he thought they flickered green, and then she was gone.

"Y'know Pete, you've made some crappy choices with girlfriends in your lifetime, but I'm thinking this one is a new low." Winston said conversationally. "You really ought to consider dating Egon. He's reliable, conscientious to a fault, won't stand your bullshit, and is totally devoted to you." He shook his head. "One day I will figure out when encouraging two of the guys I share sleeping quarters with to start sleeping together struck me as a good idea. And when I figure it out, I will go back and strangle myself." He shook his head, a faint smile on his face. "Hey, at least you weren't awake when she bailed on you." He scowled, and gently patted Peter's knee, the nearest safe spot on his friend's body, "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. None of us are, right?"

Peter had subsided into silence as Katie left, and Winston sighed. "Yeah, you sleep, Pete. Give Mother Nature a helping hand."

He picked up his book from where it had dropped on the floor when Katie had walked in, and flicked through till he found his page. "Where were we? Oh yeah--'Pharisees' Clearing was uncanny enough in the daytime, but at night it was frankly awe-inspiring. The narrow stony strip between the woods was ghostly...'"

Rather more than an hour had passed, and Winston was starting to wonder where Egon had gotten to, when Peter's nurse came in with a trolley carrying bandages, tubes of ointment, and a couple of stainless steel basins.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Zeddemore, you're going to have to leave," she said firmly, and parked the trolley close to Peter's bed. "I have to clean the wounds, and really, we need as sterile an atmosphere as possible while I'm doing that, so if you don't mind waiting outside?"

Winston rose obediently. "Will it take long?"

The nurse glanced at Peter, and then back at Winston. "Probably a little while, there's a lot of area to cover, but I'll be as quick about it as I can."

Winston got to his feet. "I'll be outside," he swallowed as she started laying out equipment. He hurried out, then peered in through the observation window. The nurse was unwrapping bandages preparatory to scrubbing the wounds clean of dead tissue, and he shuddered back bile. "God, you poor kid," he whispered, forgetting that Venkman was a mere six years younger than himself. He leaned against the cool wall of the corridor outside Peter's room, and closed his eyes. "Lord, I don't ask much, and sometimes, I don't ask real polite, when we're in a hurry, and some gooper is chasing our tails, but you understand all that; you know I mean the respect. Please. Make it right?"

"Winston?" Egon's voice, strained with anxiety. He straightened up, and turned to face his friend. "Winston, is there news?"

"No, man. They're just cleaning him up. Kicked me out, told us to go get some sleep." He slung a friendly arm around Egon's shoulders. "Come on." Egon resisted him for a moment, staring at the blinds obscuring Peter's room. "Come on."

"Ray believes that the attack on them was deliberate. We should not leave them."

"Even if it was, and I'm not necessarily agreeing or disagreeing here, they're both safe enough here. They've got as good security as we have, look." He gestured to the security guard seated near reception, the electronic pass tags that the nurses and doctors used to get in and out of rooms. "And you need food, and sleep. We both do."

"One of us ought to stay," Egon said again obstinately.

"He's fine, they're both fine. There hasn't been a single sighting in four days. I think that Five was faking to look like a Seven."

"The Seven attacked again after the Five was trapped." Egon pointed out.

"Well, you know, maybe it got scared off. It's not here, Egon, and how are you going to be able to help Pete with that positive attitude the doc said about, if you can't even change your clothes from one day to the next, and you walk around looking like a refugee from a concentration camp?"

"Perhaps if we asked Janine to attend with a pack and PKE meter while we are away."

"Fine, sure, but we can go ask her in person, okay? It's been four days without a peep from the ghost. They'll be fine for an hour."

"Very well," Egon said unhappily. "But we will be back or send Janine back within the hour."

"Yes, Egon. I promise." He looked back into the quiet room, "Night, Pete."

"He cannot hear you from here." Egon pointed out, and Winston smiled.

"I feel better for saying it though."

"Yes." Egon turned and his hand crept up to touch the observation window. "Sleep well, Peter." He stood there for a long moment, until Winston touched his shoulder. Wordlessly, he turned and followed as Winston headed for the exit.

--{--}--

Peter pressed his face deeper into the soft pillow, enjoying the cool fabric and the freshly laundered scent. He stretched lazily, eyes still shut. He smiled, contented as a cat on a sun-warned windowsill. The radio hadn't gone off, and he vaguely wondered why the guys had left him sleeping. Not that he minded. Not when the bed was this soft and warm.

His thoughts ground to a halt, and he opened his eyes, squinting a little against the morning sun. Sure enough, it wasn't the firehall. He rolled onto his back and frowned in recognition. It was Katie's place. A hand swept across the empty side of the bed revealed only cold sheets.

"Katie?" he called, and froze. One hand flew to his throat, and he repeated in a numb whisper, "Katie?"

His voice was wrong. He sat up, letting the sheet fall to his waist. He felt as though time was trickling molasses slow, as he looked down 'his' body. Katie's body. He touched one rounded breast, tentatively at first, then more firmly as the touch told him that he really as feeling it. With a quick tug he threw the sheet away and stood. He staggered, his balance off; his legs didn't move right, and it took him the width of the room to the mirror hanging on the far wall to realise that he had to take shorter steps, that his stride was different, that every step seemed to now include a ridiculous amount of swaying.

Hs stumbled and caught himself on the edge of her dressing table. For long seconds he stared at the top. A couple of porcelain dishes held a tangle of rings, necklaces and earrings; towards the back an array of bottles lined up neatly.

He lifted his head slowly.

A slender, clearly female body. His hands skimmed up trailing the path of his eyes, from slender, rounded thighs upwards, until his fingers lingered on the smooth delicate skin of a heart shaped chin.

"Holy shit, I'm Katie." His knees folded and he hit the carpet painfully hard. His eyes fixed on a swirl in the pattern of the blue carpet, desperately trying not to see the unfamiliar breasts intruding into his line of sight. He took a deep, shaky breath. "Breathe. " He inhaled slowly through his nose, out through his mouth. Again. For an unknown while it was his whole world, breathing in, breathing out. Not panicking, not throwing up. Distantly he was aware of someone muttering over and over, 'Egon will fix it, Egon will fix it,' a mantra to hang his sanity on.

Eventually he lifted his head, clenching his mouth shut with a shudder. Even if he didn't feel in control, then at least it wasn't like he was going to pass out from sheer shock. "Though I reserve the right to pass out later," he muttered dryly, and swallowed hard as the familiar intonation jarred with light, feminine tones. "The guys will know what to do," he told himself. He nodded. Yes, Egon would fix it, and he'd be back to normal. His hand strayed lightly over his empty groin, and he flinched away. Clothes. He rolled to his feet and hurried to her wardrobe.

The closet was cram full of blouses, tops, jackets, pants, in a riot of colors and styles. He rummaged half heartedly through the hangers, frowning in helpless bewilderment. "How is anyone supposed to figure out an outfit from this?!"

He lifted out a tiny black skirt and shuddered. "I know what I'd think if I saw her wearing that, and I'm not having anyone thinking that about me," he said grimly. The skirt went back, and he pulled out a muted green top and grey pants. "Better." He frowned thoughtfully as he held them together. "Would that look classy on Katie?" He tried to imagine her in the outfit, and was faintly surprised to find that he approved. In a Katie wearing it, not Peter Venkman wearing it kind of way. His lips quirked in a grin.

"Plan: shower, clothes, home, fix this. Oh, um, forgot. Shorts -- uh, panties. Shit. I am never going to live down wearing panties. The guys will die laughing if they ever find out." He rummaged wildly through drawers until he found something plain and as unfeminine as possible, leaving lingerie trailing untidily out of every drawer, dangling off of handles, and scattered over the floor. He grimaced. The plain white panties didn't even look particularly clean, although a cautious sniff assured him of their freshly laundered status. He straightened, and scooped up the clothes he'd picked previously. His chest jiggled uncomfortably, and he looked down reluctantly at the very obvious reminder that he was not himself, and silently added a bra to the collection of clothes in his arms.

He'd used Katie's shower before, and for a little while he could close his eyes and turn slowly, enjoying. He didn't have to think at all. The water was blissfully warm, and the pressure massaging across his shoulders slowly loosened tight muscles. The wet mass of hair lying in long clumps down his back felt strange, and he shrugged, trying to get it off him. He plucked the first shampoo he found out of the array standing in the cubicle shelves, and scrubbed a tiny amount of gel through, wondering how the hell he was going to get it looking decent. He added more and more soap, until eventually it lathered. Ten grimly determined minutes later he was rubbing himself down with a thick pink towel. He found a hairdryer and dried the fine blonde hair carefully, finger combing styling gel through lightly, trying to get it to lie flat. He hesitated by the steamed up mirror, one hand absently going to his chin, before he laughed shortly and turned away to the bedroom, walking a little faster away from his dimly reflected image.

The dressing table with its array of cosmetics and perfumes caught his eye and he hesitated. No. He wasn't trying makeup. Katie had always worn the bare minimum anyway, and he had more than enough experience of girlfriends to know that trying to put it on without at least some practice was asking for trouble. Besides, it was more important to get to the guys. Looking pretty could wait.

He pulled a rueful face. "Vanity, thy name is Venkman." If Egon or the rest of the guys ever caught him in makeup, his life would be over. He grinned. Maybe a little perfume. See if he couldn't drive Egon wild before letting him know what had happened.

"Bad, bad Petey," he scolded himself cheerfully, and finished dressing.

It didn't look too bad. As long as he looked at the reflection as though it was Katie asking his opinion, and not himself in Katie's body, he could keep his cool. Mercifully her nails were short and she didn't use nail polish -- she'd once mentioned it wasn't really appropriate for a doctor to have talons. The green looked great, brought out reddish highlights he'd never really noticed before in her hair, and the pants fit sleekly over her narrow waist and gently rounded hips. He twisted in the mirror, trying to see himself from all angles, fascinated. He headed down to the kitchen, and found himself coffee and a couple of bagels. He had already wolfed down one, slathered in cream cheese and honey before he remembered her diet. He paused, the second bagel dripping inches from his mouth, and shrugged. "Hell with it. A growing boy needs his strength," and bit in.

"Displacement much?" His hands were deep in the sink cleaning the breakfast things before he let himself actually start thinking. It was easier by far to think about each little bitty step than the enormous pink elephant of a problem confronting him. "What the hell happened?"

He dried his hands and settled in the TV room, switching to a news channel, but dropping the volume low enough to not distract him. A cold shiver ran through him, and he sat back, eyes closed.

The last thing he remembered was pain. Extreme, agonizing pain. That Class Seven had hurled something at him, and instead of being slimed, it had seared like acid in his face. He touched his cheek briefly, and dropped his hand away hastily at the unfamiliar feel. Beyond that there was nothing. Perhaps the shock had sent him OOB. He shook his head, no. This felt too real. He'd washed, dressed, eaten. He could interact with things. He could talk. But he looked like Katie. Looked? Hell, he smelled, walked, talked, jiggled like Katie. And there was no sign of his body anywhere. And for that matter, no sign of Katie, either.

Cold horror shook him for a moment. Did he even have a body to go back to? Without thinking he dialed the Ghostbusters number. He started talking when he heard Janine's voice, then realised it was a recorded message.

"Ghostbusters! We're ready to believe you! I'm sorry but the Ghostbusters are temporarily closed for business. We are not answering any media enquiries at this time. If you have a ghostbusting emergency, please leave your name, number and a description of the emergency. Thank you!"

He dropped the phone, "God, no..." That was the 'one of the guys is in hospital' message; and not just in hospital, but badly injured enough that the others were waiting there too, leaving Janine to switch on the answer phone, and field any genuine emergencies until the injured buster got better or-- he gulped. Who was it? Ray had gone down, he remembered that much. He'd been clutching at his arm, with any luck it wouldn't have been too serious. More worryingly, the odds were pretty good that his body wasn't in tip top condition any more. That last memory... God. He couldn't help flinching every time he thought of it. Hell, he might just be better off in someone else's pristine body, even if it was the wrong sex. But where was Katie? Why was he in her body?

And who the hell had done this to them? The only thing he could think of was to get to the firehall and the guys as fast as possible. Maybe Janine would be able to tell him where they were.

He called a cab and idly flipped channels while he waited, listening with half an ear as he watched for the car out the front window. His head snapped round as he caught the word 'ghost'.

"...violent ghost here at the Museum of the Human Body, after it destroyed an apartment block, resulting in the loss of nearly forty lives. The Ghostbusters removed the entity, but were injured. Dr. Stantz is undergoing treatment for burns, but it is Doctor Peter Venkman..." a picture of them flashed up with each name, and he grimaced at his. It, like Ray's, had apparently been taken after some bust or other, they both had that tired, dirty but exultant look that only a successful bust ever caused. They looked dreadful. Absently he smoothed his hair, only to freeze and snatch his hand away when the hair didn't end where he expected. "Doctor Venkman is said to be in critical condition in the internationally renowned New York Weill Cornell Burn Center, who is giving most cause for alarm. He suffered third degree burns over his upper body and head -- will the good looking Ghostbuster-about-town ever be the same again?"

"Oh, gee, thanks. I'll think of you when you're having a bad hair day too. Loser!" He growled at the television. Outside a car honked its horn and he peered out. It was his cab - and now he knew where the guys were. He switched it off, and blithely took Katie's purse, complete with cash and cards in her wallet.

--{--}--

He looked around cautiously as the driver pulled away, leaving him at the front entrance to the hospital. Hopefully the guys would be where the news reporter had claimed. He smiled grimly. He even had an iron clad excuse to be there - Katie's job was upstairs in the psychiatric wing of NYWC. If he -- his body, really was here, and it wasn't just a story put about by the guys. He buried the thought, and headed inside. The Burn Center was clearly signposted, and he followed the notices briskly.

He'd misjudged the disadvantages of walking around in a body that was well known. Well, as well known as anyone could be without actually being Peter Venkman, he comforted himself, and flashing a belated smile at yet another person who had greeted him by name, leaving him to desperately search their clothing for a name badge, anything. He hadn't responded at all the first couple of times that he'd been greeted as 'Dr. Weller', but managed to remember when the Head of Reconstructive Surgery flagged him down.

"Katherine! I've been wondering when I'd see you -- I've been taking a look at your Ghostbuster."

Peter frowned; whoever was up there was lacking some crucial parts to qualify as a Ghostbuster. And Katie hated being called 'Katherine'. Already he disliked the guy. He nodded though, hoping that the frown would be mistaken for concern. "How is he, Mr. Sullivan?"

"Jack, please," he smiled cheerily, an odd look on such a cadaverous looking man.

"Jack." Peter repeated discouragingly, and inched away as the man patted his arm.

Sullivan shook his head slowly, sucking air between his teeth with an unpleasant whistling sound. "An interesting challenge. Interesting indeed. I shall be most surprised if we can do much more than ameliorate the worst effects." He grasped Peter's elbow and guided him along the corridor towards the burn unit. "Naturally, I don't need to tell you, Katherine, after your sterling work with some of our sadder cases, that your Mr. Venkman--"

"Doctor Venkman," he corrected automatically.

"Ah, yes. Doctor Venkman -- what is the man a doctor of? Spooks and vampires no doubt," he laughed heartily.

Peter ground his teeth and interrupted. "Peter's first doctorate was in psychology, and his second in parapsychology. He also is certified to practice as a counselor in the New York area, and--"

"Hah! Of course he is, of course he is! Sorry, my dear Katherine, I hit a bit of a nerve there, didn't I? Must be love, eh?" And he laughed again. Peter, for one beautiful moment could see his hands wrapped around Sullivan's throat. "Well, your Doctor Venkman, psychology, eh? Physician heal thyself!"

"Never a good idea. You don't feel that you will be able to help him?"

"My dear Katherine," he paused and looked serious for once. "You know the kind of injuries we see from the Burn Center. This is as bad as any I have seen. If I had not seen the news footage I would say that we were looking at an illicit use of napalm." He nodded at Peter's gasp of horror. "Indeed. And he was quite the good looking chap. Not in his prime any more of course, but still attractive. Well, you would know all about that," he nudged her and chuckled heartily.

Peter smiled wanly, forcing himself to stay calm and focused on the need to get to the guys. "I was hoping to get in to see him," he trailed his voice off and looked up through dark lashes at Sullivan. He had seen this used to great effect by Janine on Egon, and had occasionally used himself on Egon in his real body. Sullivan folded. He took his hand and patted it gently.

"Of course, of course, I know how I would feel if it was a dear, close friend of mine... such a shocking thing." He glanced up and down the corridor ostentatiously checking for eavesdroppers, "Come along. I'm sure we can slip you in. I need to drop by to check on his progress anyway."

He shoots, he scores! Peter pulled a face at the thought, and covered with, "Are you sure, Jack? I wouldn't want to get you into any kind of-- you know, difficulty..." He felt vaguely nauseous, and surely not even a no-hoper like Sullivan could swallow this much crap. His hand was squeezed again.

"No problem at all."

Peter trailed obediently after him. The man might be a creep, but he was a predictable creep, and in this instance it was working in Peter's favor. Some minutes later, time which included a certain amount of dodging of wandering hands, they arrived. Peter forced his face to hold only polite friendliness as he caught sight of Winston.

Zed looked terrible; he was sleeping, slumped painfully in a hard plastic chair, his head back against the wall. As Sullivan pushed the door to 'Peter Venkman's' private room open, his eyes snapped open. Peter thought he saw a split second of recognition, and his heart leaped. Maybe the guys would know just by looking. Didn't they sometimes see ghosts no one else could? But Winston's eyes shuttered, and he could barely hide his disappointment as he called in a sleep fogged voice, "Hi Katie. Glad you could make it this morning."

There was a chill in Winston's voice and a subtle edge to the words; Peter wondered what Katie had said when they had contacted her last night, and frowned.

Winston clearly took it to mean she was offended and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Kate," Winston rubbed at his face. "Sorry about yesterday, too. I understand, you were too busy to come over -- I mean, I do understand. Your patients have to come first. You can't help it if they have crises when -- I'm sorry." He held out a hand, and Peter took it and shook, bemused.

"It's okay, Winston," he said quickly, "I'm so sorry. I wish I could have come as soon as I heard."

He nodded to her. "Your friend's waiting for you."

Peter smiled weakly, and followed Sullivan into the room.

It was worse than bad. Egon's hunched figure was half hidden by scrubs and a face mask. Despairing blue eyes flickered up at Sullivan, then glanced disinterestedly at him. A flicker of recognition appeared in his eyes, and Peter held his breath.

"Katie." Egon's voice was rich with contempt. "You found some time out of your busy schedule to stop by. How very good of you."

Peter blinked. "Whoa. Steady on Spengs," he said reflexively, and halted, grimacing under the face mask as Spengler came to his feet in a smooth lunge. "I beg your pardon, Dr. Spengler," he backtracked, staring up at his friend. My god, when did he get so tall? And angry. Definitely angry, he added, and backed physically from him.

"Doctor Spengler," Sullivan grasped his hand, "I see you're keeping up your young friend's spirits." He smiled and released Spengler, who looked astonished at being stopped in his tracks. He subsided back into his chair, and shook his head as though to clear it.

"How is he, Doctor?"

"Hmm." Sullivan's eyes ran down the chart. "Doctor Weller, what do you make of this?" He handed it over.

Peter stared blankly at the scrawling notes. "I'm a psychologist, Mr. Sullivan, not-- oh." He read closer. "Really? Doctor Spengler, has Peter not woken at all since yesterday morning?" he asked, then stopped himself, wondering why the hell he was carrying on with this charade.

"No. I believe he was awake while Winston was with him. I can call him in--"

"When is the last time he could have been awake?" Peter bit his lip. "Because if this is right, he should be wide awake right now." The medications had been tapered down to minimal levels. If nothing else, whoever was in that body ought to be in a helluva lot of pain. Instead, he seemed to be sleeping peacefully. According to the notes, he'd been like this for nearly twenty-four hours.

"Sometime around midday yesterday."

Peter glanced at his watch and then up at Sullivan, whose eyes met his, worriedly.

"Could we ask you to wait outside for a moment?"

Egon stood up. He stared down at Peter silently, then nodded, pulling himself together. "Of course. Doctor Sullivan, Doctor Weller."

Sullivan shook his head. "He should be awake by now. And you probably didn't notice it, but the changes in his rate of recuperation are -- odd." He gently unwrapped the bandages down the left arm, Peter found it was much, much easier to think of the body in front of him in terms of parts, rather than his own temporarily vacant body. He gasped. The burns were scarlet, suppurating, the whole arm blotchy and uneven. Sullivan frowned. "Amazing. This is amazing!"

"Amazing?" Peter asked cautiously. "Is this a good thing?"

"It's astonishing. Look!" He gently lifted the right arm and unwrapped it, easing the coverings off with a delicate and careful touch. "Two days ago, this hand was a claw. Fourth degree burns had gone right down to the bone--are you all right, Katherine?" He gently flexed the raw looking fingers and smiled with satisfaction.

"I'm fine," Peter stomped on his churning stomach, "go on."

"He has ligaments again! And look, see, here! And here!" He traced millimeters above the spatter pattern of burns, "The musculature is growing back. The dermis is repairing at an astonishing rate. If I hadn't seen it myself, I wouldn't believe the man had anything worse than second degree burns, with possible third degree in areas. It's simply impossible!"

"Could it be something to do with what they do?" he asked cautiously.

"What, the ghostbusting thing? Well, perhaps." He bent close to the right arm and sniffed thoughtfully, "Definitely no signs of necrosis any more, which frankly, is about as spooky as you get around here. Gangrene doesn't do spontaneous remission as a general rule." He straightened and shook his head again. "I'd like to think it was something we did, but Mr. Stantz--"

"Doctor Stantz," Peter corrected him absently.

"Doctor Stantz is healing at a quite normal rate. This is, is, well, astonishing." They watched the unwrapped arms, and Peter whistled.

"You can see it happening." He ran a finger alongside the burn area near the elbow. "It was wider and longer a moment ago." He held his hand near it for comparison, and they both gaped behind their facemasks as the area grew visibly smaller.

"I think," Sullivan said slowly, "That I am going to get the nurse to dress those. Lightly. And then I am going to go away and pretend I didn't see any of this." He threw a sharp glance at Peter. "Still, congratulations, Katherine, it appears your boyfriend will be making a full recovery." He shook his head. "If you ever find out how, let me know, and I'll bottle it and put myself out of a job."

"Fifty-fifty on the profits, sir," Peter said with a quick grin, forgetting himself for a moment. "But how the hell is it happening?"

"I don't know, and I don't think I want to know," Sullivan guided him out of the hospital room. "I'll let you give the good news to his friends." He patted her gently on the back and hurried down the corridor, the other direction from the waiting Ghostbusters. Leaving Peter to approach his friends.

He stopped in front of them and squared his shoulders as they looked at him with barely concealed hostility. First things first. "Peter's doing amazingly well. It looks like a lot of the tissue and nerve damage that Mr. Sullivan was expecting has simply not happened, and he is, um, healing at an astonishing pace."

Winston grin shone white and he clapped a hand on Egon's shoulder. "I told you he'd be fine."

Egon looked less than happy. "I understood that Peter's injuries were exceptionally severe, Dr. Weller. Are you telling us that he was misdiagnosed?"

"No. No! The injuries were every bit as bad as they told you. It's just --" Peter stumbled to a halt, thinking of what he'd just seen. "It's just that he's healing at an uncanny rate. To the point that where he had fourth degree burns yesterday it looks like second degree burns today."

Egon's glasses slid down his nose, and Peter suppressed the urge to laugh at the characteristic stare he received over their top. "Is that even possible?"

"Frankly, no. But I'm pretty glad it's the case. It looks like the Venkster won't even scar." Peter snapped his mouth shut but it was too late.

"Doctor Weller, I do not believe--"

"Egon, Winston, please, listen to me," he looked them straight in the eye as he said their names. "I've got to tell you something else. It's me. It's Peter -- I'm Peter. Somehow I think some kind of demon swapped our bodies, and she's in there, fixing it. Which I'm grateful for on the one hand, and on the other hand, I'd really rather have my body back, but--"

"Doctor Weller. Please desist." Egon drew a deep breath. "Let's go back in, Winston."

"Sure man." Zed ushered Egon back towards the private room, then paused and looked back. "I can't believe you tried to joke about something like this. Get out of here."

"No -- Egon, Zed! Please!"

But Winston merely followed Egon into the room, and shut the door behind them.

--{--}--

"Well, fuck. Think, dammit!" Peter swore under his breath as he stalked out of the hospital. He couldn't believe that they'd thrown him out. Egon hadn't believed him. His angry pace slowed as he remembered Egon's white, strained face, and Winston's slumped shoulders and distant eyes. He didn't want to upset them more. All their anxiety over Ray, and Peter -- the fake Peter wearing his body -- was tearing them apart, and he wanted to help, wanted to ease their minds. Wanted back into the close companionship and support that had held him secure for most of his adult life. He stumbled over a bench and kicked it, irritated. "God. What am I going to do?" he said helplessly, and dropped to sit on the bench.

"Ray would believe me. But Ray's in there too, Christ, I don't even know how badly he was hurt." The news report had only said that Venkman was critical. Surely the throwaway line that 'Stantz was also receiving treatment for burns' meant that it wasn't too serious? Spengs and Zed had been waiting outside 'his' room, so maybe Ray wasn't so bad. Perhaps he could get in to see him. He groaned. He'd have to go along with the pretence that he was Katie. If he gave it a couple of days, maybe he could go see him, when he's better. Egon didn't believe me. The thought of the harsh words that his oldest and best friend had spat at him shook his stomach, and he rubbed brusquely at his eyes. He needed to research this. If he couldn't get to Egon or Ray, then he needed evidence, proof that whoever Katherine Weller might have been once, she was now inhabiting Peter Venkman's body, and --

"Dr. Weller, Dr. Weller are you alright?" A hand on his wrist broke his train of thought, and he snatched his arm away.

"I'm fine," he glanced her name badge. Shit. Katie had mentioned 'Susie' as her secretary. And this was a 'Susanne Lau'. "I was --"

"You're late for your first appointment!"

"I'm sorry Susie, but I--" He brushed at his eyes, "I was trying to see Peter and they wouldn't let me in."

"Oh, Dr. Weller," her voice warmed with sympathy. "I wondered when they said on the news the other day, but you seemed okay."

"I think I got a little upset, and they kind of threw me out." He pulled a rueful face and stood. The woman seemed to be falling for it. "I completely lost track of time."

"No, it's not your fault," Susie turned and led the way back into the hospital, heading up the psychiatric wing. "I forgot to tell you we'd had an urgent referral up from the Trauma Center."

"Who is it? What was the referral basis? Do you have their notes for me?" I can do this, he told himself firmly. Katie was always quick-fire with her questions. It had been one of the things that he'd always found faintly annoying about her, that she never stopped for answers. Apparently it annoyed the bejeezus out of her secretary too, judging by the deepening lines around her eyes and mouth.

"Yes, here," she pressed a patient record folder into his hands. "The notes are all in there, but it looks like a stress related suicide attempt."

He flicked through the first couple of pages as they waited for the elevator. He scowled at the nearly indecipherable scrawl, then sighed and threw a smile at Susie. "How I wish someone had gone the extra mile and updated onto the computer. At least I might be able to read it without turning my eyeballs inside out!" His smile invited her sympathy, and Susie laughed, then blinked.

"That's Trauma team for you, Doctor," she commented, her face reflecting her puzzlement.

Peter mentally kicked himself. No flirting with the secretary. She's the wrong sex for you right now! "Oh well," he squinted, and hummed softly under his breath as he considered the notes. Male, forty-three, teacher. "The notes don't include his family physician's records. Is there --ah, got it." The 'other comments' section was completely filled in, and included a note 'cont'd over'. He flipped over the page and blinked at the full page of scribbles. "Muppets. What was the point of all this? It was summarized by mid-life male teacher." He snapped the folder shut, hoping it came across as Katie's usual impatience with idiocy. "How's he doing?"

Susie almost stumbled as she looked back over her shoulder at him. "Doctor Weller?" She sounded confused. "Are you all right? I can get Doctor Hall to take him if you want to take some personal time."

Peter forced a smile, wondering what exactly Katie's usual manner with her secretary was, and how he'd managed to screw up so badly. "No, no. Thank you." he closed the folder and paused as she sat down. Susie looked expectantly at him, and he looked blankly back at her.

"Shall I send him in, or do you want a couple of minutes?" she asked gently, glancing across the hall to a closed door. He suppressed a sigh of relief as he saw the nameplate -- his name plate. Well, his for now.

"Can you give me a couple of minutes? Then buzz him through," he said gratefully, and Susie smiled warmly at him.

"Of course Doctor Weller."

He wanted to ask her why she wasn't using Katie's first name, but that would have looked too strange, so he opened his office, and settled in. A memo stuck to the side of the pc gave him a login and password, and he sighed with relief. He wasn't quite as computer illiterate as he used to be; the advent of accounting programs had seen to that, and his volunteer work at the hospital free clinic in previous years stood him in good stead as he hastily familiarized himself with the record keeping system. Susie had given him rather more than a couple of minutes, more like ten, when the intercom buzzed, and Susie's voice said, "Mr. Conway here to see you, Doctor."

"Thanks, Susie, send him through."

--{--}--

Peter turned off the computer and dropped his face into his palms. He was exhausted. The in house session had lasted two hours longer than scheduled. Add to that the three emergency referrals and he had seen nine patients. About five more than he regularly saw even when he regularly saw patients. His shoulders ached, the bra strap dug in horribly not to mention the sheer strain of leaning forward to listen to his clients in an appropriately sympathetic yet professional manner, and staring at a computer. He didn't know why it ached because on reflection, it was Katie's body, and she should be used to all this.

He was too tired to figure it out. And he had to get Egon and Winston to believe him; retrieve his own body and figure out what the hell happened to Katie. But not tonight. He sighed heavily. The last time he'd checked his clock it had been eight in the evening. He glanced wearily at the clock on the wall. Nearly nine now.

He closed the folder he'd been working from and flicked the office light off as he walked out. The door locked behind him and he slumped against it. Maybe he should just go home. For a moment he could smell the firehall, the strange combination of ozone and pizza that seemed to dominate everything in the evenings and he wanted to go there so badly it hurt.

But instead he gathered the jacket and shoulder bag and trudged back to Katie's place.

--{--}--

He stripped off the torture devices known as women's clothing and found a bathrobe to curl up in. There weren't any snack foods, and he grumbled quietly then called out for pizza. Waiting for it to arrive he flicked on the tv and then spent the evening channel hopping and wondering what the hell he was going to do. Research into the paranormal was Egon `and Ray's thing. He didn't have access to the books or databases that the team had gathered over the years; he wasn't even sure if he was experiencing a spell, a curse or some other paranormal event. He didn't have the equipment to check that either.

He stopped flicking through tv channels and rummaged through drawers and shelves until he found some blank paper and a pen and starting scribbling notes.

                                          Spell? Curse? Something else -- what?

                                        Where's KATIE
                                              =========                         Is she in my body? Why? How? Who?
                            Cui bono (I knew Winston's novels were
                          going to be bad for me)

He dropped his head back, hitting the sofa with a thud. "Ow!"

"It was that ghostie from the other day. I don't think I've handled any mysterious artifact since that time with that ugly little figurine from the Urals. Could be a spell. Maybe a witch or someone cursed me for my handsome good looks," he grimaced.. "But who would want a badly damaged Petey in return for a completely intact Katie? Maybe they thought they were doing me a favor? Excuse me? " he called loudly, "Thanks, but no thanks! I want my old body back!"

"But why swap me? Doesn't make sense. Except he's getting better. Miraculously. So maybe my body is going to be completely well, and someone's going walk off with it, and get rid of this one. Which means first that Katie's definitely in on it. And secondly -- what's wrong with this body?" He frowned. "Am I going to kick the bucket in the next couple of days, and that's why it-" he stopped. That sounded too depressing. And far too plausible.

"What if Katie did this. Shouldn't she have contacted me or something by now if she was a victim in this too?" He frowned. If it was a straight swap of bodies she might not be able to. He shuddered at the memory of the horrific injuries he'd seen only this morning.

He needed the firehall library. And that meant breaking in there. He groaned and went to bed.

Lying there awake at two in the morning he finally decided to do what he'd been putting off since he'd woken up as a woman, and starting looking for clues in Katie's home.

There were no books on the occult unless you counted a couple of Anne Rice volumes. No odd collections of herbs and oils. Nothing more than a packet of emergency candles in the cupboard under the sink. He sat yawning on the kitchen floor, and let his head fall back against the unit door.

"There's got to be something," he said firmly. "Either she did it to me, or someone did it to both of us. God, Egon, I could use some of that huge brain of yours right now."

He wandered back through the house and paused, one foot on the bottom stair when a thought occurred to him.

"Whoa. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. How does a hospital psychiatrist pay for a town house in a nice area of New York?" He turned back into the living room and headed for a small safe that he'd spotted weeks ago, hidden predictably behind a picture. It was the work of minutes to crack it, and he smiled with grim satisfaction when he discovered it to be filled with folders. He pulled them out one by one, and started reading.

It took very little time before he was pretty sure his girlfriend wasn't who she'd said she was. Very few young women of his acquaintance had a forged birth certificate, for one thing. It was very well done, but he'd seen better ones being made. For another, he was fairly certain that it did not bode well finding a will which left everything she owned to one Peter Venkman. They had only known each other a month. The will was dated six weeks before they had even met.

Worse than that was the financial information he found, reading through stock certificates, deeds, bank accounts finding one after another, after another had been put into a trust with the nominee beneficiary and eventual inheritor: Peter Venkman.

It was as though about ten weeks previously she had carefully cancelled her life, and moved it into his.

And now she had what he strongly suspected was the last thing she needed to make the changeover complete -- his body. On the plus side if he got it back he'd be very, very wealthy. Enough to keep Ray and Egon in gadgets a year or two at least. He wondered how long she'd been doing this. She'd obviously either had a lot of practice, or a lot of time to think about it. Or maybe both. Either way boded ill for his chances at getting his own body back.

Another thought caught him cold. What exactly was going to happen to the body he was in? She obviously wasn't bothered about anyone believing him. If he started telling people he was really Peter Venkman he'd probably find himself locked up next door to his former patients. And she seemed pretty confident that he wouldn't have time enjoy the assets still attached to the name of Katherine Weller.

He really needed to break into the firehall.

--{--}--

Egon's face went white. "Peter, please reconsider, you are not well."

"I'm leaving," the man sitting in the hospital bed repeated implacably.

"Peter--" he tried again, trying to sound reasonable, "You cannot simply leave here, be reasonable."

"Sure I am. Here!" He stripped bandages off of first his left arm and then his right and held them out. "See?"

"That's." Egon paused and frowned closely at skin that looked no more than sun burned. "That's really quite improbable, Peter. What has happened?"

"Nothing! I got a little help from some friends and now I'm fine. You'd probably rather they'd chopped my hand off and left me here to rot!"

"God, no, Peter--" He reached out a hand, wondering at the same time how Peter knew about the threat of amputation that had been raised only a few days ago, but mercifully never realised.

"Pete, what the hell bug crawled up your ass?" Winston snapped, a comforting hand firm on Egon's shoulder.

Peter scowled at them both and pulled the hospital gown over his head without any concern for his complete nudity as he rummaged through the clothes in the locker by his bed. He huffed with irritation. "You couldn't have brought something a little more stylish?" he complained, holding up gray sweats. "I'm sure I can improve it once I'm out of here." He shrugged and pulled them on, apparently utterly unconcerned about underwear. "Did you guys bring the stuff I asked you for?"

"Peter, you really ought to wait for the doctor to see you," Egon tried to urge.

Green eyes speared him, scowling darkly. "I'm going to do what the hell I please. I've gotten a second chance at life, and I ain't never going through that kind of pain again." He looked at them grimly, "I'm leaving the business, guys. You can buy me out if you want, or I'll be a silent partner, but that's it. I've had enough."

"Peter, we can talk about it, you don't have to go on busts any more, we can arrange something," Egon said urgently.

Peter tied his shoes and straightened. "Look, I've tried to be nice about it, but you're not getting it. I've had enough. Enough of busting, enough of being in hospital half my life, enough of getting slimed, and attacked, and poor, and saving the world the whole damn time when it just doesn't care whether we save it or not as long as there's a sound bite and someone to sue. And frankly, you know, enough of you guys bugging me the whole damn time. Nope. I'm out of here." He slung the bag over his shoulder and waved brightly at them. "Bye guys!"

They hurried after him, but he'd apparently arranged a taxi to pick him up and by the time they had reached the doors it was pulling away.

"Did you get the number, Egon?" Winston asked. Egon turned slowly to look at him. He looked white with shock.

"Yes," he said hoarsely. "We should--" he stopped and cleared his throat. "We should talk to Ray."

"Okay." Winston agreed easily not wanting to shake Egon's fragile self-control any further than it already had been.

It only took a couple of minutes to get to Ray's room. He was sitting in a chair by the window. "Hey guys, they said they were going to release me today!" He got a glimpse of Egon's face and scrambled to his feet. "Egon, what happened? Did Peter--is Peter okay?" He looked anxiously from one to the other and grasped Egon's hand in both his, disregarding the tenderness in his burned arm when he got no answer. "What's wrong, Egon?"

"Pete's gone." Winston said tersely and kicked himself as Ray went white. "No! Not like that, Ray. He's fine, as far as we know, he's fine. He just checked himself out of hospital."

"It's not Peter." Egon said abruptly, pulling away from them.

"What's not?" Ray asked gently, still calming down from the sudden adrenaline rush.

"Whatever is in Peter Venkman's body," he replied calmly, leaning against the window frame as though to search him out.

"Peter was kind of stressed out, and we all said some stuff, but Egon--" Winston tried to calm him.

"No. Ray. Dr. Weller tried to tell us and we dismissed her. Something took Peter's soul out of his body and replaced it with something -- someone else." He stopped dead. "My God. Peter -- and I turned my back on him!"

"Katie was Peter? That's a hell of a jump, Egon. I mean, how would that happen?" Winston said dubiously. "And if she -- he is, where did she go? I mean Katie. If she really is Peter." He stopped. "This is making my head hurt."

Egon shrugged. "I don't know." He glared at them both over his glasses. "But we're going to find out."

--{--}--

Ray was surrounded by books, Egon by electronic components. Winston sighed. Neither man had slept in the last two days. "C'mon guys, you've got to eat."

"We should, yes," Egon agreed absently, never lifting his nose from the minute adjustments he was making.

"In a minute," Ray added, turning a page, "I think I've got a real lead here--"

"Guys!" Winston yelled.

They both lifted their heads and stared at them. "I'm going nuts here. You've got to eat. And sleep."

"And preferably shower," Janine threw in, slipping under Winston's arm where he was leaning against the door. "Come on, Egon. Doctor Venkman will be fine. He'll probably walk in in another day or so when he's got over his snit."

"It was not a snit, Janine. The readings we made this morning of the room Peter's body occupied during his curtailed convalescence indicate quite clearly the presence of a paranormal entity. I am convinced that whatever was in that room it was not Peter. At least, not entirely." Egon said coldly, and she shrugged.

"Whatever you say, Egon."

"Guys, guys, listen to this--'the demon takes the form of one close to its victim; or chooses a form attractive to its victim. Once it has made its choice it puts all its energy into persuading the chosen one to fall in love until--"

"Or at least date it a couple of times," Janine quipped, and spread her hands when the guys frowned at her. "Hey, I'm jus' sayin'."

Ray went on. "'Until it can bestow the fatal kiss. It then exchanges bodies with its chosen one. The writer says that often body that it leaves is of great age, and without the demon's magic to sustain it, it ages, withers and finally crumbles into dust in days not more than a week at the most--" he looked up, brown eyes wide with horror. "Gosh, if it's the thing that's got him, then Peter is in terrible danger!"

Winston swore softly. "It's been what, three? Four days since the exchange?"

Ray shook his head helplessly. "We don't have anyway to be sure."

"She came to us three days ago and said she was Peter." Winston looked away.

"And we disregarded her." Egon said in a low voice, guilt writ large on his face.

"Does it say anything about how a reversal is effected?" Egon asked intently. Ray shook his head again.

"There's something that suggests an exorcism might work, but the page with the exorcism is missing. Torn out. But I can keep looking. But it sounds like a possibility, doesn't it?" he asked them all.

"Another one to add to the list." Egon nodded at the pile of books on the desk.

"I know." Ray slid a marker into the book. "Hey, can I smell pizza?"

--{--}--

Winston sighed, and knocked on the town house door again. He glanced around, then in a couple of seconds broke the lock and stepped inside. No one had been here for days, judging by the weight of mail against the door, and the pizza boxes littered through the place. He shook his head as he looked around. If mess alone was any indication, then Pete sure as heck had been here.

"Pete! Peter?" he yelled, as he walked through. There was no answer, and he picked his way carefully through the detritus, peering into rooms as he went. peering into each room. In one towards the back he found a desk littered with folders and an empty safe, door ajar.

"Anybody here?" he called and waited.

There was no reply, and he shrugged, and started sifting rapidly through the files. His frown deepened as he read Peter's name on page after page of official documentation. If Katherine Weller died, Peter Venkman became a very rich man.

"There's the motive," Winston murmured, then shook his head. "But why Peter? Why not someone less high profile if you wanted their life -- their body?"

He gathered the papers up, tapping them into a neat pile when one slid out. It was smaller than the legal papers, and as it fluttered to the ground he could see yellowed paper, heavy print and torn edges.

"Now, what have we here?" He scooped it up, and frowned. The page had been torn from an old book by the looks of it. He sounded out some of the words and stopped as they rang in the air, resonating as though spoken in a vast canyon by a thousand voices. "Ray better see this." He looked around quickly. Nothing seemed to have happened, and he stuffed all of the papers into a handy briefcase. Best to get these back to the guys, they might have noticed he was missing by now.

He slowly walked out of the house, and said softly as he climbed back into Ecto, "God, I hate this. Pete, come home. We don't care what you said, or what you look like. Just come home."

He didn't know which he believed was the real Venkman, he didn't care. As long as they got their friend back, in one piece, it didn't matter. They had been prepared to look after Peter, give him whatever he needed if he had been crippled by the attack. They had never discussed what would happen if one of them got hurt badly, although he knew from Pete's perennial mutterings that the insurance companies were getting more and more unpleasant about their medical insurance, he also knew t was the one thing it never occurred to Peter to skimp on.

It wouldn't have been about the money anyway.

It was about family, and the things you do for your family.

Dispirited, he left the house and headed back towards the firehall.

--{--}--

Peter watched from a distance as the car pulled away from the firehall. Only Winston had left, but that was one fewer person to sneak past.

He checked his watch. Nearly three o'clock. Janine would be stepping out for her afternoon break in five minutes, and he would only have to get past Ray and Egon. Egon would be in the lab, Ray in bed, recuperating. It should be a snap.

He picked the emergency exit lock in seconds, and frowned. They really ought to do something about that. He tapped in his pass code, and slid into the building. There was no sign of Janine and he padded on silent feet across the expanse of the downstairs area, and up the stairs. He need the books. The computer would be better, but if Egon was in the lab he wouldn't be able to get to it without him seeing. And considering the reception he'd had the last time they had seen him-he closed his eyes briefly.

All the rationalisation in the world couldn't stop it hurting. They didn't know it was him. It didn't look like him. He looked like someone they didn't like very much.

If they knew they would never have turned their backs on him.

"Just keep telling yourself that, Petey," he mumbled, and quietly closed the library door behind him. He looked around helplessly. This was Ray's domain.

He took a book off the shelf at random and flicked through it. Spells.

Well, it could be a spell.

He sighed, and pulled out his notes. He'd written down everything he could remember about the attack on him. It had manipulated fire. moved things. Floated or flew without visible wings. It had registered as a Seven, but with oddities. If he remembered right, that meant there was something hinky to do with the level of corporeality. It had a physical form or could discorporate. He blinked. That made it a demon of some sort.

A demon in a human body?

He shook his head. Why? Most possessions were spotted fast, the demon could not fake being human well enough to convince anybody, much less its nearest and dearest. Perhaps it was hiding from one of the greater demons.

Or maybe it just enjoyed taking a human life in the slowest, most painful way.

Abruptly he wondered who the soul was that first occupied the body he now wore. When was she born? How long had the demon kept her in this body subjugated to its will. Or had she simply been cast off into the demon's previous victim, as he himself had apparently been. Or had her soul been ripped out and destroyed; eaten; doomed to wander through eternity not dead, but not alive either.

He shivered. He knew far too much about what demons did to their victims, he reflected sickly. How long had it been doing this? Stealing bodies, living an all but human life. Gathering money and wealth, savoring the pleasures and cruelties of humanity.

And how would he ever wrest his body back from it?

--{--}--

Egon frowned. He looked up from his computer, head tilted. Was there something-

"Winston? Ray?"

Nothing replied, and he rose to his feet, picking up a PKE meter. If it was a ghost he'd at least have an idea of what it was. And if it wasn't he could hit it with it.

The computer blinked quietly as he slipped out of the lab, and he sighed. He did not have the time to spare for this. Peter was missing somewhere, both his soul and his body taken away from them, and if Ray's theories were right, neither had much time before it became irreversible.

He heard the noise again and his head snapped around. Abruptly he wished he had taken a moment to put on his proton pack, and after some hesitation, hastened back to the lab to do so, just in case.

The noise had come from the library, and sounded almost like something crying.

He eased the door opened with the tip of the thrower, and edged in cautiously after it. For a moment he couldn't see anyone, or anything, and he froze.

"Is there anyone in here?" he called, finger on the trigger.

There was a gasp and his hand twitched towards the chair in the corner of the room.

"Egon?" a husky feminine voice.

"Dr. Weller?" Egon pursed his lips disapprovingly, and holstered the thrower. "Or should I say, Dr. Venkman?"

She stood and shrugged, wiping at her face. "Peter. I'm Peter. You've got to believe me, Egon." She took a couple of steps closer, her hands held out. "Please?"

Egon frowned for a long moment. "What are you doing in here?" he asked neutrally.

"Please! Egon?"

Egon stepped closer and studied the small gamine face, with blue eyes and soft blonde hair.

"The books you want are in the laboratory." He turned away. "I would like to run some tests. If you would be so kind as to follow me?"

Her face crumpled for a moment, and then hardened in a manner only too familiar.

"I guess I don't look very convincing, right now, huh?" she said defeatedly. "Spengs, look, it really is me. Who else would know about the green aftershave that you fixed and I put in Professor Smith's bathroom when he yelled at Ray. Or about the, the green spectacles, and why you only wear the red ones now?"

"Enough." Egon paused outside the lab. "I - Peter, if it truly is you, forgive me, but I need more than your word. We have encountered any number of entities that would be only too readily able to pluck such information from your mind and use it against us."

The woman nodded, her lips tightening until they were a thin white line.

"The cerebral imager," he gestured her in ahead of himself. "Let me simply take a spectral image of you, and I-" he stopped, and busied himself pulling out the equipment, straightening wires and fussing. "Please," he didn't meet her eyes. "Take a seat."

He waited, fiddling nervously with the wires until she was settled. He wanted this to really be Peter, so badly. Peter had thrown him away in that hospital room. He would rather believe that it was some sort of supernatural entity taking the real man away than that Peter, of his own accord, had left without a word.

Thinking that he had left... It was unthinkable. The physical reaction alone felt as though he were experiencing some sort of attack as his skin paled and became clammy, his heart stuttered and clenched, and pain - no. But if it were not Peter in front of him... He swallowed and started to apply the electrodes carefully to the blonde head.

He did not dare to hope.

And he could not bear to have it not be true.

He flipped the switch.

--{--}--

Egon turned slowly from the screen and reached out, as though in a dream, resting his fingers lightly on her face, stroking them down the soft skin. Her eyes were wide and dark with anxiety, an oddly vulnerable look. Peter had never looked so--

He slid his fingers tenderly into her long, fair hair, cupping the back of her head.

"Peter..." he whispered hoarsely. One of the electrodes dislodged from her scalp as she -- he nodded dumbly. He didn't need to look at the screen that still showed the familiar lean profile of Peter Venkman instead of the heart shaped face cradled in his trembling hands. "God, Peter..." He cleared his throat but it didn't seem to make any difference.

"My god, we thought -- we thought we'd done something awful, or the accident had injured your brain, or... You were so changed. I thought, we thought you hated us; it was like you couldn't stand for us to be there, but of course!" His voice cleared and firmed as the shock eased and he began thinking with a clarity that had seemed lost to him since that awful day in the hospital, when Peter, or to be precise the person lying in the bed pretending to be Peter, the thief who had stolen his body and tricked them all, had told him to get out, chill disdain in his eyes and voice.

"Spengs," the voice was too light, but the intonation was pure Venkman, "you idiot. How could you mistake that ringer for me? Me? The one, the only, the incomparable Peter Venkman?" Zie grinned up at him, and Egon choked out a laugh.

His forehead dropped to rest against hirs, and he said wryly, "How indeed? The mere fact that you are currently skulking in your former girlfriend's body should not remotely have given me to believe that you are in fact who you appear to be."

Peter shrugged, faint hurt shadowing his blue eyes. "Well, you were kind of slow on the uptake, but you got there in the end."

Without thinking he pulled hir close and embraced hir tightly. "I'm sorry, Peter. I am so sorry. I should have known."

"Not a problem, Spengs. Hell, I didn't believe it, and I was the one living it." They were wrapped so closely together that he could feel the shudder of relief that ran through hir body. Hir head turned to press soft lips against his throat, and without thinking he dropped a kiss onto the soft blonde hair. He recollected himself a split second after, and attempted to pull back, but Peter wouldn't let him. With a sigh he stopped trying, Peter's need for comfort was far more important than any foolish embarrassment he might be feeling.

"Doctor Spengler, are you blushing?" The teasing question brushed his neck, and he swallowed.

"Perhaps, a little. I am unfamiliar with the etiquette for embracing one's colleague whilst he inhabits a body of the female persuasion." He had more to say but stopped short. A soft wet tongue was lapping at his throat seemingly aiming for his adam's apple as it bobbed in time with his speech.

"Peter!"

"Mmm?" Unbelievably zie snuggled closer, and Egon closed his eyes as the close proximity of his warm body, together with the sheer happiness and relief had an effect on his own physique that might have been wholly predictable. If only he had had time to consider the consequences of this close contact he never would have initiated it.

"Peter, I must ask you to desist..."

"Why? Hey, I should get some fringe benefits from this disaster. Me, a woman! How am I going to cat around if I don't even have a dick?" One hand ran through hir hair, dislodging the remaining electrodes, and she -- zie, stepped forward, forcing him back until he met the wall. He'd thought for a moment that with only one arm gripping him he might evade hir more easily, but hir arm tightened in a clasp of titanium strength.

"Peter, no, please--"

The distinctly female body slid up his, and in a corner of his mind he realised hir must have gone up onto tiptoes to reach so close to his face. His thoughts were hopelessly shattered as hir lips touched his, and he moaned.

He was lost. The knowledge that this was truly Peter, Peter kissing him, together with the helpless reaction of his body to sheer sweet proximity to what even he had to admit was a delightfully female form ruined all his self-control, and he pulled hir closer, kissing back with inexpert fervor.

Hir shifted upwards a fraction, and he slid his hands down from his grasp about hir waist to lift her up, his hands shaking as he felt hir legs wrap around him, and the perfect fit of their hips together. "God, Egon..." Peter gasped, pulling back for a moment. "God, I've wanted this." Hir voice trailed off and hir voice broke before -- Egon shook himself, this was Peter, not some transgender person who wanted to be assigned to a gender neutral category, but his friend, his unmistakably male friend, no matter the exterior.

He pushed, hard, but Peter clung, and ground his body harder into Egon's.

"We can't. Peter, we must not."

"Egon, please. Don't turn me down, not now, I need you."

"You do not require my body to return your soul to your body."

Peter grinned, the need banked as amusement flared in his eyes. "Hey, you don't know that. One good bout of bump and grind," he obliged with a demonstration of the grinding, in case Egon had missed the point, "and I might be swapped safely back into my own body."

"Where ever that may be." Egon observed dryly. He shifted his grip back up to Peter's waist, and wrapped his arms tightly around him. "It's okay, Peter." He cautiously moved his hand across Peter's back. It caught on Peter's bra strap -- his eyes danced for a moment at the sheer surreal improbability of that pair of words together, and then he sobered. "You're afraid, and I think perhaps you're over reacting a little, and that's perfectly normal. We can forget--"

"No way!" Peter wrenched himself away, dropping to the floor. He kept his hands on Egon's shoulders and shook him slightly in emphasis. "No fucking way! I finally get a chance with you, and you're being noble?! What do I have to do?"

"Firstly, Peter, I very much doubt that you chose to become disembodied and to take up residency in your girlfriend's corporeal form simply to attempt to seduce me -- and--" he stopped cold. "Peter?"

A very Venkman tilt of the chin more than answered Egon's unspoken question. He met his eyes, blinking slightly that the challenging gaze there wasn't green, but blue, despite the familiar soul and mind behind it.

"I'm saying, for the benefit of the aurally challenged at the front here," he prodded Egon's chest meaningfully, "That I thought I'd at least have a stab at seducing you as a female, since you never noticed any other time."

Egon swallowed. Peter smirked at his confusion, and pressed another mind wrecking kiss on his lips.

"Mmmph?"

"What? Could I have a little concentration here? I don't usually get running commentary while I'm kissing someone." Peter snapped, his eyes lit with amusement.

"Peter, please, stop."

"Please?" Another kiss swamped Egon's capacity for rational thought, until with an effort he pulled Peter off of him, and swiftly moved to put the lab bench between them.

"Spoilsport," Peter muttered. Egon ignored it.

"Peter, do I -- did you -- what I mean to say is, are you suggesting..."

"Suggesting, implying, hinting, goddamn paint it on a billboard and nail it to that pointy head of yours. Yes, I was saying."

"You thought that I was unaware of your attractions as a man, and believe that now, being female, I would be willing to 'give you a chance'? Sexually?"

Peter's fair skin reddened as Egon watched in fascination. "Do you truly believe me to be that shallow?" Peter shrugged one shouldered, and he relented. "It is not your physical form, Peter--"

"It's the person inside, yadda, yadda, yadda. Okay, Egon, I can take a hint. You don't want Petey." He turned away and laughed self-deprecatingly. "Not like that, anyway. I -- I guess I'm sorry."

"You palpably can not take a hint, Doctor Venkman," Egon said with exasperation. "Peter, you idiot. It never occurred to you that I simply did not realise that you were interested in me?"

Peter's shoulders relaxed minutely, and he threw over his shoulder, "No, really, you not picking up social cues? Who'd a thunk?"

"Peter, I did not even realise you were interested in anything other than women--"

"I like the way you put that, Spengler," Peter observed acidly. He turned and perched on the lab bench, then smiled faintly at him. "Makes me sound like I'd hump anything with legs."

"And for that matter some things that do not in fact possess limbs at all," Egon riposted. "But to return to my point," he flushed scarlet, "You realise that this is an extraordinarily difficult conversation to have with you."

"I don't think the circumstances are going to get much better, do you?" he replied acidly.

Egon's eyebrows flickered as he conceded the point. "As I was saying, by the time it occurred to me that some of your comments could possibly be interpreted in a more than friendly manner, you were no longer making them."

"Oh for crying-- argh!" he clutched his hair and pulled. "You didn't pick up a single pass in six months. How long was I supposed to keep holding out my heart for you to miss, because you had your nose jammed in some book or other every time you walked past?"

"I am sorry." His brain caught up with his ears. "Your heart, Peter?" His voice was soft with disbelief.

Venkman shrugged, retreating visibly from the conversation. "Well. You know."

"Do I understand correctly? That you thought you were in love with me? And you stopped flirting--"

"Hey, I never stopped flirting. I just switched to something you actually listened to."

Egon blinked. His entire acquaintance with Peter Venkman abruptly reordered itself in a most startling manner. It was rather as if he had once examined a superb artifact from the Akkadian era excited by its fine art work, only to realise belatedly that it was in fact a Rosetta stone to Linear A.

"Most people do not flirt by being obtuse to the point of subnormality, nor by being sufficiently irritating to give a number of chemical substances serious competition."

"Most people aren't trying to flirt with you, Spengs," Peter said with wry affection.

Egon inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Now that we have settled that, I suggest we move on to returning you to your body." He stooped to collect the wires and electrodes that had tumbled to the floor earlier.

"Whoa! Settled what?"

Egon looked up. He wasn't quite sure what exactly Peter saw in his steady regard, but he flushed brightly, and smiled warmly back at him. "Do we really need the words?" he asked gently.

"I think, forgive me for being a little insecure here, but I think I, yes, would kind of like to hear them. Yeah."

Egon smiled mischievously at him. "Well, as I do not plan to cheat on you, I will save it until I can keep body and soul together. As it were."

Peter groaned.

--{--}--

"Ray, Winston," Egon sounded strangely excited as he hurried into the kitchen. The two men looked up curiously from the papers they were studying.

"What is it, big guy?" Winston asked as Ray attempted to swallow a mouthful of cold pizza.

"We have a guest. Someone I think you may know." He reached behind him and pulled a petite blonde woman out from where she was hidden in the shadow of the wall.

"Doctor Weller?" Winston looked incredulously at Egon. "You found her?"

Egon's eyes lit up with amusement. "I'd say she found us, only it wouldn't be entirely accurate."

"Egon, you didn't--it isn't -- " Ray peered more closely at the woman. "Oh. Oh! No way!"

"Oh, believe me, Stantz. Way."

Winston gaped at the familiar intonation. A grin spread over his face. "For real?"

"Peter?" Ray asked, and bounded to his feet. "I knew it! I knew it wasn't you! Peter!" He wrapped his friend in a hug and held on tight. Moments later he was joined by Winston.

"Man, I knew you'd do anything to get into a girl's pants, Venkman," Winston tousled Katie's hair, "but this has got to be a new low, even for you!"

"Hey, it wasn't my idea! But now that you mention it," she grinned slyly and Ray swatted her, blushing scarlet when he hit breast instead of the flat chest he expected.

"Gosh, sorry, Peter. Katie. Um."

"Peter. I'm Peter," Peter smiled at them both and he closed his eyes with relief. "You believe me. Thank god."

"Egon believes you; that's enough for me."

"I knew you were okay, Peter," Ray assured him softly. "And we'll fix this, I promise."

"We need to know everything, Peter," Egon began.

"Sure, but first, food. I'm going turn the bitch into a blimp." Peter grinned viciously. He hugged Ray and Winston again for a moment then headed for the refrigerator. "Anything safe in here, guys?" He peered cautiously inside to find Slimer staring out at him. "That would be a no, then." He shut the door. Seconds later Slimer burst through.

"Peeeeter!" It flung itself at him and Peter stumbled.

"Argh! Get him off me! He's ruining my outfit!"

"Definitely Peter," Winston grinned, and turned to Egon. "Takeout?"

"I'd love some. Ray?"

"Sure." They turned to look at Peter as he fled, pursued by a small green slime machine. "I guess Peter isn't hungry."

"I'll get you guys!" Peter's voice echoed back up to them, followed by laughter.

"Interesting that Slimer immediately recognised Peter," Egon observed as Peter fled past the door pursued by Slimer, arms outstretched towards the running ghostbuster.

"Yeah!" Ray agreed excitedly, "Maybe we could run some tests on them--"

"I have some fascinating data from the cerebral imager, you can quite easily see that it is Peter once you ignore the physical." Egon said happily.

Ray grinned mischievously. "But you recognised Peter before you used the imager, right?"

Egon paused and eyed him, then Winston who was trying to hide a slow smile behind his hand. "I do not believe that I understand your implication."

"Peter and Egon, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I--" Ray ducked behind Winston, who was laughing.

Egon's cheekbones darkened to a lovely shade of red, but his only reply was, "Peter and I have had a long overdue conversation."

"Yes!" Winston exclaimed, and Ray hugged Egon.

"Good." Ray let go of Egon and smiled up at him. "Now, we just have to get Peter back to normal, and everything'll be great!"

Egon lifted his eyebrows. "I think getting Peter to normal, might be a task beyond even my capacity to conceive."

"I heard that, Spengs!" Peter swung into the room and dodged behind Egon. "You just wait!"

He turned and looked down at the unfamiliar face, filled with a familiar soul and smiled. "I will, Peter," he said quite seriously. When Peter's eyes widened, he carefully gathered him in close. "I promise you, I will wait." "But not too much longer?" Peter rested his head against Egon's chest.

"No."

Neither man noticed as Ray and Winston crept out of the kitchen, huge grins on their faces, Ray ushering a wildly curious Slimer ahead of them.

--{--}--

Ray frowned. "So, she took your body while you were in the hospital?"

Peter shrugged uncomfortably. "I woke up, and it was like nothing hurt, instead of well... And then I figured out--" he waved at his body. "The new Peter Venkman. I always wondered what I'd look like as a blond."

Egon rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently.

"We have only to identify the creature and the method of transfiguration, Peter."

Peter smiled up at him. "I -- thanks, Spengs," he said quietly to the man who always saw through his bravado, and never let it stop him from offering his hand to Peter for anything he needed.

"She's a Lamia. A demon that seduces people into giving up their bodies for its use. It likes being human. It likes corrupting souls, and living in this world, and if you want my opinion, this one's old." Ray said soberly.

Winston nodded. "I don't know if you saw the documentation, Pete?" at Peter's quizzical look he coughed, and added, "I went to see if I could talk to her - you, I mean. Hell. You know what I mean, Venkman."

Peter nodded. "I know what you mean."

"I was worried after Egon said it wasn't you, and when Ray found that body stealing demon the other night, I wondered," he looked apologetically at Egon. "I didn't say anything, I didn't want to get your hopes up." The others nodded and he went on. "There's a fortune in Katherine Weller's name, and it's all been transferred to, or left to Peter Venkman. her will, trust funds, shares... you name it, Peter Venkman now owns it."

"There'll be no living with him," Egon said dryly.

"So, the million dollar question is: where is she?" Winston said pragmatically, and the others all grimaced.

"It could be anywhere by now," Ray said. "Anywhere at all."

Peter grinned, "Yeah, but I'm famous remember?"

"Peter," the rest of them groaned, but he stopped them with a raised hand, "guys, it can work for us. We just get people looking."

Egon blinked. "I suppose the solution was so obvious the rest of us were too intelligent to see it."

Peter grinned at him, and patted his hand, "We can't all be brains in everything, Spengs. You've got science smarts, I've got people smarts. And people smarts say that Peter Venkman is news. We just need to talk to the right people."

"I suppose you know who that would be," Winston sounded resigned, but the twinkle in his eyed belied the tone.

"Of course I do," he puffed, the peculiarly Venkman pose looking ridiculous of the petite female frame. "Give me a phone and ten minutes."

Egon sighed. "I suppose we'll be able to fit his head back through the doors if he pulls this off."

"Egon, m'man, I have every confidence that you can reduce him to size."

Ray held up a hand. "Guys, what are we going to do when we find it? I mean, that exorcism was destroyed."

Winston smirked. "Funny you should mention that. Egon, you weren't here when I got back, but I went to see if I could find Pete over at that stone bitch's house." He smiled at Peter

"Thanks, Zed, "he murmured, and Winston nodded at him.

"Anyway, I went looking through her house, and..." The three men nodded impatiently. "Well. Guess what I found? In with all the stuff making Pete a multi-millionaire?" And he held out a torn sheet of paper.

Ray snatched it and gasped. "She must have taken it from my book!" He hurried out of the room, and moments later came back. "Look!" The page fitted exactly to the book. "It's the exorcism!" he read through it slowly, ignoring the eyes on him.

"Can I see, Ray?" Egon reached for it as he looked up, and Ray shook his head.

"You need to concentrate on keeping the demon busy until I can do this." he stumbled. "It's not quite an exorcism. Peter, it might not work--"

"Can you do it?" Peter asked intently, and Ray nodded. "And it's our only chance?"

"It's the only spell I have. I don't think setting the throwers to split you like we did for Watt will work, because you're not actually in there. I don't know how this is going to work, but I promise, Peter. If you can find her, I will do everything I can to get her out of you." His face reflected his doubt, but he made his promise steadily and Peter nodded.

"And me back in?"

"I think so."

Peter hesitated. "If that's my best offer, I'll take it." Egon's grip tightened around him, and he leaned into his friend. "I have to, Spengs."

Egon nodded, closing his eyes briefly. "I know. Ray, do you need anything?"

He shook his head. "No. It's all in the spell."

"Then all we need is a location." Peter said softly. "And all we have to do for that is wait for the phone to ring."

Even as he spoke they could hear the telephone downstairs. No one moved.

Minutes passed, and they waited.

Finally Janine's head appeared walking up the stairs with a confused expression on her face. She stopped dead when she saw what looked like Egon hugging Peter's girlfriend.

"It isn't what it looks like, Janine," Ray said eagerly. "It's--"

"What's the message?" Winston said swiftly, before Ray could make things much, much worse.

She looked around, clearly aware that they were keeping secrets. "Was that woman from Channel 10. She said that she'd had a tip that Peter was in the warehouse district down by the river, just outside of the city."

Grins spread over four faces.

"What is going on guys?" She turned and yelled after them, "guys?" She put her hands on her hips and scowled. "And why the hell are you taking her?"

--{--}--

In the end, it was ridiculously easy to find the demon that had taken Peter's body, and left him with its discard. Once they were in the warehouse district they rapidly identified similar readings to those that they had taken at the beginning of it all. They tracked it to an empty building, where it seemed astonished to see them.

"Guys, I told you, I didn't want to see you again!" it snapped, trying to keep up the pretence and Peter laughed. The demon froze as he stepped out from behind Egon, proton pack in place, wearing Janine's jumpsuit.

"Hi there," Peter strolled towards his own body. "I like what you've done with it," he walked around the demon which watched him in puzzlement. "Very special. The silk shirt is a particularly nice touch."

"What are you talking about?" it snarled, and Peter smiled nastily.

"Well, breaking and entering. Theft. Deception." He pulled the thrower up and grinned. "A little of this, a little of that." He thumbed the trigger and took a shot at the demon.

It jumped out of the way, yelling, "Stop her! Guys! She's crazy! She's stalking me since I broke it up with her! I don't know what she's told you, but it's not true!"

Egon shook his head, but it was Ray who spoke.

"Liar!" he snapped and blasted at the creature too. Winston fired next, and Egon last, throwing a quick glance at the body holding Peter's soul before firing on Peter's body.

"Clothes may make the man, but you couldn't be me, even with my body and a hundred years head start!"

"You have no idea what you're dealing with!"

"That just proves you're too stupid to wear my body," Peter jeered, "Didn't take the guys a minute to suss you out, lamia!"

The creature howled and Peter winced. His throat was going to hurt if he ever got it back. Light balled at the demon's hands and he yelled, "Fire!"

"Ray, now! Do it now!" Egon called urgently.

"I could kill him!" His face was stricken, and he didn't move. "Egon, I'll kill him!"

Egon's face was whiter than Ray's. "He's dead if you don't! Do it! Ray!" Egon ordered over the crackle of energy pouring out of the throwers. Peter's body was limned in orange light, his eyes wide and pleading as he reached out his hands.

"Ray, please--" he mouthed, and Ray dropped his eyes back to the book at his feet.

"Yes," he whispered. He lifted his eyes, and poured all the compassion and love he felt into his gaze as he met the thief's eyes. "Yes. I'll save you, Peter."

He lowered his thrower, and started speaking softly. "Hic locus sanctus sit, in nomine caelum, Pater, et spiritu sanctum."

His hands lifted slowly, and as he spoke he slowly turned in place. Each phrase brought him to a compass point. Egon swallowed. North first. Where he would start and stop. "Ecce, principes angelorum, quia vocavi ibi." Now East... "Gi-bra-el, nuntius caelum: invigilare nobis. Mi-ca-el, defensor caelum: defende nobis. Ra-fa-el, medicus caelum: sanesce nobis. Au-ri-el, mors praenuntius caelum: viam indicare nobis, ut Peter salvemus."

Winston wrenched his eyes back to the demon, carefully not looking at the shimmer of power that sprang up as Ray spoke. He heard the names of the angels, but called differently, an odd intonation spreading the words into their component syllables. He shivered. A cool breeze woke and strengthened him from the east, and the warmth of flickering fire on his back from the South made his back straighten, his world narrowing to the thief, and the fire of his weapon holding it in place as Ray's voice echoed and filled the room.

"No! Ray! Please!" It was Peter's voice, but Ray did not so much as stutter.

"Ray!" It screamed out, agonized.

Ray did not even pause, speaking steadily over the pleas in Venkman's voice. Egon risked a quick glance away from the Thief to Peter. He wore the slight woman's body with Venkman's characteristic poise. His hands were steady, and only a sheen of sweat on his face even suggested that he was not as utterly confident as he had sounded when taunting the Thief.

Ray's words were lost in thunder, and the warehouse was whited out for a split second by lightning striking yards away. None of them flinched except the Thief, who howled. It cowered, and as his vision returned to normal in the wake of the bolt of lightning Egon saw its eyes shimmer from green to oil slick black.

"Ray, now! It's losing its grip on Peter's body."

Ray nodded grimly. He reached out one hand, cupping it, as though holding something small and fragile within. The world fell into silence, as though to better hear forbidden words. "Cordem finio." His voice was gentle, and he closed his hand gently, as though gripping something tightly against his palm, and said again: "Cordem finio. Finite. Mando." The air seemed to pulse with power, suffocating, itchy; unbearable.

Egon saw the creature glare out of Peter's eyes one final time before they rolled up in his head, and Peter's body crumpled to the ground. He released his death grip on his thrower, and took a hasty step forward.

"Wait!" Winston's hand took a firm hold of his arm. He tried to pull away, but his hold only tightened further. "Look, man." He jerked his head towards Peter's body. For a moment Egon thought wildly, I am looking, only to realise that Winston did not mean Peter's corpse, but the maelstrom of black ectoplasm billowing above it. As he watched the Thief coalesced slowly into a shadowy form, maybe eight feet high. Its mouth opened and a thin rusty shriek echoed in their heads. It seemed to have words in it, and Egon frowned as he tried to distinguish them.

"Don't listen! Fire! Now!" Ray shouted urgently, and in one smooth move drew and fired his thrower. The others were a split second behind him. Peter threw out a trap and stood, one foot poised over the trigger, stream steady. Egon felt pride tug at him as Peter twitched the beam and threw a loop of energy around the shrieking entity. It writhed franticly against the four beams, and he braced himself against the powerful struggles.

"It's going down!" Winston yelled triumphantly.

"Trap out!"

"Look out! Egon!" A swirling tendril of darkness reached out for him, and Peter leapt between them. "No fucking way, lady!" He swore, and reached back with one hand to twist the power dial all the way up.

"Peter--" The ominous sound of overload whined over the roar of the throwers, then suddenly there was a blinding flash of light.

"Sorry guys!" Peter called, his eyes never wavering from the Thief. It still fought, and even when the trap slammed shut with a sucking whoosh they all held their positions. The 'trap full' light flickered into life, and four sighs of relief released them from their immobility.

"Wait!" Ray called urgently. "It's not over yet."

"Ray? What did you do?" Peter asked dubiously.

Ray crooked a smile at him. "I called on some powers to free you, Peter. And they're not done. We're not done." He smiled, but let Egon say it.

"Don't you want your body back, Peter?" Blue eyes met blue with a nearly tangible shock.

"Ha. Yeah. I guess I do at that." He dusted himself down, and grinned. "Not that this model doesn't have some advantages -- all of the fun of dating, and none of the expense..."

"Peter!" Ray glared at him, but his lips twitched in a smile as Egon frowned and Winston folded his arms.

"So. Uh. You going to wave your arms, or--"

"You might want to take the proton pack off, Doctor Venkman," Egon advised.

"And stand next to your body. Gosh, that's pretty strange."

"Try living it, Stantz," Peter tugged Ray's hair affectionately as he walked past. "So now what?"

Egon and Ray looked at each other.

"Try touching her. Him." Ray suggested. The others gathered closer and Peter knelt gingerly.

"You're sure it's not going to jump out at me?" He extended a hand.

"Boo!" Winston snickered as Peter nearly jumped a clear foot off the ground, and fixed him with a poisonous glare.

"When things are back to normal, Zeddemore, you'll get yours, oh yes, you'll get yours." He tentatively touched his hand to the back of his body's face. There was a long pause as all four of them held their breath. "Guys, nothing's happening. And I don't think I'm breathing." He held his hand close over his body's mouth and nose. "Nope. I'm not breathing. Ideas. Quickly. Before I'm stuck here."

"Kiss her," Egon said abruptly. "The ancient texts spoke of a fatal kiss. Kiss your body. It may reverse the effects. And failing that we will separate your spirit from this body using a thrower, and attempt to re-insert you into your own."

Ray glanced at him dubiously, but Peter didn't notice. Instead he drew a deep breath. "Okay." He slid an arm under his own head, and moved a little closer. "Guys -- if this doesn't work... It's been a blast."

"It will work, it's got to!"

"Go get 'em, m'man."

"Peter."

He gathered their warmth to him, sparing a long look for Egon's anxious desperation then leaned down and pressed his lips to his mouth.

--{--}--

Light flickered where the two bodies were joined, then streamed out in pure white beams which grew brighter and brighter, until they had to look away, close their eyes. Even through the filter of their eyelids it blinded and burned, searing like the heart of a nuclear explosion. A silent shockwave threw them all to the ground, and by the time Egon dragged himself to his knees, blinking away the spotty afterimage left by the light, there was an ominous rumbling from all around.

"It's caving in!" He yelled, and scrambled to where he last remembered seeing Peter. "Peter! Peter! Peter!" He didn't dare ask any of the questions tumbling desperately in his head. He stumbled over a body, dropped to his knees and turned it brusquely. It was Katie's form, and as he watched her shoulder crumbled in his grip. His touch was too much for the ancient body, and it fractured and dissolved into dust before his eyes. "Dear god." Peter must -- he didn't let himself finish the thought, instead scrambling back to his feet and yelling again, "Peter!" His voice cracked, and his heart nearly stopped when a familiar voice spoke.

"Dammit, what's a guy got to do to get a little rest around here?"

Egon whirled and seized him in a tight embrace. "Peter. God."

"Much as I appreciate the worship, perhaps later would be even better?" Egon pulled back a little to meet solemn green eyes that completely belied the sardonic inflection of his voice.

He brushed a gentle hand over Peter's face, and Peter's arms slid around his waist, leaning his head into Egon's shoulder. Egon sighed with something somewhere between contentment and relief, and called, less urgently, "Ray? Winston?"

"Here!" Both men answered and Egon turned his head to smile at them.

"Peter," he said simply, and tugged on Peter's hand as though presenting him to them.

"You did it!" Ray whooped, and Winston tilted his head back and yelled, "Yaaaa-hooo!"

A creaking sound in the ceiling echoed him, and they spared a split second for a purely happy grin, then without another word, ran for their lives for the exit.

--End--