The Bump In The Middle Of Egon.

By Fire Frog.

"Get the pumpkin head! Get the pumpkin head!" Winston yelled frantically, switching his beam to full blast as his shoulder blades hit the wall and he found himself well and truly cornered.

The grisly twisted face of a long dead market gardener, come to life in a gardening stores scarecrow display, clawed at his face with twiggy, gnarled hands. Zed boosted it in the gut, driving it back a little, but it still came on, angrier than ever.

Two beams of energy and the welcome flare of a trap answered his call for help. With relief Winston watched the inch long fangs of the pumpkin headed scarecrow recede into the light. Then the trap snapped shut and it was gone for good.

"Whew - that was close." He sagged against the wall, wiping sweat and a thin trickle of blood from off his brow.

"We came, we saw, we bagged its ass." Peter hoisted up the trap and swung it back and forth teasingly. "Hey, that was kinda fun. Ray, you and Egon hardly got near this one, want me to let it out so you two can play?"

Ray grinned, but Zed gave him a dirty look.

"Don't even joke about it." The well-built black man holstered his thrower and stood up, wiping slime off the front of his jumpsuit. "I'm not sure our crazy scientists wouldn't take you up on the offer, and I don't have any more clean suits left. Say, where is Spengler, anyway?"

"I'm here," gasped their missing team member, sprinting round the corner.

"Where you been, Puffin' Billy, we pass any candy dispensers I didn't notice earlier?" Winston asked unkindly, dabbing at the small cut above his eyebrow. To his annoyance it had stopped bleeding, so he was unlikely to receive any sympathy over the wound.

"Hey, don't call Egon Puffin' Billy," Peter admonished. "Just because he's put on a little weight." Egon glared and Peter's grin widened evilly - "Just because he's become a little porky. A bit porky pig. A bit...."

Egon rolled his eyes and started walking back the way he'd come, Venkman happily chanting every simile for overweight he knew at him, as he followed the taller man to where Ecto was parked.

"Now look what you've started," Ray sighed. Winston shrugged and fell into step with his red haired team-mate.

"Yeah, well, he deserved it," Winston muttered, dabbing at his non bleeding wound again.

"We were on the other side of the building, Winston, and Egon had to run down to Ecto to grab an extra pack. That button he's been worried about finally came off." Ray shook his head sadly, they didn't have any replacement buttons on stand-by either. Not since Peter had become so stingy with their budget.

That guy could hold a grudge, it's not like they had meant to blow up his convertible when they tossed that explosive goo out the lab window!

Well - it was still no reason to be so tight fisted with them now!

"Ah crap. Spengler had a legitimate reason for not being on hand to save my sorry ass, huh?" Winston grumbled. "I didn't know that. Damn. Now I'll have to go apologise and he'll give me that 'look' and say 'that's okay Winston' the way he does, and I'll feel like a jerk. I hate when that happens."

"Yeah, me too. But he'll understand - you had a pretty close call there. And it's not your fault Peter can't let anyone else tease Egon without topping it by a landslide. He's a naturally competitive guy." Ray laid a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Hm, yeah, he is." Winston cocked his head and they could still hear Peter going as they drew closer to the car.

"Wobbly guts, pudding thighs, butter ball..." The chanted taunts were light hearted and somewhat ridiculous, being aimed at the normally toned physicist. True, he had filled out a little recently, but he was far from a candidate for weight watchers just yet.

When they reached the car they could see that Egon's expression remained one of mild tolerance, that is until Peter called him a paunch bunny and did a tickle run at his stomach. Spengler's reaction was immediate and surprising. He jumped backwards, accidentally slamming into Ecto, and let out a startled 'eep' while trying to push the encroaching psychiatrist away.

Peter froze, tickling hands stilled, a strange expression covering his face. To Ray and Winston's surprise the normally stoic Spengler began to blush and tried to slide away. Peter's quite voice stopped him.

"Egon, you really have put on weight." Peter's voice was pitched a little lower than normal, ringing warning bells in both of the listening men. Ray and Winston moved closer. "Abdominal fat, that condensed, carried so low, is not good for you."

"I know." Egon replied, looking uncomfortable. "I'm seeing Doctor Turnbull about it on Friday."

"Oh." Peter stood there looking at him for a while longer, then with a visible jerk moved off to open the back of Ecto. He started depositing their gear, handing off the keys to Winston when he passed over his thrower.

Winston stared at the keys, non-plused. Peter rarely drove, but when he did he drove both ways, he was as competitive over the role as he was in everything else he did. Winston shrugged and got in the driver's seat, with Ray claiming shotgun position besides him. Peter got in the back with Egon, but they didn't talk. Nobody did for the entire trip home.

**

Ecto pulled up to the firehouse and Winston parked her neatly in her spot in front of their lockers. Egon shot out the back of the ex-hearse as fast as he could, but Peter had been expecting the move and leapt out after him. He captured the physicist by the arm and presented a speech he'd obviously been turning over in his head on the drive back.

"Wait. You can't brush this off, Egon. You haven't just put on unexpected weight, you've been ill on and off for weeks now. You've lost your appetite, you look tired, you fell behind on the bust...that's not like you. This sounds serious. We should go get a check up right away."

"You've been sick? Why didn't you tell us?" Ray came round from the other side of Ecto and stared at Egon with worried, vaguely accusing eyes. The physicist squirmed under the attention.

"I am fine. My being ill was probably a reaction to the new kind of peperoni they are using at the pizza place. And the extra exercise I have been doing lately to cope with my incipient middle age spread has left me tired and explains my loss of appetite. I'm sorry if my tardiness today caused you any difficulties. It won't be repeated."

He tried to pry his arm free and walk off, but Peter wasn't having any of it.

"You're sick, Egon! Admit it! I think..." Peter's voice had broken out of its normal volume, so he forcibly lowered his baritone to a gentler level. "I think we should go see the doctor right away. We're Ghostbusters, we deserve immediate medical attention if we need it, what if a class eight breaks through at midnight and you're not up to the challenge, huh? We gotta go now!"

"Don't be ridiculous." Egon tugged his arm free and stomped off towards the stairs, pulling his overalls off as he went. Peter watched him go. Then he moved over to his locker, kicked it, got his uniform off, stomped over to his office, made a phone call and stomped back up the stairs where he and Egon started yelling at each other again.

"What's with Pete?" Winston asked, puzzled. He'd never seen the guy act like that about one of them being ill before. He and Ray were still struggling out of their uniforms, Winston being careful not to smear ectoplasm all over his miraculously still clean shirt and jeans.

"His mom died of stomach cancer." Ray confided, looking upwards with worried eyes. "She, uh, she had some of the same symptoms Peter listed, before she died. Peter had to nurse her through most of it on his own." Ray bit his lip and turned to Winston imploringly. "Egon wouldn't have stomach cancer though, would he? He's too young."

Winston didn't answer, one because he didn't think Egon was too young, and two because he was too busy staring speechlessly at the stairway, where a determined looking Peter Venkman was descending with a complaining Doctor Spengler over one shoulder.

"Are you trying to kill us both? Put me down at once! Peter? I'm warning you Venkman!"

But Peter didn't stop until he'd reached the side of Ecto One. "Ray, dump the traps, Doctor Turnbull's got time for an emergency consult after all. So we're gonna consult him."

Ray grabbed the full traps and hurried to put them to one side while Peter chucked Egon in the back and bodily pinned him there. He didn't let go either, until Winston had them out in traffic, and even then he kept ahold of one of Egon's wrists.

"I'm hardly likely to jump out of a moving vehicle," Spengler admonished him coldly.

Peter didn't answer, instead he reached over and smooth Egon's mussed hair back into its proper alignment. They both noticed how his hand shook at the gesture and finally a look of understanding, and even a little remorse crossed Spengler's long face.

"Its alright, Peter." Egon told him gently, placing his free hand over the white knuckled one Peter had on his arm. "I will see the doctor and he will tell us everything will be fine. I shall probably just need dietary supplements, or perhaps a thorough worming." He let a smile touch his lips as he squeezed Peter's hand.

Peter gave a tiny nod, but his eyes were suspiciously bright and he struggled to keep his breathing steady.

/For god's sake,/ he tried to rebuke himself, /don't lose it now! Egon's right, he probably just needs a new diet. One not so high in ring-dings and Twinkies. He's fine. He's gonna be fine./ He repeated those words to himself all the way to the doctors surgery.

**

When they got to the hospital doctor Turnbull tried to direct three of them into the VIP waiting room and lead Egon to the examining cubicle. But Peter refused to let go of Egon's arm and eventually talked his way into the exam room, where he hovered, watching every procedure with hawk like intensity. He didn't even try to flirt with the attractive assisting nurse, a sure sign of his worry.

Doctor Turnbull took blood samples and sent them off to the hospitals pathology department. He conducted a routine physical, measuring blood pressure (a little low), heart rate (a little high) and temperature before checking Egon's weight against his previous visit. It had definitely increased.

The preliminaries out the way Turnbull did an exploratory manual exam of his patient's abdomen. An ultra sound would have been handy, but the usual operator was on holiday and the machine had proven to temperamental for the rest of the staff to use. And they would have to wait until morning for the x-ray department to open up.

Turnbull ran his hands expertly over his patient's abdomen and frowned. The weight had settled there in a gentle bulge, nothing normally too surprising for a man of Doctor Spengler's age. However this was no other patient, this was a Ghostbuster and the bulge had covered the physicist's normally delineated musculature, which had been as prominent as usual at his other, quite recent, visit.

When Peter turned to watch the assistant nurse untangle a carelessly stored airline on the wall Egon shot the doctor a questioning look and mouthed the word 'related?' at him, one blond eyebrow raising in inquiry.

"Mmm, perhaps. Let us check out the more mundane avenues first." Turnbull answered him softly, just as Peter whipped around to give them both a suspicious glare.

Egon nodded thoughtfully and settled back to contemplate his options.

Eventually the doctor sent them out to wait with the others while he checked what he could correlate against the data he previously had. It still gave a most puzzling picture.

**

The Ghostbusters sat in the VIP waiting room, all of them feeling nervous and upset. A framed wall painting of large apple blossoms dripping petals on to an ebony tabletop got scrutinised minutely by four pairs of distracted eyes. The fragile petals had been excellently rendered, their brief moment of beauty captured forever on the canvas.

The other three jumped when Egon broke the solemn mood by purposely clearing his throat. In an even voice he told them that he had something important to discuss with them.

"I should have told you when it began, but I am afraid I was too embarrassed to, uh, share it with you." There was a jug of water on the magazine strewn table by his chair and Egon poured himself a glass. He gulped it down and noticed Peter adding 'excessive thirst' to his mental list of Egon's symptoms.

Egon gave a sigh, he had to tell them the truth, no matter what the cost to his pride. He could not allow the others to go on believing he was the receiver of some unjust fate. He had, after all, brought this on himself.

/I must simply open my mouth and speak the words,/ he firmly encouraged himself, but found he had to struggle to get any sound past his lips. He licked them nervously and the others lent in closer to hear him. "I have become addicted to ingesting extruded ectoplasm."

There, he'd said it. With a rush of dread he poured himself another glass of water, wishing for the first time in his life that he kept upon himself a flask of something stronger. Whisky, perhaps, or hemlock. Either would do.

"Slime." Ray translated for them. "You've become addicted to eating slime?"

The others looked at him with shock and Egon nodded.

"For how long?" Winston croaked, his voice failing him. Ordinarily this would have been a prime time for teasing his rather stuffy blond friend, but coming so close on Peter's fear for him, and given Egon's current mortified look, he didn't have the heart for it.

Ray had reached over and placed a hand on Egon's arm, while Peter went round to sit on the magazine table and secured his grip on Egon's other side.

Doctor Spengler took a deep breath to steady himself, then launched into his shameful tale.

"It first began about a month ago. I accidentally wiped my mouth with a hand covered in ectoplasm, then automatically licked my lips. I found the taste...pleasant. When the opportunity again came to taste slime that had settled on the back of my hand, I took it. After that I found myself actively searching for droplets to lick away, until eventually I took every chance I could to sample the substance again. I ultimately went so far as to...to..." Egon's voice ran out as his cheeks flared red. He had to close his eyes in order to force the rest of his confession out, and it came as a whisper.

"I...I bribed Slimer...to provide me with...." he could go no further. Turning his face away he dared not open his eyes for fear of seeing condemnation, or worse, pity.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Winston asked gently.

"I didn't want to lose your respect. I thought...how could you not hate me for this? For being so weak?"

"Man, we could never hate you." Winston told him firmly. Peter ran his hand up to Egon's shoulder and gave it a supportive squeeze. On his other side Ray was biting his lip as he shook his head.

"We never tested it for its long term affects," he muttered in dismay. "This is all my fault!"

"No Raymond, it is mine. I should have been able to resist the craving, or at least been brave enough to tell you all about it. Instead I kept it to myself and risked one of you becoming...."

"Don't," Peter broke in, giving Egon's arm a little shake. "None of us are to blame for anything. We've all had a taste of the stuff, so it can't be instantly addictive anyway. Maybe there was a special quality to that particular goo you came across. It doesn't matter, what's important is what happens next. How can we help you and are we sure that this is what's caused the weight gain?"

"Until I have more results," Doctor Turnbull spoke from the doorway, making them jump, "it is the best explanation I've got to give you. I can feel a mass, but I believe it is too regular to be a tumour." Peter let out a whimpered gasp, his head dropping in inexpressible relief to Egon's shoulder.

Doctor Turnbull waited a moment before moving further into the room to look into his patient's face. It was paler than normal, a touch of shock had set in perhaps, though the scientists demeanour was calm and collected to his eyes. Still, for someone like Egon Spengler this must be hell.

"The addiction does seem to be the most likely cause of the weight gain, the nausea and other symptoms you mentioned on your last visit." He spoke of them purposely, aware that the scientist may have been keeping his illness to himself. "So the treatment I would recommend would be immediate withdrawal. A complete cut off."

He kept his voice even and attempted to hide the pity in his eyes by looking over at the framed painting on the wall. It had been done by a patient of his, a cancer patient.

"Cold turkey?" Ray asked, looking worried. "But what would that do to him?"

"Truthfully, I can't say." Turnbull replied. "The addiction hasn't been present for very long, but the substance, the ectoplasm itself, is an unknown quantity. I would like Doctor Spengler to begin the withdrawal process here, where he can be monitored."

"Can we stay?" Ray asked immediately, but Turnbull shook his head.

"Certainly not." Egon spoke up forcefully. "We have a job to do, one that can not stop simply because I have been so abysmally foolish. The Ghostbusters must carry on, people need us."

"But we need you." Peter reminded him gently. Egon swallowed the burning sensation of tears and simply restated that Ghostbusters could not close down.

"Okay," Peter agreed, holding up a hand to forestall Winston and Ray's protests. "Then we come back here in between busts."

He stood firm on this, no matter what was said thereafter and privately Egon was glad of it. He did not want to face this alone. Cold turkey would indubitably entail a certain...loss of control. He would need his friends here.

Egon was booked into an isolation room in the hospital and the others agreed to come sit with him on two hourly rosters, when not on a bust. They did not stay with him that night, as Egon felt he would not begin suffering from withdrawal so soon and that they all needed their sleep.

**

It was late at night when the craving hit and neither friends nor nursing staff were there. But somebody was. Or rather...something....

**

"Janine, any word from the hospital?" Peter asked their secretary. He leant one hip on her desk as he unzipped a slime-encrusted jump suit, having just returned from an encounter with a class five goo spitter.

"There's a message to get in contact with Doctor Turnbull whenever you're in next." Janine replied, holding up a square of note paper and glaring at the goo Peter was dripping on her nice clean desktop. Men, they were such pigs!

"Why didn't you say!" Exasperated Peter snatched the note. He had wanted the guys to drop him off directly at the hospital, but as Winston had pointed out - he was coated in slime. Not the best of moves, considering Egon's cravings. He read Janine's note as the other two Ghostbusters stopped what they were doing and gathered close, drawn by the worry in Peter's voice.

He ran a shaking hand back through his hair, deciphering the code they had worked out with Turnbull. Being in the public eye had led to some trouble with the news hounds so they had had to use a code to stop the paparazzi sticking their noses where they weren't wanted.

The bastards sometimes listened in on the Ghostbusters phone lines and if it wasn't for the code their every move would have been shadowed. When other news was slow the Ghostbusters made good copy and the team had a hard time evading the Press.

"Damn, it say's Egon's been moved to a private clinic, Turnbull won't say why until we get there. Shit. Okay, don't panic. I'm gonna go grab a shower, then we'll head over." Peter stood still a minute more, torn between leaving immediately and the need to remove the ectoplasm coating his head and shoulders. He dropped the note and took off up the stairs, focused on having the fastest shower of his life.

As the others moved past, Winston to stash the day's ghosts, Ray to follow Peter for a quick wash, two red nail tipped hands shot out and grabbed them.

"Okay you guys. What's going on? Nobody said Egon was in hospital this morning. What happened and why wasn't I told?" Green eyes pined them both, making them squirm.

"Janine, let me go. I've gotta put these guys away or I won't be able to drive Peter - and he can't be allowed to drive when he's in a mood like this." Winston squirmed free and dashed for the containment's stairwell. Ray tried to escape too, but Melnitz transferred both hands to his shirtfront and brought him close so she could glare into his eyes.

"Give Ray - or the next Captain Steel comic I find is going in the shredder!"

Ray gasped, he knew she'd do it, too. Reluctantly, they hadn't wanted anyone else to know about Egon's problem just yet, he filled her in about the scientist's addiction.

"Hmm. Okay, I can see why you didn't want to tell me - you're just misguided men after all." Ray gave her his winning smile and she rolled her eyes heaven ward. She let him go, tapping her lips with one long red fingernail. "You know, Slimer's been looking for Egon all day. He was upset when he couldn't find him."

"Really? Wow. I wonder why? I guess he could be missing the food bribes Egon gave him." Ray looked around, but the little spud wasn't there.

"No, that's not right. He didn't even eat the extra doughnut you guys left from breakfast. And when he heard me talking to the doctor and saying that Egon was not coming home he became really upset. I think he's down by the containment unit now, sulking."

"He's down there alright." Winston agreed, coming over from the stairwell to join them. "There's a puddle of ectoplasm in one corner as wide as a wading pool. Yech."

"That's odd," Ray frowned.

"What is?" Peter came bounding down the steps, newly scrubbed and squeaky clean. "On second thoughts, tell me in the car, its time we were on our way." Peter moved to Ecto, pulling the others along in his wake.

"Give my love to Egon, tell him I hope he gets well soon!" Janine called. Ray gave her a reassuring smile and joined the others in the car. Unseen by anyone Slimer rose out of the floor and curled himself into Ecto's tail pipe to ride along.

**

Doctor Turnbull met them at the doorway to the private clinic. It was a nice building, art deco in design, intricate lead-lighting on the doors and windows. The Ghostbusters didn't take the time to admire it though, they zeroed in on Turnbull instead.

"What's happened?" Peter took in the man's solemn look and immediately began to panic.

"Egon had a visitor last night," the doctor explained, "something he called a class five free roaming vapour."

"Is he alright?" Ray asked, a hundred dreadful possibilities running through his head. Winston's mind was also full of dreadful ideas, Peter's however was blank, immobilised with fear.

"It depends on what you term alright," the doctor muttered. "The entity fed him slime."

Stunned silence. Then the Ghostbusters all began talking at once.

'How the hell...why weren't we called...accidentally slimed, or purposely fed...where were the nursing staff...what kind of class five are we talking about...'

"WAAAAWAAAARWAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!!"

The terrible unearthly wail snaked out a hallway and down their spines, followed immediately by a different, but no less impressive screech. Not long after medical staff and patients began streaming out of the building, all looking frightened out of their lives.

"What the hell...." But Turnbull was talking to thin air. With one thought in mind the Ghostbusters took off, towards where the wailing had come from. They were certain that at the center of those ghastly cries they would find their friend.

As they sprinted down the now empty corridors of the private clinic more of the hideous calls rang out, helping pinpoint the location they wanted. At last they rounded a corner to find Slimer, facing off with an unknown orange spook that looked like a hideous splattered spider.

Slimer was in his fierce mode. His eyes had turned from orange to flaming red, his ungainly bulbous body had swelled to twice its normal size, his fat tongue wriggling out of his maw like a long prehensile tentacle, more teeth sprouted from his mouth than could logically fit. It was a gruesome sight.

Ectoplasm lined the walls and one doorway, which stood open. In its frame stood Egon Spengler, dressed in nightgown, cap and slippers, looking rather tired and drawn.

"Slimer's defending Egon," Ray whispered.

"Which is more than we can do." Growled Winston, also in a whisper. "What possessed us to come in here unarmed anyway?"

The others realised that Zed was right, they didn't have their proton packs. They were going to be useless at helping to save their friend.

Just then the orange ghost let out a querulous gurgle.

"Zurrg?" answered Slimer, deflating a little.

"Waaagh." Answered the stranger ghost, returning to a less frightening, although equally ugly, shape. They then both cautiously deflated a little more.

"Snurf, Snurf?" asked Slimer.

"Bluuuurgh," replied the orange ghost.

"Ooooh!" As one both ghosts reverted to their normal forms, still hideous, but with less teeth, glowing bits or, in the orange ghosts case, hairy claw tipped appendages.

They began a quiet conference, snurfing and gargling at each other. Several gestures were made in Egon's direction and Peter became alarmed.

"Spengs, move away from the doorway, get back in your room. I don't like the looks of this!"

Egon pushed his glasses more firmly onto his nose, but otherwise did not react. He stood and watched the two conferring ghosts with apparent interest.

"Egon!" Peter made ready to go over to him, but just then the two ghosts came to some agreement and swooped down to float before the nightwear-clad physicist.

The orange spirit formed two of its, er, 'hands', into a kind of bowl, while Slimer produced a spoon from somewhere inside its blobby ectoplasmic body. This he presented to Egon, who accepted it with a dream like calm.

The two ghosts then gazed at the orange ones hands as ooze began to collect there. Slimer held aloft one three fingered hand and a thin steam of his ectoplasm joined the stuff in the impromptu bowl. With a ceremonious gesture they then offered it to Egon.

Using the spoon Egon tasted the slime soup and politely said "Excellent, thank you."

The others stood transfixed as Egon finished his meal of cold ectoplasm, then watched as the orange class five cooed approval before disappearing upwards, through the ceiling. Slimer began rubbing himself ecstatically around Egon's ankles like the world's messiest cat. He even gave an odd trilling rumble that mimicked a cats purr.

"Ray, what have we just witnessed?" asked Peter.

"A physical phenomenon unlike anything I have heard tell off. The closest I can think of is the mummified Egyptian house slave that stole food from restaurants and stored it away for consumption by her mistress when she reanimated, but as you can see, that's only a superficial resemblance that probably holds no connection to what has occurred here today."

Rays eyes were huge, he had answered the question by rote while the rest of his mind was jumping from thought to thought, trying to figure out a solution to what was going on.

"So, Egon, what's ectoplasm soup taste like?" Winston asked, moving towards his slowly blinking friend.

"Sour dough," the physicist answered sadly, then turned and went back into his room.

The others found him hunched up on one end of the clinics ornately worked iron bed, hugging his knees to his chest and looking glumly into the middle distance.

"It wasn't you're fault." Peter sat besides him and placed a reassuring arm around his shoulders. "There has got to be something else at work here. We don't know what it is, but we'll work on it. I promise. Trust us, we'll fix this."

Egon slanted a look at him from the corner of his eyes, then sighed. Peter watched him rest his forehead on his knees and tried to think how else to convince his friend that he was not alone, that they would help him fight this. That Egon would never be alone, as long as Peter had breath in his body to arrange it.

"I want to go home." Egon said. So they took him.

**

Speculation on the strange behaviour of the spooks raged all the way back to the firehouse, Ray trying repeatedly to interrogate Slimer. Unfortunately the spud had reverted to his pre Ghostbusting days gurgles and squeaks - not an intelligible syllable in the lot.

Ray became quite worried for his little buddy, was he suffering some kind of reversal to childhood, uh, ghosthood, uh, something? He appeared happy enough - but why couldn't he talk?

But it became obvious that Peter was getting annoyed with the ghost's unresponsiveness. Ray decided to stop the questions for now and try again later, when Peter wasn't around.

They spent the evening searching through their formidable occult database. Unhappily by the time Winston called a halt and shepherded them all to bed they had still found nothing relevant.

Next morning started early with Egon praying to the porcelain gods. Despite having risen as quietly as ever, by the time he reached the dry heaves he had an audience of three.

Winston held a glass of water with a few drops of mouthwash for Egon to rinse the foul taste from his mouth when he finished, Ray had a damp cloth to wipe his face with and Peter had knelt down to hold his hair more firmly out the way. He also retrieved Egon's glasses before they dived off the end of his nose into the toilet bowl.

/The three wise men have come to my aid,/ Egon thought wirily, something in the thought making him feel uneasy.

Egon's sigh of relief when he finally lent back away from the bowl was unanimous, his friends had also started looking a little green. They tidied him up then Peter helped him to his feet and steered him back to bed, telling the exhausted scientist to get a little more rest, which much to his surprise, he did.

When Egon eventually made it to the kitchen Peter sat him at the table and, acting as waiter, produced a soft-boiled egg and toast - "For mon sewers enjoyment," he smirked.

Peter dutifully did this whenever any of the guys were sick. He dredged up skills he had gained taking care of his mother through the final days of her illness and applied them to his friends - mercilessly. His cheerful persistence in care giving would be quite annoying, if you didn't know of the harrowing experience that had shaped it.

Egon ate the meal prepared for him stoically, aware that Peter would accept nothing less than a clean plate. In deference to his queasy stomach however he ate cautiously, which made him the last one down to pull on his jumpsuit for the mornings two busts.

"You sure you're up to this?" Peter asked, swinging the recharged packs up into the back of Ecto. He looked at Egon from the corner of his eyes, not wanting to make the other man uncomfortable, but needing to see if he tried to lie. Old Spengs could be the most obstinate man on earth.

"I have been attending busts this entire past month without anything going amiss, Peter. Except for the one episode where I was a little late for Winston's liking, I have well and truly kept up. Nothing has changed about my condition, so I should be able to cope today as well." Egon cast him an exasperated look.

He'd found his work clothes already neatly laid out for him when he'd got to his locker, as if picking them out himself was too tiring a chore, and was feeling highly put upon and babied as it was. He would not miss today's work.

"Oooh, throwing up makes you cranky in the mornings, Spengs." Peter teased, opening the hearse's door and gesturing the lanky scientist in ahead of him.

"Indeed," came the laconic reply.

As Ray turned the key and Ecto rumbled into life he noticed Egon burp and pull a face, sure sign of an upset stomach. "You've been throwing up all month?" he asked as Janine came up and passed the day's list to Winston, shooting Egon a kiss and worried glance before going back to her desk. Egon waited until they had pulled away from the firehouse before answering.

"No Raymond, not all month, though I have felt nauseous most of that time. Have you checked the switch on the proton pack that gave out yesterday? It needed replacing." The abrupt change of subject was Egon's way of letting Ray know he was uncomfortable with the questioning.

Egon hated being sick at the best of times and considered it a betrayal by his body. Not even knowing why he was sick was pure torture. He didn't want to think about it just now.

Ray wanted to pursue the topic, he couldn't believe that he had not picked up on Egon's distress earlier. Peter had taken time yesterday to remind him that it had been extremely hectic lately. This had made it both easier for them to miss the signs Egon had been trying to hide and easier for their mule headed physicist to justify doing so in order to keep things at Ghostbusters running smoothly. Still, Ray felt he should have known.

He exchanged glances with Peter in the rear view mirror and the psychologist gave him a wink. Sighing Ray allowed himself to be distracted and started explaining what he'd done to fix the packs switch, confident that Peter would keep an eye on things from now on and let him know how Egon was coping. He didn't have to like it, though.

**

<puff, puff, pant, wheeze>

"Nice to see you Winston." Egon said dryly. "There weren't any car displays in the complex that I didn't known about, were there?"

"I <gasp> said I was <pant> sorry about that <wheeze>" Winston gulped a few extra deep breaths before being able to stand up and bring his ioniser on line. His stream hit the nasty long fanged brown gooper just as it made another attempt at drowning Egon in goo.

Together he and the slime festooned blond Ghostbuster held the thing until Peter and Ray got there. Pounding round the corner Peter brought his ion slinger into play as he ran. Right on his heals Ray threw the trap out as soon as he could get near enough, nearly ramming the thing into Peter's ankles. Peter jumped the little yellow and black box on wheels and turned his face away along with the others as Ray stomped on the trap's pedal.

"Why've they been going after Egon?" Ray asked, as he reeled in the gently blinking trap and hooked it on his belt.

"Good question." Winston replied. They both turned to watch as Peter strode purposely over to their goop covered friend (so odd to see Egon slimed and Peter not). Peter's face was set and grim. Uh ho, this could get nasty. Peter was gonna demand Egon stop busting until they found out what was going on. Demands never went over well with Egon.

Spengler, however, decided to change the rules.

"I had postulated a theorem to myself," Egon lectured, as if they were in a group meeting at home and not in the middle of a mall, with an annoyed psychologist about to descend like a tidal wave upon his head.

"I have theorised that my recent attraction for ghosts was real and not merely paranoia. I had fixated on my need for slime and believed myself to be giving the tendency more currency than it in fact held.

I have changed my mind on this view, as they do appear to be deliberately targeting me, even when given a perfect alternative, namely one Peter Venkman," he gestured with a slime encased hand at the silently fuming Ghostbuster, "was there to take the splat. I wondered if the behaviour of the entities might be a fluke, but now I believe it was not.

I have definitely become an enticement for etheric entities. It is the only explanation as to why I have been out-doing Peter in the ectoplasm day wear, don't you think?" He shipped his thrower and started for the far stairway.

Peter took a breath to start talking, but Egon wasn't quite done yet.

"With the added attention from the spirit realm, it would behove me to retire to the firehouse until a solution, or at least a decent reason for this anomaly, has been discovered."

Behind him Peter stood, fists clenched, opening and shutting his mouth in an attempt at finding something to say. Egon was being...he was being reasonable, goddamn it! He hated when he had a head full of steam and the guys capitulated on him, hated it!

"You want him to argue?" Winston asked with a good-humoured smile. Peter tried to beam death rays at him with his eyes, then deflated, anger gone. He really did want Egon to go back to the firehouse, after all.

This morning had been awful. In the past months general rush of getting jobs done they hadn't noticed a pattern, but Egon was right, it was there. The goopers went for him. Some playfully splattering him with goo, but others - others seemed to have a grudge.

They were all glad Egon had decided to go gracefully and they dropped him off at the firehouse with relief. He was to continue researching while they went on with the busts. They thought he would be safer there. They were wrong.

**

"Janine, any phone calls? Doc Turnbull call back yet?" Peter moved to lounge against their secretary's desk, trying not to look too worried. Near the basement stairway Ray and Winston paused in their post bust activities to listen in as well.

"Not from Turnbull. But we did get a call from the hospital asking Egon to go in for more tests. He took a taxi over." Janine chewed her bottom lip worriedly. "That was awhile ago though. He should be back by now."

"What sort of tests, did they say?" Peter tried to think what else was needed, his mind temporarily coming up blank.

Janine shrugged, the line of pink pearls she wore rising and sinking with the helpless motion. "I don't know, they didn't say...."

Just then the phone rang and she snatched it up and spoke by rote into the mouthpiece. "Ghostbusters, gotta ghost to go, we're the ones to show. How can I help you?"

"They probably need x-rays," Ray said, coming over while Janine attended to the caller. "And maybe they found someone to operate the ultra sound machine."

"I hope so, maybe now we'll get some answers." Winston agreed, moving up on his other side.

"I wish we could have gone to the hospital too." Ray bounced a full trap against one leg and looked unhappy. "Egon needs our support."

"He sure doesn't like not knowing what's going on." Winston sighed, thinking of the closed in look Egon had had back at the clinic.

"None of us like not knowing. And on that score - Ray, I think we may need help tracking this down, no matter what the hospital tests show." Peter flashed back on the volumes of text they had gone through last night, and how much more they still needed to go through. Plus, Ray needed a distraction, he had that helpless look that didn't bode well for anybodies peace of mind. "How about we get some of your computer pals to give us a hand? I don't want to make the search too narrow, we need a wide net."

"I know lots of people I can ask - all responsible researchers." Ray replied thoughtfully. "But I'd rather not have to tell them why we need the information. I don't think Egon would like that." The others nodded agreement.

"Guys!" Janine's voice cut easily across their discussion, pitched as it was in the ultra sonic. "You're not going to believe this! That was one of Egon's old lab assistants, Suzi Lee - remember she worked with him on that emotion/ectoplasm equation thingy? - and she says the medical group she works with has checked him in to the hospital against his will! She was told he was on medication that had made him dangerous. That he was delirious and they had him in restraints for his own good! Oh Peter, something terrible has happened, we've gotta get over there right away!"

Peter was always at his best in a crisis; that's why he did so good at ghost busting. A crisis loomed - Peter acted. That was the way it went - normally. Not this time. Egon was involved, so he felt the familiar paralysis try to grip him that came whenever the scientist was in danger.

It had happened before, and like then he would have to do the only thing that worked. Fake it.

As he had countless times before Peter reached inside himself and froze the incapacitating anguish around his heart. He knew that later, if this didn't go right, the pain would thaw and he would bleed out, an emotional wreck. But if he could hold it together, everything would be okay. It was time to move.

"Ray, you and Janine go get Inspector Frump - take him by force if you have to, but get him to the hospital. Zed, go get Turnbull. He's at that private clinic today - they have a landing pad on the roof same as the hospital, take Ecto Two. I'm gonna take a taxi and grab Tulley, maybe get his new partners Wolff and Byrd on the case too. Move people, we don't know what they're doing to Egon, but it can't be good. Go!"

Janine grabbed Rays arm and pulled him towards Ecto, they burned rubber as they left the garage, sirens screaming. Winston ran for the stairs as Peter locked up behind Ray and left through the small portal in the garage doors. He flagged a taxi and gave directions, offering a monetary incentive for extra speed. They sped.

**

Doctor Venkman spearheaded a determined looking procession into the furthermost wing of the hospital. Suzi Lee, a tiny, neat oriental woman in a pristine lab coat, had met them in the car park and strode anxiously beside him, giving directions. He'd sent Ray and Janine to wait for Winston on the roof, but had little hope they would stay there long. Following behind him came Inspector Frump, then several of New York's finest police officers, the Ghostbusters lawyers, a police photographer and the hospital's administrator, the last snagged by luck on the way through the front doors.

As the group moved further into the near abandoned hospital wing the corridors became more and more deserted, their footsteps echoing loudly in the silence. Before too long four security officers and a doctor (Mike Fullsey MD, according to his identification tag) blocked their way, demanding that they leave the restricted area immediately.

Peter moved to one side, allowing the police officers accompanying them to deal with the threat. When he was sure that the cops and the guards held each other's attention he eased Miss Lee and himself around the brewing confrontation and allowed her to lead him to the end of the corridor, where they came to a locked room. It had the words 'authorised personnel only' stencilled across it in glaring yellow letters.

At Miss Lee's nod Peter unlocked the door and pushed his way in. Barely two feet in the doorway he stopped in horrified shock. He had expected...he wasn't sure what he had expected, but this wasn't it.

Egon Spengler lay in a hospital cot with the head raised and the safety rails up. Egon's wrists and ankles were tied to the sides by leather straps, a thick blindfold had been secured over his eyes. He was dressed only in a short, loose fitting hospital gown. One arm showed evidence of fresh needle tracks and patches of dried blood stained the gown in front and at the sides.

Peter wanted nothing more than to rush over and undo the blindfold, cover those vulnerably naked long legs, undo the straps, hold his friend close and tell him nobody was going to harm him again, not now Peter was here. Instead he steeled himself to stay where he was, and urgently gestured out the door for the police photographer to come in.

"Egon? Hi buddy, it's me, Peter," he called softly.

"Peter?" The blindfolded head turned towards him, hope in the raggedly whispered voice.

"Yeah, its me. It's your turn to empty out the garbage, so we tracked you down." A faint smile ghosted over the pain drawn mouth and Peter swallowed heavily.

"Look, I brought some friends, one of them's gonna come in now and take some snapshots. Crazy, but the cops must need a centrefold for their crime and punishment calender and you fit the bill. Tall blond in bondage, what more can a guy in uniform ask for? Anyway, then I'm gonna come over and untie ya. That okay? We don't have to do it like that...but I won't be able to stash the people who did this to you away in prison for the rest of their miserable lives so easy if we don't. You okay with that?"

Peter almost wanted him to say no, but Egon gave a thoughtful nod instead.

"Yes, I agree, get as much evidence as possible. If they have treated anybody else as they have treated me then they deserve the full weight of the justice system brought to bear upon them." This speech was delivered in a strong yet whispery voice. He'd obviously strained it with yelling recently. Peter's determination to incarcerate whoever had hurt his friend hardened further.

/They won't get out until their grand kids have kids./ Peter vowed. The police photographer poked her head in questioningly and he drew her further into the room. "Please, be quick but thorough." Peter directed her, moving back a little to get out of her way.

The woman nodded grimly and began taking photographs, horrified that this had been done to one of the Ghostbusters. The guys were heroes, for pity's sake!

Peter stood tensely by the door, nervously moving to check on the scene outside. The police had backed off and the lawyers moved in. Terror radiated from everyone with a hospital identification badge as Tulley and his partners began to outline their law suites. The three of them had briefly stuck their heads around the door, as had Frump, and their ire was up.

Peter had returned his attention back inside when he heard Frump cursing out in the hall. Knowing instinctively what that would mean Peter blocked the doorway, just in time to stop Ray and Janine rushing in.

"We couldn't wait, Peter. How is he?" Ray tried looking over his shoulder, gasping in dismay at what he saw.

"Ray, come on, they have to take some pictures first or we wont be able to charge these bastards." Barely held fury seethed under Peter's voice, enough to stop the other two in their rush to be at Egon's side. "I for one am gonna make them pay for every graze, every needle prick and every second he was held against his will!"

Turning back to the room he saw Suzi Lee was helping get shots of Egon's body by holding up the patients gown and Peter's skin crawled as his mind wondered what had been done to his friend under there. As soon as the police photographer put up her camera he rushed over, Ray and Janine at his heals.

"Hey Spengs, hows it going." Egon flinched at the touch of his hand and Peter waited for him to relax and respond to his voice. "Shh, its okay, it's just me and Ray and Janine. And an old friend of your's, remember Suzi Lee? She was one of your university lab assistants." He paused while Suzi said hi softly and Egon commented that of course he remembered her, and that she was a lab technician, not an assistant. Suzi flushed with pleasure at the words.

"What say we take this beauty mask off and undo some of these straps, hey?" Peter's hands were already fumbling at the blindfold knots while Ray economically undid the straps at his wrists, and Janine undid the feet straps, her eyes bright with emotion.

Peter's eyes were a little bright as well, Ray had tears unashamedly streaking down his cheeks. The straps had left marks on Egon's pale skin. The scientist had fought his restraints, the idea of being held captive in such a place infuriating him.

Peter stroked Egon's white blond hair where the blindfold had left a line, moving forwards to get a look at his friend's appearance. Blue eyes looked back at him, eyes with pinpricks for pupils. They squinted against the brightness of what was actually quite a dimly lit room. Peter noticed that Egon's breathing was slower than normal, too.

"Egon, did they give you something? A drug?"

"Yes." The physicist confirmed, blinking heavily. He felt as if his eyelids weighed a ton, but stubbornly refused to close them. "I didn't sign anything, Peter. No matter what they say, I didn't sign."

"Shh, its okay," Peter soothed, reacting to the agitation in his friend's voice by placing an arm around his shoulder and drawing him close. "Nothing they got you to do would hold up in court, anyway. Nothing."

Ray was looking in dismay at the beginnings of bruises along Egon's arms and legs. The Ghostbusters were used to the odd bump here and there, but the sight of these marks made Rays stomach curdle. There were some on Egon's face and a cut on the corner of his mouth as well. Egon wasn't the defenceless scientist his captors had been expecting, but he wasn't a trained fighter either. How could they do this to his friend?

"Does your tummy hurt?" Peter asked, noticing the blood on the patient gown and the way Egon had moved his hands to cover the area as soon as he was free.

"Does my...? Peter Venkman, if you start using baby talk on me I shall become most vexed!" Drugged, injured and tired, Egon Spengler was still Egon Spengler. Peter couldn't help but grin.

"Sorry," he murmured, hands still smoothing and soothing their way through Egon's hair. If Egon could still get on his case then things weren't too bad.

"Let us through, he's a doctor." Winston's voice came from just outside the doorway and soon the man himself appeared, Doctor Turnbull in tow.

Turnbull rushed to his patients side, placing one hand at his wrist to take a pulse, the other on his forehead to gauge temperature and tilt the patients head back a little so he could look into his eyes. "Do you know what they gave you? What tests they performed?" he asked, frowning.

"I, no, not all of it." Egon admitted. The last few hours were already running together in his mind, becoming jumbled and nightmarish.

"I can tell you, mostly." Suzi Lee admitted, holding out Egon's patient charts. Turnbull led her to the far corner of the room and they talked together in hushed voices. Winston found a light blanket in another corner and used it to cover Egon's legs with. Peter was grateful, he would have liked to have done it himself, but found he couldn't make himself leave Egon's side - even for that.

"Its okay, its gonna be okay," he said, tightening his arms protectively around his friend. The others moved up too and they indulge in one of their life affirming hugs. Rarely had they needed it more.