Egon was trying to bring his thoughts together for his next project. Entrapping ectoplasmic molecules using a streaming particle beam net was an exciting, if not entirely new, idea. This version was based on the latest table drawn for the complexity theory. Undoubtedly the experiments were going to be a bit of a hit and miss affair, needing intensive documentation. Dr. Spengler was preparing his notebooks now, knowing that as the trials progressed he would have no time to make them up later.

Egon wasn't sure how long he had been about this particular task. The awkwardness of his injuries had made it slow work, but it was necessary and one of the few things he could do on his own. And he was on his own right now, never more so. The slide of the sticky labels from their backing was about the only noise in the entire building, besides from the hum of the electronics that ran day and night. Egon seldom paid the hum any mind, unless there was a spike in the power grid, then his attention swerved towards the noise at once. A break in the pattern might antecede a full power breakdown and a possible threat to the containment unit. But there was no threat right now and the electronic hum remained subliminal, unnoticed and unremarkable.

"Just like me." Egon thought glumly. He continued labeling, shivering as the cooling air slipped under the unbuttoned lab coat he wore. The thick material was quite comfortable and it was wider in the shoulder area than a shirt would have been, allowing much more room for the pinned arm. Egon licked reflectively at his split lip and wished Ray were there to help him get started on his project. Any of his friends would have been a welcome sight right now.

How quiet the firehouse sounded without the other's being near by. Their constant banter was the most pleasant background to a normal working day. Alas, today was not a normal working day. It hadn't been a normal working week. The guys had had a call to Peru and he; Egon, had been unable to accompany them.

Egon frowned at the memory, a bust at the recently arrived Light and Mysticism Circus had been his 'Waterloo'. Busy zapping a vaporous class four he'd been knocked to the ground and trampled by a troupe of panicked circus horses. An uncertain memory of polished hooves, sleek bellies, bunched muscle and sequins still haunted him. At the time he hadn't even considered the danger the performing animals might pose and for that he blamed himself entirely.

Peter blamed him too, the other Ghostbuster had gone on and on about blowing their health insurance premium as he held Egon down to stop him moving about and worsening the damage. Egon had wanted to move a great deal, but Peter and Winston had been worried his obviously broken ribs might rupture something important, so they held him in place until the ambulance got there. Egon remembered Peter's white knuckled fists holding on to his uniform, his equally white face looking frightened and tense. Peter hadn't wanted to leave him, but the ambulance had certain rules and Winston had finally dragged him out so it could be on its way.

On any other day this would not have been a problem. He would just have asked Janine or one of the others to fill his prescription if they happened to pass a chemist.

But the emergency in Peru was extremely serious and they had needed four people to handle it. So Janine was in Peru, along with Peter, Ray and Winston.

He hoped they were all right. They were in a no go area for telecommunication so they had been unable to speak to each other all this time.

After a full week he longed to hear their voices once again, no matter how briefly. 

Winston had promised he would keep an eye out for Janine and she did have prior experience with busting entities. Egon would eagerly have gone along to consult, but Peter had been unusually adamant that he stay behind. He imagined the doctors warning had scared Venkman considerably. She had said that if Egon sustain a knock to one of his already broken ribs it could cause bone marrow
to seep into his blood stream, killing him.

These words had certainly scared Egon.

So it was that without the others to go shopping for him he had had to find an alternative method of procuring his medication. That conclusion had taken nearly all morning to reach. Therefore, earlier that day, with no other option open to him, he had gathered his resolve and risked the trek down the stairway to ask the temporary secretary to purchase his tablets for him.

Given a ten minute run through the office by a distracted Janine, the temp had been out of sorts since her arrival. The woman's name was Marie something (Egon was appalled at his lack of manners, he never had quite caught her last name and hadn't the nerve to ask it again of her); she was middle aged, had black hair, dark blue eyes, and was about to make a very valid point. When he posed his question she had removed her radio headphones and given him a long, assessing, somewhat un-nerving look.

"Mr. Spengler, I don't make coffee, I don't do shopping runs." She established firmly. "You want to buy a scarf for your girlfriend's birthday, you buy it yourself. You want chicken soup and a handful of painkillers, you can organise that yourself too. I was hired to take messages and write up schedules, not play nurse maid." She'd snapped the band of her radio headset back down and began touch typing again at once.

Dismissed, Egon had begun his slow assent back up the stairway and tried to think what to do next. He supposed the pain wasn't that great, really. It was rather hard to think around it all, though. Pain fogged his judgement nearly as much as medicine could, and although he would much rather have had a clear head, a pain free one would do. But the prospects had begun to look grim for his acquiring the medicine before the others returned on Monday.

Unfortunately he had no ready cash to hire someone to deliver anything here and was quite unwilling to contemplate Marie's reaction to being asked to go to the bank for him. As he had gratefully made it to the top of the stairs (having gripped the railing for dear life at every step) Egon caught a glimpse of the message Peter had written on his ankle cast. 'Denial is not a river in Egypt!' It had been to remind him to take his medication on time and not pretend he wasn't in pain. /How well he knows me./ Egon had thought, reaching the sanctuary of the lab. Oddly the message had reminded him there were some headache tablets in the bathroom and he made plans to take some of them later.

As Egon finished up the last of the notebooks he felt that now, as the evening began to close in, would qualify as later. His work for today was at an end and he viewed the pile of tidily labeled notebooks with some satisfaction. It had grown quite late and he assumed Marie had gone home, he couldn't hear the snap-snap of her typewriter any more. Egon found her failure to call up a simple good-bye disheartening. She had been his only contact with the outside world all week, with the guys out of touch and nobody else having any reason to call. His current papers were all in and the students he taught on and off at the university knew he was ill and would be reluctant to interrupt his convalescence.

That is what he told himself as he cleared away the discarded label backs, feeling the heavy weight of loneliness settle onto his shoulders. All week he had been preoccupied, asleep or reading or happily drugged into a coma. Now, with time to think, he was finding his situation distressing. Deciding to call it a day he struggled the crutch into place under his arm, bunching the material of his lab coat as best he could to give extra padding and began limping for the doorway.

/Honestly, what did I expect?/ he asked himself irritably. /People bringing gift baskets and flowers? Offers to cook and run errands?/ It wasn't like any of his relatives lived close by, most of them were in far of Ohio. His friend Percy was on a dig in Arizona and everyone else was currently out of communication in Peru. There was nobody left to come and visit with him, even just to chat and remind him of the outside world.

He felt trapped here in his own little universe of helplessness. Wider problems like paying bills and ridding New York of phantasms had been totally superseded by his unfulfilled need to change his bandages, which he had found impossible to do on his own. Plus the problem of the painkillers still needed resolution. He was in quite a bit of pain now. There were acquaintances he could have called, but Egon did not like feeling vulnerable in front of others. He tended to mask his problems even from his closest friends, be damned if he was going to parade them before near strangers.

That left 'grin and bear it' as his only option. Wonderful thought. Exiting the lab he headed for the bathroom, turning off light switches as he went. Leaning awkwardly on the crutch (luckily the clavicle break was on the opposite side to the ankle fracture, leaving one hand free to manipulate the crutch with. Unluckily the broken ribs were on that side too, making leaning on the crutch quite painful) he fumbled open the medicine cabinet and pulled down the headache tablets. Setting them to one side he brushed his teeth, being careful not to reopen the split to his lip, then taking a wash cloth he gave himself a cat bath.

How he longed for a shower, but the mechanics of it were far beyond him. His hair was a disgusting mess, he'd tried washing it in the sink earlier in the week, but had ended up leaving soap behind during the rinse, producing an even more horrid look. Life sucked. Egon was justly proud of his coif and to have it reduced to a greasy mop made him cringe. Yet another reason not to call in outside help, he would hate to be seen in this condition by others. He glared momentarily at his reflection in the mirror; he looked pale and unkempt. Most unsatisfactory!

Sighing he replaced the wash cloth and got out the antiseptic cream. He produced enough to cover the scratches and abrasions that he could reach and dabbed a portion onto each. When that was done he cleared everything away before carefully picking up his headache tablets.

/A drink to wash them down with, then bed./ he thought firmly. Out in the hall he found himself dreaming longingly of a nice hot cup of cocoa.

Then he thought about the juggling trick he would have on his hands to make it. Boil the milk, get the cocoa out, the cinnamon, the sugar, the cup. All done mostly one handed and with as little stretching as he could possibly manage. It wasn't feasible.

He was out of milk now, anyway, he suddenly remembered. For five days he had survived on sugary breakfast cereals for every meal, not an uncommon event. He'd been far too involved in reading up on the new complexity theory (when he wasn't deeply asleep, recovering from his injuries) to break off and get something nutritious to eat. Normally Peter would have come to drag him out for a decent meal, he usually did when Egon had spent days researching and living on junk food and air. But there had been no Peter this time and he'd now used all the milk.

Sighing Egon made his way past the kitchen to the bedroom, moving slowly over to the pitcher of water besides his bed. He had placed it there so he wouldn't have to get up to get a drink if he were thirsty in the night. Pouring himself a glass he took the headache pills then gulped them down. His injured lip stuck to the drinking container, reopening the split that had been nearly healed there. He tasted blood and licked at the wound, glad when it closed itself quickly.

Thirst satisfied and tablets taken Egon looked at his messy bed, all rumpled and unmade. Tired as he was he found himself tempted to just fall into it. Instead he made himself peel off his clothes, then wriggled into his nightgown; the one arm still tucked under with the sleeve dangling uselessly down. Turning off the lamp besides his headboard he lowered himself gingerly until he lay prone.

The darkness pressed in on him. Silence screamed in his head, pointing out the lack of heavy breathing and rumbling snores that told him his friends were nearby. Determinedly he took his mind off all the little problems that had been blown to such huge proportions. The other Ghostbusters would be back soon. He had only to wait another two days. Two days and it would all be over, he would be fed, and cared for, and have someone to speak to again. Someone to tell him that he was alive after all, and not forgotten about. His mind slowly cleared of thought.

This did not prove to be the relief he had hoped it would be. Having let go of the problems of the day Egon found himself free to feel every ache and pain of his body throbbing rhythmically. He attempted to will the pain away as he had his spiraling thoughts, but his body wasn't as disciplined as his mind was. Then to add insult to injury his stomach rumbled.

Realising that the cereal bonanza was over and that he would have to seek alternative forms of nourishment, Egon had raided the cupboard earlier today. After much contemplation and a considerable effort he had managed to open a tin of beans. With a sense of triumph he had eaten them directly from the tin, enjoying them more than he could ever remember enjoying beans before. Apparently his stomach had just decided that that hard won meal hadn't been enough and now wanted more.

But he couldn't do anything about it. Couldn't contemplate getting up one more time, heaving his tired body upright yet again, turning on lights, finding implements, seeing if there was another tin, (he hadn't noticed any more beans, come to think of it. Maybe he could start eating the tinned fruit?) clearing everything away. It was too much, he couldn't do it. Didn't think he had the energy to stagger to the fridge and claw out that last little bit of cheese he had spied earlier. Fridge. Now why did that ring a bell?

Fridge...the downstairs mould! With horror Egon realised that he had failed to check on the mould experiment he had in the basement in days. Sitting up with a grunt of pain he stared unhappily about the darkened room. He had to check on his mould!

But as he squinted blindly into the dark at the far doorway his mind traveled past it, to the stairs. It had not been easy the few times he had made the journey downstairs. He had feared falling. And today, or rather, tonight, was a Friday. Nobody would be in tomorrow. If he fell while descending the stairs tonight it would be Monday before anyone found him again. Monday. With a shiver Egon sank back down onto the bed. Pulling back the arm that had instinctively reached out to scrabble on the side table for his glasses he clutched the sheets about him and closed his eyes.

If only Peter or one of the others were here. Egon realised he had hardly spoken this entire week, except to make that request to Marie, and the good-mornings that he had called down when he happened to spy her entering the building at the beginning of the day. A whole week without sharing the thoughts of others. Without communicating to anyone. No wonder he felt so miserably alone.

/ I have been deprived of Peter's alleged witticism all this time./ he thought wryly. /While he no doubt is running around merry as you please with the Peruvians, making newer and less wretchedly isolated friends./

Lifting one hand to wipe away the warm moisture that slid unexpectedly down his cheek, Egon drew a deep breath and tried to bring himself under control. Rolling careful onto one side (it hurt no matter which way he lay, he had decided, so he might as well achieve the position he was used to) Egon drew the second pillow, the one he used to prop himself up with for reading, down into his arms. Hugging the soft, yielding object close to his chest he exhaled softly.

/ I miss Peter./ he thought, feeling another tear make it's way down his cheek. /I wish he were home. I wish I could call him and talk to him, just to hear his voice. I wish I wasn't so alone.../

And that is how Egon spent the night, huddled in his unmade bad, clutching the tear soaked pillow and thinking of his friend. Of how much he did so dearly miss Peter Venkman.

Okay, so he and the Ghostbusters had saved the lives of the two hundred plus yokels. Big deal! They saved New York on a regular basis, not to mention The World! It was all part of the job, a part that he always made certain was reflected in the size of their bill. This one was gonna be a beauty.

Luckily the Peruvian government, what there was of it, was forking out for this bust. A tiny village this size just wouldn't have been able to pay it all. Of course, the villagers had also come up with a sizable lump sum which, considering the damage to equipment they had sustained, Peter felt compelled to accept. Only problem was that put them in the villagers debt and they were being compelled to stay here to be properly thanked.

And boy, did the villagers want to thank them. Their reasoning was hard to understand, after all, they had 'paid' for the Ghostbusters services.

Just then the Headman said something ribald and slapped Peter heartily on the shoulder, tipping his cowboy hat back to grin up at the Ghostbuster as he did so. That was one thing Peter liked, the villagers were all shorter than him, the Headman was even shorter than most. Peter liked being looked up to. He gave the guy his best cheery smile and wondered if he was going to be asked to spend the night with the man's wife again. There was one thing Peter Venkman never did, and that was look at other men's ladies. Still, no need to be impolite about it. The little guy was willing to anti up the Nuevo (and Pete Venkman couldn't say no to money, no matter what it's denomination!), so he deserved a bit of tolerance.

The people of this little village were a strange bunch, with their hard to understand mix of the old and the new. New clothes with traditional jewelry and colours, new town hall with modern kitchen and video machine, old dwellings with cookfires and a single well for water. People zoomed around on four wheeled bikes and plodded along with pack animals. The road going through the jungle had brought tourism to the area, and passing trade from the city, mostly drug trafficking, but it wasn't politic to mention that in front of the villagers. But farming was still the main way for people here to earn a living.

Peter sighed, he was starting to regret agreeing to this whole ritual thank you thing. Hell, the minute the wife issue had popped up he had regretted it. Luckily that wasn't part of the actual thank you deal, just a side offer and his refusal had been accepted gracefully.

It wasn't that he thought the team didn't deserve a proper thank you, either. They'd had to work their butts off for this one. But jeez, a three day feast in their honor? They had other things to do, other busts to make, more Nuevo to be added to the kitty. Not to mention that they'd left Egon with an unsupervised lab for several days now. <(A sudden flash of memory, the sound of hooves, a single cut off cry...)> Who knows what the mad scientist had got up to in that time.

But good manners dictated that the Ghostbusters stay and let these people honor them. That and the fact that the villagers had the only means of transport out of here, the fore mentioned, rather snazzy, four wheeled bikes. Even the pandemic buses weren't due through for another two days at least. Not that he was really complaining, mind.

Peter Venkman turn down partying and free eats? No way! But stuff would be piling up back home, and he hated getting behind. <(The smell of sawdust and blood, holding Egon down as he tried to move, babbling on about how hard it was to keep the insurance rates low, the cost of replacement overalls, how shitty the premiums were getting - anything to keep his mind off the thought that his best friend could be dying, his life seeping slowly away from him right here, right now...)>

"Vous aimez -Do you like our Magic Beans?" the Headman asked, proffering up a basket of edibles. Inside nestled local bread made with the magical produce /A hybrid of some kind? Egon would have known/, slathered with a local topping and cut into thick hunks. It smelt delicious.

"Like them? I'm taking some home with me! Where'd you say you got the idea from again?" At Peter's earnest enquiry the little man began a long speech about the white agriculturist and the village two rivers over. The tale of how his village had seen the miracle of the Magic Beans for themselves and decided to follow the new, most environmentally sound, not to mention profitable, way of farming. Peter had heard the spiel before, apparently some news group had come through and made a documentary about it and the entire village had memorized the doco's script, word for word. Even Ray was getting sick of hearing about it, and Ray could muster up more enthusiasm than three normal people put together.

So the Headman went into improving the soil and preventing land degradation, while Peter put his replies on automatic and surveyed the village hall. It was a huge one roomed building with several long tables and seating down either side. Ray and Winston were over by the doorway talking with some local youths, probably about Magic Beans. The kids wore modern jeans and some kind of poncho tunic with the local versions of cowboy hats to top it off. From the looks of them they were the Headman's sons, being quizzed in turn about local legends. Ray looked happily enthusiastic, but Winston was on edge. He didn't like it here, it brought back bad memories and the humidity made his hair frizz, which the black man hated.

The weather wasn't doing much for Peter's own cherished locks. You could say his hair was looking lifeless and drack, but that implied way too much vitality. He couldn't wait to get home, he was gonna make an immediate appointment with his barber, Mario. That man was a god send!

Looking further down the hall he could see that Janine's hair on the other hand was still looking great. It seemed redder than it ever had and the rest of her had that certain glow as well. Kicking demon butt could do that to a person, he knew. The surge of confidence and adrenaline had their secretary standing ten feet high. She'd need a good dose of grounding from Winston to calm her down soon, or Peter would have to take to her with a meat axe. Jeez, she had balls of brass before, no need to swell 'em up any more!

Peter watched as she flirted coyly with the cameraman, Mike Monrol, who had decided to follow them out here into the wilds. The guy was a nut, but he helped with the occasional Spanish translation problem and kept their secretary happy and distracted from the snubs being made by the locals. Nothing worrying, just accidentally not serving her food, or forgetting to remove and replace her dirty dishes when the others were done. Petty, but it got on Peter's nerves watching it happen.

But to them she was just a woman, and a stand in for the tall male blond they had seen on the flier that had been handed out when the guys first arrived. Looked like Peter was going to have to make Janine a full member of the team now and include her in all their promotional work. /The magazine photo shoots, the calendars, the up coming swimsuit issue.../ She really didn't deserve to be overlooked as the hired help, not when she was the one that had made the capturing shot.

Sighing Peter took his attention to the other side of the room. A clutch of fresh faced young girls giggled at him, trying to catch his eye. Lovely ladies every one, he was sure. If only he could tell which were the mothers and which the daughters, and which the little sisters. They all looked like teenagers to him, except the heavily wrinkled grandmothers, no mistaking them, and he could see himself getting in a lot of trouble if he smiled back at the wrong age group. Hell, he had got in trouble not smiling at the Headman's wife!

This had to be culture shock. At least a little. Some of the local practices had blown his mind. It was so different from how things were back home in New York. He felt like there was a wall between him and these people that he could never breach. There was the language barrier, - not understanding one in three words spoken. Luckily Mike Monrol had come to their rescue there, translating for the villagers to the Ghostbusters when their Spanish <Hi, how are ya!> ran out. And then there was the way they treated Janine and initially Winston as persons non gratis. It made him want to grind his teeth. Peter still wasn't sure why Zed had been accepted after his heroic facing down of the demon while Janine, who had trapped the thing, was not.

These people thought funny and they looked at him like he wasn't quite real, or maybe he was but not in the normal way, or...Or maybe he was just feeling sleep deprived. <(The pale face of his friend being loaded into the ambulance, Winston having to drag him outta there when the paramedics refused to let him ride along. Waking up the next night drench in perspiration, the sight of Egon's body being turned into hamburger meat under the thundering hooves playing over and over in his mind...)> Yeah, that was probably it. Petey was down on naptime, once he caught up he'd be just fine.

He couldn't kick the isolation he felt tonight. Actually, when he thought about it, it wasn't just that he couldn't get his head around these villagers. He'd been feeling out of sorts ever since they got to Peru. Huh. Typical Venkman mentality, if you're not feeling right, blame someone else for it. A little idiosyncrasy he'd picked up from his dad and had a hard time fighting off. He was just lucky he had such good friends to boot the obnoxious-ness out of him whenever it reared its ugly head. It would be nice to blame this on someone else, though. He really didn't like to think he could be this...lonely. That was the word. Here he sat, adoring people all around him and he felt so tired, so bone weary and alone. The other Ghostbusters felt miles away when they were just across the room. It was entirely possible to be lonely in a crowded room, Peter knew it, had known it before, was living it now. Shit. He hated loneliness, it was the worse thing in the world. <(Blood, so much, how could anyone have survived...surely he was dead and Peter, Peter was...)>

Everyone was laughing and talking and he was sitting here with an invisible band tightening round his chest, fighting off tears for Christ's sake. Tears. He felt that overwhelmed. /Shit, Venkman,/ he thought savagely at himself, swallowing against the sudden rise of emotions. /What are you, a man or a mouse?/

Throwing his shoulders back determinedly he laughed loudly at something the Headman had just said. This startled the little guy, as he was unaware of having said anything funny, but the forced outbreak of merriment got Peter's emotions in check and he ruthlessly smiled on, making the other man laugh nervously in feigned understanding. Much better, Peter had the blues on the run now!

The celebratory feast rolled on, and more was said on land management, Eco tourism and the bravery of these foreigners who had come all this way to deliver these simple people from their awful fate. Peter wondered once or twice if they were being made fun of, but the talkers seemed genuine enough. He was just being paranoid.

The old Venkman showmanship got dragged out and polished as Peter gave several speeches back. Mostly lauding how good the team was and how his leadership had gotten them through the tight situations, saving the day. Hey, the guys expected it of him, and the villagers were lapping it up. He preened smugly under their admiring gaze.

But his brighter mood didn't last. As time went on he found himself saying 'yeah' and 'that is so true' in the right spots, while mentally rearranging the layout of his office draws. He couldn't get interested in the party around him. He didn't know if it was the humidity effecting his mood, or what it was, but he found himself wishing heartily that Egon were there. At least Peter could have laughed at the blond physicist's hair then. He would love to know what the weather would do to Spengler's wild curl, he'd pay money to see that. Or to have him here right now, talking micro biology to the Headman and turning the conversation to the under recognised conservation of fungi in the surrounding jungle.

Yeah, Egon would freak 'em all out with his knowledge of humus and he'd keep Peter entertained with explanatory snippets of the local culture, customs and language. Spengs would explain it all so then Peter wouldn't feel so isolated. His dry wit would help Winston feel less uptight and he'd probably be able to bring Janine down to earth before she drove Peter nuts too. He and Ray would have already have been exploring the place together in search for ancient ruins or something, getting into all sorts of mischief. A bust in foreign parts just wasn't the same without Egon along. Peter had to make a note to himself not to go on one without him again.

Still in his lonely mood Peter was glad when the evening eventually wound down. The four Ghostbusters regrouped and headed over to their guest quarters. It was a magnificent dormitory that usually housed the back packers and documentary makers that passed through the village making up the 'tourist trade'.

They had the place to themselves right now and quickly got changed into thick pajamas. Heavy Alpaca wool blankets were piled on top their beds to counter the freezing Peruvian night and the tired Ghostbusters snuggled down for some much needed rest. They would need it for the festivities tomorrow, everyone was going for a trek back into the jungle for what Peter called "A little pissing on the Demons ex-home turf ritual".

Well, it had been a rough couple of days, that was a fact, and everybody needed the tension relief and a laugh. Stomping on the demons old haunts should help everyone realise that it really was gone and they could all relax again.

It had been one of the village Elders that had suggested going back, but only seconds before Peter himself could do so. He'd been a little strident in pointing that out. Janine had rolled her eyes at him and he'd promptly shut up. Maybe the jungle romp would help Peter relax as well, it was beginning to look like he needed to mellow out some. He found himself wondering what Egon was up to and if he really had blown anything up yet.

"Shit." He muttered frowning up into the near darkness.

"What's up?" Zed asked, turning his head in Peter's direction. He could just make out Peter sitting half up, supported on his elbows. "You forget to charge 'em for something?"

"Ha ha, very funny. No, I just remembered I forgot to give Egon his copy of the Ghostbusters company credit card." Peter said the name in full, he was kind of proud of the company account, in many ways it was his baby. "It doesn't matter though, that new temp we hired can get into petty cash for him, right Janine?"

"Um, yeah, I think so." Janine's voice didn't sound too sure. She struggled herself up right from under the mountain of blankets and creased her brow reflectively, "I did only get to give her a ten minute run through, ya know."

"She looked like a cluey lady, I'm sure she'll know what to do." Peter also didn't sound so sure, more like he was trying to convince himself that he was. His breath puffed out in white clouds as the cold of the night intensified. "She was prepared for anything, she had her own typewriter with her just in case, now that was one prepared lady."

"Why'd she have her own typewriter?" asked Ray from Venkman's other side. His round face could be seen in the faint light, just enough for the others to see his frown of concern.

"I didn't have time to show her our set up and she said she felt more comfortable using her own equipment." Janine told him defensively. She hadn't hired the woman, her strident voice implied.

"Sounds anal." Winston remarked. There was silent agreement. They fell into their own thought for awhile, each beginning to think about the big picture again, life outside this bust, this latest dance with death and dismemberment that was their livelihood.

"Ray?" Peter's voice broke the silence again. "You did get in touch with Egon's mom, right?"

"Sure I did." Ray replied immediately, then qualified his answer with... "Er, well, I kinda did."

"Kinda did? What does that mean?" Peter shot a hard look in the direction of his friend.

"She wasn't there. I had to leave a message on her answering machine." His voice faded to a near whisper as guilt crept into the youngest Ghostbusters voice. He obviously hadn't had time to think about Egon the last couple of days, none of them had, but now that he did... "Jeez, you don't think she wouldn't have got it, do you? I mean, what if she didn't? Who's looking after Egon now?"

"I'm sure the temp will keep an eye out for him, Tex." Peter reassured him, far from reassured himself.

"She didn't strike me as the mothering type." Janine pointed out. "She kept saying how she wouldn't do this, she wouldn't do that...she annoyed the heck outta me, actually. I'd have ordered a replacement if we'd had time."

"But I'm sure she'll do her best, anyway." Peter repeated firmly. He was mentally biting his nails and thinking hard. What would Egon do if his mom hadn't shown up? Could he have contacted somebody else? Was he taking his medicine?

"Shit!" he pushed back the blankets and swung his sock clad feet to the ground.

"What is it?" Ray asked, Winston and Janine echoing the question. Peter ran his hand back through his hair and debated not telling them. Heck, a problem shared was a problem halved, right?

""There was hardly any food left in the hall. It was my turn to go shopping and I guess I forgot. Egon had his credit card revoked over that thing with that Internet scam and I didn't give him his company copy. His mom doesn't know he's hurt and I know he won't think to call any body. Egons in trouble, I know it, and we've got to go back and help him, but we agreed to stay for this feast thing and I can't..."

"Hold up there!" Winston got upright in his bed too and made placating gestures with his hands. "Okay, we said we'd stay, but we didn't say all of us would stay." He calmly pointed out. "One of us could go back early and check on him."

"I'll go." Ray said immediately. "I was the one who didn't get in touch with..."

"Ray." Peter cut in, sounding a little annoyed. "If Mrs. Spengler wasn't there, she wasn't there, it's not your fault. No, I'll go back. I need to get started on banking for this little expedition anyway and I'll look in on our boy genius at the same time."

"Sure, the money's making you do it." Winston's voice in the frozen semi darkness held a smile. "Let him do it, Ray. You know he's missing Egon like crazy anyhow."

"I am not!" Peter protested automatically, but the others just grinned and tunneled back down into their bedding. "Miss that skinny streak of know-it-all, I don't think so." Peter groused, hopping back into the bed himself.

/First thing tomorrow, I'm hiring one of those four wheeled bikes and getting out of here./

<(A single cry, the smell of blood and saw dust, a pale face being taken away from him, the feel of Winston's hands firm but insistent on his arms "You can't go there, Peter. We'll follow in the car.")>

He was gone before the others woke up.

"Egon?" His voice echoed in the large building. It was moving towards late evening, and none of the lights had been switched on. Swallowing nervously Peter moved further in towards the stairway. When he had reached Janine's desk he stopped and blinked in surprise. There was something lying on the stairs, a twisted blanket, or perhaps a discarded uniform or....shit!

He was dead. Egon was ...

"Sir, would you put your chair into the upright position, we are coming in to land."

With a start Peter Venkman gapped stupidly at the airhostess, before remembering to shut his mouth and obey her instructions. Wow, what a nightmare. Fumbling with the seatbelt he ran the details through his mind. It hadn't been as realistic as the replay of Egon's circus accident that he'd been reliving for days now, but not pleasant, not at all. Peter ran a hand back through his disheveled hair, feeling the cold sweat of fear making it slick to his head. Dropping his hand in disgust he hitched the Alpaca wool blanket more securely onto his lap. He'd brought it for Egon on the way out of customs, and found holding its soft fabric settled his nerves. The damn airplane was freezing!

0O0O0

...

Catching his breath Egon looked around, his face breaking into a delighted grin.

"Peter!"

...

Peter couldn't believe it. He'd only just made it up the stairs in time to stop his skinny blond friend from tumbling down them like he had in the nightmare on the plane. He was never going to discredit dream warnings again! Damn, and now Egon was looking at him like, like...

"Egon, have you lost weight?"

"A little, perhaps." Spengs was still grinning at him like he was the inventor of the warp drive or something. And that was weird, because Egon rarely grinned open like that, and shit, he could see the physicists ribs through the open front of his lab coat. You could count the damn things, they stood out like railings. Damn, Egon must have been having a bad time.

"You've been taking your pain medicine?" he asked pointedly.

"I did so diligently, yes." Egon replied, then gave a little apologetic shrug. "That is until I ran out of them." He leaned his weight a little more into Venkman. Lord, how he had missed having Peter around to lean on.

"Wanna go back up to bed now?" Peter asked, tightening the one arm around Spenglers waist and gesturing up towards their rooms with the other.

"Um, no. I'd rather not." Egon answered hesitantly. "I have a rather large experiment to check on, and it is past due. I was making my way down when, well, you saw. The experiment is nearing its final stages, and I would hate to have to begin anew."

Egon gave him a beseeching look and Peter found he just couldn't say no. Aww, the poor guy was half starved here and he was worried about his moulds. How heart rending was that? Moving carefully Peter turned so they were both facing downwards again and nudged Egons hip to indicate he should start to descend.

"Thank you. Peter." Egon blinked rapidly several times then took the first step. Something inside of Venkman tightened painfully, and he was glad to have come back early and not just for preventing boy genius here from cracking his head open over his stupid moulds. Egon needed him.

"So, Spengler. You know what I'm gonna do?" Peter asked lightly.

"No, Doctor Venkman, I haven't the foggiest idea what you are going to do." Egons eyes sparkled, having Peter return out of the blue like that was a miracle.

"I'm gonna call Mario. Get him to make a house call. He can do us both, because, between you and me, pal." Peter leaned in conspiratorially. "My hair could do with a little extra intensive moisturising. And yours could do with an oil change."

They had reached the bottom of the stairs, Peter all but lifting his friend down them, and he reached up to run his fingers through Egon's decidedly disordered hairstyle. He managed to smile lightly through the return of the sudden tightening sensation. Egon loved having that weird curl of his, seeing it drooping like that just wasn't right.

Lowering his hand he slipped his arms further around Egons waist and pulled him into a tight hug. He could feel the other man relax into the hold, resting his head alongside his own.

"I missed you, Peter." Egon whispered.

"I know. Missed you to, 'gon." /More than I can say./ They stood there for a long minute before Peter eventually stepped a little away and offered the scientist his arm. "The fungi awaits us, your highness. Shall we away?"

"Mould, Peter, not fungi." Egon corrected him fondly, taking the proffered arm.

They passed the secretarial desk and Peter's eyes narrowed darkly. How the hell could that woman have let another human being get like this and not help out? He'd roast her chestnuts over an open flame for this, or his name wasn't Peter Venkman!

Letting go of the swift anger to concentrate on the next level of stairs, Peter consoled himself with more important planning. He had the credit card, it was time to use it. Food from the nearest pizza bar, medicine from the nearest chemist, and that all important phone call. Yeah, it would be Temporary Secretary hunting season later. For now it was Egon pampering time, and for that he needed the help of one Mario the barber. Let it be so!