"Who stole my lighter?!" Peter yelled across the precinct.

"Peter, I didn't know you smoked!" TJ, sorry... Thomas Jefferson exclaimed.

"I don't. Where's my lighter?!" Peter asked, getting agitated.

"Kermit had it last I think. Muttered something about super secret documents getting into the wrong hands or something," TJ replied, backing away from the semi-deranged man in front of him.

Peter pounded on the door. "KERMIT! GIVE ME MY LIGHTER!"

The door to Kermit's office cracked open and a hand appeared, handing Peter his lighter. "Sorry. Needed to borrow it. You should quit smoking anyway."

"I don't smoke!" Peter exclaimed.

"Then why do you carry a lighter?" Kermit asked, finally opening his door, a bucket full of ashes at his feet.

"I like staring at the flames if you must know," Peter replied with a look that dared Kermit to comment before stalking off.

"He likes staring at the flame?!" Jodi asked, having overheard the conversation.

"He's a border-line pyromaniac. As long as he has a lighter or a candle or something like that, he's fine," Paul Blaisdell said from his doorway before disappearing back into his office.

"I think it might be a good idea to stock up on some disposable lighters," Kermit said to the bullpen in general.