Laura Caine stretched out comfortably in bed, savoring the simple pleasure of a quiet rainy evening that forced her husband indoors earlier than planned. While he may quietly complain about the chores that must now be neglected because of the uncooperative weather, she knew that he liked the rain as much as she did. Often they would go walking outside together as the thunder shook the sky, then be sent running back home, laughing and soaked to the skin. She thanked whatever gods that sent the thunderstorms for the precious hours that they could share together without distraction.
Kwai Chang sat down next to her, his gentle eyes glowing with the pleasure he always felt in her presence, the normally sharp lines of his face softened in the flickering candlelight. "Do you feel better?" he asked softly, gently trailing his fingertips down the smooth plane of her cheek.
She smiled, taking his hand in hers. "Yes, much. Ping Hai said that it is not uncommon to feel sickness so far along. Resting and his herbs helped," she insisted softly, trying to ease his concern.
Her husband lay down beside her in the bed that he had built for the two of them when they married, his eyes focused on the rising swell of her belly. He gently lay his broad hand over her womb, feeling the movements of the growing child within.
"He moves with his father's strength," she chuckled, watching the astonishment spread across Kwai Chang's face when he felt his unborn son kick.
"He?" Caine questioned, looking up at her, a teasing smile tugging at his mouth. Laura smiled, her red-gold hair falling to gently frame her finely chiseled features. "Yes. He. Or once again, do you doubt me?"
Caine merely smiled, not giving in to the argument.
She was confident it was a son. As her mother had told her so long ago, the knowledge of one's unborn child was a mystery only the mother could truly know. Laura had doubted her at first. How was such a thing possible? Her mother only smiled and insisted that when she carried her own child, she would understand.
Laura would never doubt her mother's wisdom again. Since the child's very conception, there was the distinct feeling of maleness about it, so she always referred to the child as "him", rather than "it". It made the unborn infant seem more real, more of a person already developing his own manner and personality. Her husband would merely cluck and state that he would be equally happy were the child to be a daughter. But how could he understand her confidence, being a man?
No, this one would be a son, Laura thought confidently of the child she carried beneath her heart. There would be time for daughters later. A whole flock of laughing little girls with shining eyes for Caine to adore and spoil with gifts and treats. For now, she was satisfied that her son would be healthy and strong.
The child -- boy or girl -- surged within her again, as if already struggling to be born. Laura laughed at her husband, seeing his eyes light up as he felt the movement. As her pregnancy advanced, she had watched with delight as the joy in her husband's face grew. Each day, his excitement seemed to increase ten fold. She almost feared that he might actually burst with joy and pride when his child finally did make the transition from womb to room.
"He seems to wish to join us now," Caine smiled.
"I'm afraid he gets his impatience from me," Laura sighed. "Family failing." One look at her husband told her that Caine was feeling distinct, if unfamiliar, pangs of impatience himself.
Well, he would not have long to wait for his son's arrival. Only weeks now remained. Already a wooden cradle that Kwai Chang made with his own two hands sat in the corner of their bedroom, waiting for its proper occupant.
As for Laura herself, she had hardly been idle during the long months of her pregnancy. A lovely coverlet cunningly stitched from scraps of fabric lay folded in a drawer alongside baby clothing, diapers and booties that she had crafted in the past few months. Gifts of toys and supplies given to them by the priests at the temple and Laura's friends sat scattered about until they were needed. All was prepared to welcome her son into the world.
"Happy, my love?" she asked softly, running her fingers through the softness of her husband's shoulder length brown hair.
He nodded, resting his head upon her breast and holding her close. "You have brought wholeness to my life. We have each other, and soon a child. How can I not be happy?"
If Kwai Chang was astonished by the immanent birth of his child, Laura Caine was equally amazed by the sudden change her life had taken in only the past year. Had it really only been last spring that she saw this tall, thin, painfully quiet young man carrying a box of groceries for the monks who were building their temple up in the mountains? She had been with her friends, never once thinking that in a few moments her life would change forever. Their lives were occupied by school and movies and the sheer joy found in being young and alive.
Then she saw him. Graceful, slender, his face far too serious for such a young man. Never before in her life had she seen a man with such peaceful, gentle eyes.
Most people would scoff at the idea of love at first sight. They would be even more confounded by the idea that in their odd courtship, it was she who did the pursuing. Laura was pretty enough to have any man she wanted, and men of both station and money had courted her. But from the moment she first laid eyes on that somber, sharp featured face, saw his gentle hazel eyes, she knew that her destiny would be forever linked with Kwai Chang Caine's. It had taken every ounce of courage she possessed to approach him. His reserve, rather than discouraging her, increased her fascination. Her resolution steeled, she made her interest and intentions clear at the first, then began her chase in earnest.
Caine never stood a chance.
He had been interested, she knew. From the instant their eyes met he had to know of the bond between them, but his shyness kept him from responding. Laura had pursued him with the single-minded relentlessness of a falcon swooping down on her prey until he had no choice but to give in. They were married just a month later. Six months after that, she proudly proclaimed that she was with child.
"I'm hungry," she suddenly announced, sitting up and dislodging her husband.
"Again?" Caine asked, not at all astonished. As her waistline vanished, Laura's appetite increased dramatically. "We ate dinner less than two hours ago."
"So? My mother sent over some fresh banana bread this morning, and I plan on eating a whole loaf." She looked to Caine and smiled playfully. "If you are very, very nice to me, I might be convinced to share."
The corners of Caine's mouth tugged into the bare beginnings of a well-restrained smile. "If I were to eat as much as you do, I would certainly grow as large."
Laura Caine drew herself up proudly, her loose nightgown draping in smooth folds over the heavy burden of her belly and she said firmly, "I am not fat. I am pregnant. And I seem to have found myself married to a man with the manners of a barbarian."
Caine rose to his feet and bowed to her fury. "This barbarian humbly begs your forgiveness, my love. How may I make amends?"
Laura could not help from giggling at the sight of the playful repentance on his face. "First of all, you can find my slippers for me. It's going to be a little while yet before I can see my feet again. Then you can make us some tea to go with our banana bread."
Caine bowed again. "I am your servant."
Laura shook her head, reaching out to swat him on the shoulder. "One of these days..," she swore.
Several thick slices of banana bread slathered with honey and a cup of fragrant jasmine tea did much to put Caine back into his wife's good graces. He watched, fascinated as she ate, shoveling as much food into her mouth as possible before swallowing. "You eat as if you've missed many meals," he admonished gently.
"Well, I am eating for two," she defended around a mouthful of cake. "And my son is hungry." She patted her stomach for emphasis.
"It looks as if you eat for twelve, not merely two."
Laura swallowed, glaring at her husband. "Keep it up, Caine, and I'm only going to have one problem."
"Only one?"
She nodded. "Um-hum. How to raise a fatherless child."
Caine's brow drew down into a perplexed furrow. "I do not understand." His shook his head, mild confusion darkening his eyes. Did she think he would ever leave her? He might as well cut the heart right from his chest. Did she think perhaps, to leave him?
"You keep this up and I'm going to murder you," she explained succinctly, cramming more bread into her mouth.
Kwai Chang stared at her for a moment, astonished that she would say such a thing. It took an instant to see the twinkle in her blue eyes and realize that she was joking with him. The notion had taken him so completely by surprise that he could not prevent the mirth that suddenly bubbled up within him. Caine threw back his head and laughed loudly, his eyes sparking with merriment as he gazed at the giggling woman before him. Shaking his head, he reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently.
Caine wiped at the tear that escaped his eye, his head bowed in sorrow. He slowly reached out to touch the marker bearing her name, his fingers gently tracing the characters carved into the stone, as if that might strengthen his link with the woman who had taken so much of his heart with her when she died. The weeks since her passing had not healed his pain at all.
He did not want this sorrow. His disciplines taught him that life revolved in cycles, that joy was often quickly followed by deep suffering. Death followed life and the spirit of his wife would be reborn to continue the cycle. That philosophy was no comfort to him now. The happy completeness of his life was gone.
He had not sought to love Laura, with all the complications that she brought into his well-ordered life. But with all the turmoil and happy confusion she had brought to his existence, there was a feeling of wholeness, of completion in her arms. They had become two sides of the same coin. Where one was weak, the other more than made up for it with his or her own strength. It had been a time of perfect balance. Yin and yang conjoined in perfect, eternal harmony. They had had such joy together, such dreams of long lives spent together, growing old, watching their children grow and raise families of their own. All those dreams, dashed to pieces.
Somehow though, even now in the grips of pain unlike any he had ever known could exist, he could not bring himself to regret his choice to link his life and soul with hers. Perhaps one day, the mere memory of quiet moments spent together in one another's company would be enough to lighten his heart and ease the agony that separation had brought.
A small whimper suddenly gained his attention. He turned to the toddler standing at his side, tears running down a face still round with baby fat. Caine quickly gathered up the tiny form of his son and held him close. Peter fussed for a minute, then quieted as his father's presence lulled him back to peaceful silence.
Holding Peter in his arms, Caine looked down at the tiny face that was a fragile echo of Laura's delicate features. His beloved wife might be gone, but she had left Caine her most precious legacy. She had left him the child that was the product of their love. "Come, my son," Caine said softly, gently touching the soft skin of Peter's cheek with his fingertip. "Let's go home."
Peter looked up at his father, the luminous eyes a mirror of his wife's, and reached out his tiny hand to grasp Caine's finger.
"Father! Father!"
Caine looked up in the direction of the voice calling for him, distracting him from his exercises. Stepping back from his sparring partner, he turned as a small, forty pound bundle of kinetic energy clad in his nightshirt came running up to him and wrapped his little arms about Caine's legs.
Caine easily lifted his five year old son in his arms and held him close, one hand caressing the small, clean shaven skull. "What is the matter, my son? A nightmare? The dragon under your bed?"
Peter merely whimpered, hugging his father tightly.
Caine sighed, turning a glance back to his partner. "I fear, Brother Tei, that our practice is over for the evening."
The round-faced monk merely smiled and said "No difficulty, Brother Caine. Some matters must be given greater priority."
Caine sighed, carrying his whimpering son from the practice garden, feeling the chilled skin clad only in the thin nightshirt. "You are cold, Peter. And you did not put on your shoes," he softly chided. "What could have frightened you so?"
Peter turned his tear-streaked face up to meet his father's, the wide hazel eyes flecked with green the only point of color on his pale face. "I dreamed of fire and monsters and demons. I called out for you, but you were not there. Then they all started laughing at me and said that my mother was dead and now so were you and I was alone. That I would always be alone and I was so scared that it was true. I woke up and you weren't there..."
The words all came out in a breathless rush, as if a dam had suddenly burst within Peter. Since the instant Peter had discovered the spoken word, his life was a constant stream of chatter and questions. But it was his choice of words and the tone of fright in his voice that disturbed his father. Peter had suffered nightmares before, but never had one affected him so. Caine sat down on the ground and held his son against him, comforting Peter with his warm presence. "I am here, my son. I would not leave you."
Peter buried his face in the folds of Caine's shirt, his tears staining the soft blue cotton. "I was scared that you were really gone. They said that my mother died because of me and that you never really wanted me anyway and you would leave me all alone. I don't want it to be true. It isn't true, is it?"
Caine held his son tightly, seeking to answer with actions rather than words which could conceal falsehood. It was partly true that Laura Caine's death had been somewhat hastened by the birth of their son, but Peter had not caused his mother's death. Caine had not known of an illness his wife had suffered as a child that would make carrying a child dangerous to her. The strain of delivering Peter had weakened her badly. She had known that there was a risk to her health, but she had wanted Peter so very much. For the brief months that she had lived after Peter's birth, their tiny son had been her chief source of joy. She had held only a single regret over her decision, that she must leave the two people she loved the most in the world.
For Caine, Peter had been his wife's most precious gift to him. Peter was all that was best about Laura. He had her spirited disposition, her physical and spiritual beauty. He was the brightest light of his father's soul. No, how could Peter ever think for an instant that he was not wanted, not loved?
"Where did you ever get such an idea?" Caine demanded gently, turning his son's head to face him.
"It doesn't matter," Peter claimed, his voice very small and hurt.
"Yes, it does. I want to know who told you such lies."
Peter's eyes watered, then leaked as he was torn by his need to expel the pain and his desire not to bring more trouble down upon himself. At first Caine thought it might be one of the other boys who had planted those cruel ideas in Peter's head. Children could often be vicious and thoughtless, but his son's reluctance to confide in him made Caine think that the idea had come from elsewhere.
"It was Master Dao. But he didn't mean it, father! He was angry at me. I got into a fight and...."
Caine stemmed the flood of words with a gentle hug, kissing Peter on his forehead. "There is no need for tears, my son. Brother Dao was mistaken. Your mother loved you and wanted you very badly, as do I. Do you know how it would hurt if you were to be taken away from me?"
Peter shook his head.
Caine inhaled deeply. "My heart would die within me. My life would lose its center and purpose. You are all that remains of your mother. How could you think I would not treasure you, if only for that? I love you, my son. For yourself. For the boy that you are, for the man that you will be. All of my hopes and dreams, I pass on to you." He gently laid his hand over his son's heart.
Peter sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "I'm sorry, father. I know I'm a lot of trouble."
Caine smiled, rising to his feet easily with his son in his arms. "You are no more trouble than any other boy your age. Noisier maybe, but for you to be silent would be like asking the sun not to rise and set."
The gentle teasing did much to relieve the small boy's worry. He nestled comfortably in his father's arms as Caine carried him back towards his room. "You won't ever leave me. Will you, father?" Peter asked, trying not to betray the hint of fear that still gripped at his heart.
Caine gently stroked his head. "I would never leave you. There is a bond between us. Even death would not be able to separate us forever. No matter what happens in this life, I will be with you. Remember that."
It took nearly half an hour to settle Peter down in his bed again, the boy's agitated body not allowing him to fall back asleep. Caine knelt by the tiny bed, speaking softly and soothingly to his son, not leaving him alone until Peter had finally closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.
Caine silently rose to his feet and blew out the candle, closing the door to Peter's cell. Only when alone did his face reveal the least hint of the anger that walled up within him. Brother Dao had much to answer for.
This late at night usually found Dao in the Zen garden, meditating and struggling to find the peace that somehow always eluded him. Caine stared at the kneeling man's back, not totally certain how to approach him on this matter. He had always held his doubts about Dao and his sincerity to the goals and purpose of the monastery. Of course, he had no proof of any wrongdoing on Dao's part. Just suspicions and uncertainties were not enough to force the younger man away. Still, this matter could not be ignored. The priest's words to Peter had hinted at a darkness in the man's soul that could not be overlooked if he were to continue living at the monastery.
"Brother Dao, am I disturbing you?" he asked softly, seeking to arouse Dao out of his contemplative state.
"Not at all, Caine." Dao rose to his feet, brushing off his robes. "I was merely enjoying the quiet of the evening. Of late, silence is something that is often lacking of late."
Caine did not miss the fact that while he had addressed Dao in a respectful manner by using the title of "Brother", that courtesy was not returned. Then there was the little slight against Peter with the comment about silence. Caine forced down his anger, keeping his tone calm and civil.
"I am very disturbed about something that you might have said to my son," Caine said evenly.
"Your son is a disruptive presence," Dao immediately answered, as if that were the response to whatever questions Caine might have.
"He is young. Time and experience will temper him. But we are not here to discuss Peter. I am asking you why you would say terrible things to a small child."
Dao turned to face Caine, his eyes almost fathomless in the moonlight. "When your son is disruptive in class, it is my right to reprimand him to keep order." He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at his superior.
"What had he done?" Caine demanded.
"He began fighting with another boy in class when he should have been concentrating on his lessons. Both children were reprimanded."
"To keep discipline is a good thing," Caine granted. Peter in a confined space was much like a small windstorm, and his behavior certainly warranted some form of punishment. "But to keep order is one matter. To crush a child's spirit by striking where he is most vulnerable is another. As a teacher, you hold much responsibility."
Dao drew himself up defiantly. "Keeping order is part of that responsibility. If you do not take care to keep your son in line, then do not expect others to tolerate his misbehavior."
Caine inhaled deeply, trying to maintain control over his temper. "I believe, Brother Dao, that the problem lies as much in your lap as in the childrens'. If they act badly, you do them no service to sink to their level. We expect tolerance and compassion to temper discipline."
Something sparked in the other man's dark eyes at the quiet reprimand. "Just say it, Caine. Whatever you're alluding to, just say it."
Caine had not meant for this to go any further. He had wanted only to discuss the matter with Dao and see that no further episodes happened again. Brother Dao's insistence on pursuing the matter decided the answer to the questions that had been raised.
"We will not discuss this again, Brother Dao. But I think that from now on, Brother Choi will oversee the young boys' schooling. He has greater patience for children, and it will allow you greater time to devote to your own meditations."
Dao said nothing. Nothing in his face betrayed the anger that Caine knew must have been rushing through him at having his teaching responsibilities stripped away. He turned his back to Caine, his voice low and even. "If that is what you believe should be done."
Caine inhaled slowly, still not sure of Dao's reactions. "I think it best for all."
"You are master here."
Caine did not know exactly what Dao meant by that. Was it submitting to Caine's authority, or was it said in mockery? He could tell little from the calm, even tones of Dao's voice. Drawing himself up firmly, he declared, "A man must be his own master before he can master others, Dao. Do not forget that."
The subordinate priest turned to face him, his face drawn into a cold smile that did not reach his obsidian eyes. "No, Caine. That I will not forget."
Beneath the burnt, shattered remains of the monastery, Caine knelt, his head bowed as agony washed over his spirit. The pain of his cracked ribs and burns were nothing compared to the gaping wounds marking his heart. The battle was over, the years of confrontations ended. Dao had finally won.
How could he have read things so badly? When Dao was driven from the temple, how could he not have understood the hatred that would drive Dao to lay waste to years of labor, to destroy so many lives? The acts may have been committed by Dao's hand, but the blame lay in himself for not having foreseen their coming.
It was not the loss of the monastery that wounded Caine so deeply. The buildings could be rebuilt, the lost artifacts repaired or replaced. What Dao had taken from him however, was beyond repair or replacement. The renegade could not have wounded him more deeply had he taken a blade and plunged it into Caine's heart. In truth, Caine would have preferred death to the reality that faced him now.
Tears leaked from his dark eyes as they focused on the simple marker to the lonely grave set far apart from the others. He knew that Ping Hai remained at his side, refusing to leave him alone during a time of such great suffering. It was the elderly priest who had found the body of his son as Peter lay dying, not his father. It was Ping Hai who had buried him here, his grave hidden so that it would not be desecrated by Dao, should the renegade seek further vengeance.
"I am sorry, my son," Caine whispered hoarsely, the quiet sureness in his voice gone. "I should have been with you those final moments." It should have been Caine who dug the grave and prepared his son's body for burial. It should have been he who comforted his son and eased his spirit's way into the afterlife. cIt should have been he who was buried here... not Peter who was so full of life and spirit and promise.
He felt a hand gently touch his shoulder and turned his head, looking up into the griefstricken face of Ping Hai. The older priest gently urged, "Do not blame yourself for this, Kwai Chang Caine. The fault is not yours."
"Then who is to blame?" Caine demanded bitterly. "It was I who drove Dao out of the temple. It was I he sought vengeance against, and my son paid the price."
"Your son would not wish you to grieve so," Ping Hai consoled gently.
Caine's mouth drew into a harsh frown as he railed, "My son is beyond wishing anything any longer."
Ping Hai sighed deeply, his eyes reflecting the shared grief between them. "Do you truly think so? Have the years you spent here, the philosophy you taught Peter meant so little that you forget them when they are most needed?"
Caine fell silent, his head bowed with shame and grief that he had taken his sorrow out on the wise man he had respected for so many years.
"I loved Peter as well, my friend," Ping Hai confided. "Almost as if he were my own child. If I had any means to save him, I would have. I would have traded my life for his, willingly. But I could not."
"Outliving one's child is a bitter thing," Caine insisted. "It defies the natural order."
"You walk a difficult path," Ping Hai granted. "But those who share our path may not be at our side at all times. I too have known the pain of losing one close to me, but I promise you that one day, you will wake and the pain in your heart will fade."
Caine shook his head bitterly, the tears beginning anew. The pain he had felt at Laura's death was now multiplied tenfold. How was he to survive this?
Ping Hai's hand on his shoulder gripped with a firmness that belied the man's age and apparent physical frailty. "I promise you, your grief will not last forever."
The wounded spirit within Caine grasped at his words, holding them close and knowing that for many days, that wisdom would be all that sustained him on his lonely path.
Caine sat down heavily on the park bench, shrugging off his shoulder satchel and placing it down next to him. His back and feet ached from too many miles walked that day, but he had wanted to reach the city before sunset. Having earned his pains, he bore them with the same stoic acceptance that he had all other of life's hardships. After all, he had survived the worst a man could suffer. How much true harm could a bit of extra walking do?
What city was this? The name escaped him, but it did not really matter. It was a city, like the many others he had visited in his years of travel. A place of many people, noise and turmoil that never seemed to cease. His arrival here, as it had been in those other cities, was marked by an aching body, holes in his shoes and only a few dollars in his pocket to support him until he obtained work. He would stay, aiding those who needed his help until that wordless spur pushed him onward again to continue his meandering wanderings.
The old sayings about the Shaolin priesthood and their legendary skills well suited his methods of locating what he must. If he looked, he would not find it. To actively search would have his goal vanish into the air like smoke. Passivity was the course he must follow. It would find him soon enough if he had the patience to let it.
He shook his head tiredly, the physical weight of his travels seeming harder to bear than usual. His hard won patience somewhat strained after so long a journey. How long had it been? The days and months no longer held any meaning for him. It was late fall now. Winter would be coming soon and judging from the changes he had observed in the trees and animals, it would be a harsh season and ill suited for travel. He would be wisest to spend it here before going on.
Crossing his legs so that he could massage his aching calf muscles, he looked about to take in his surroundings. It was a weekday and the park was filled with business people and other workers enjoying their lunch break amid the trees and fresh air. Several women pushed baby carriages about, gathering in small groups to show off their offspring and trade gossip. A trio of young boys in their early teens were apparently playing hookey from school, choosing instead to spend the afternoon tossing a baseball around.
For those who spent their lives wandering, it was easy to allow the faces to blur in the memory, to fade into one featureless mass beyond accurate recall. Fortunately Caine was a man possessed of a well disciplined mind and each face stood out in his memory clearly and distinct from all others. He might not have the names to go with them, but the faces were intact. A few even had the spirits that went with the faces and the names. Only one though dominated his memory, face, name and spirit unaltered.
Leaning back with a gentle sigh, he closed his eyes, allowing his memories to bring him back to happier days. Days of peace and security at the monastery, teaching and meditating and caring for his son. In spite of the passage of time, the memories remained as sharp and vibrant as the very day they had occurred, the feel of them a caress of silk upon his wounded soul.
However, some memories were more vibrant than he would have preferred. The images of fire and death were never far from his nightmares, forcing him to relive the horror of watching those dear to him perish. He was as helpless now to push aside the memories as he had been then to stop the killings. None would disagree that he paid the ultimate price for his failure.
A dull thud reached his ears and roused him from his contemplations. Opening his eyes he noted the baseball that now rested against his satchel, a clear indentation in the canvas bag to show the point of impact. A young boy ran up in his direction, stopping a few feet away. "Hey mister," he said clearly, waving to get Caine's attention. "Can we have our ball?"
Caine picked up the ball, feeling the familiar sensation of worn horsehide against his callused palm. Turning to toss the ball back, his eyes widened in shock at the sight of the young boy standing before him. "Peter?" he gasped, the ball nearly falling from his hand.
The boy shook his head. "I'm not Peter. Do I know you?" he asked, running a hand through his unruly brown hair.
Caine inhaled deeply, recovering from the instant of shock. "No. I... I am sorry," he apologized. With a quick flick of his wrist, he tossed the ball back to the young man. The ball sailed into the boy's mit with an audible thwack. The boy smiled his thanks, then turned and trotted back to his friends.
Caine leaned back, watching the boys resume their game, trying to ignore the painful tightness in his chest. There should be no reason for his reaction. Upon proper reflection, there was little reason to mistake that young man for Peter. The only thing they shared in common was dark hair and smooth, fair skin. Peter's eyes had been hazel, whereas this boy's were brown. Peter's features had been more finely drawn, his body taller and leaner in build. It was simply that first glance, the impression of memory veiled by time that lead to the error.
Still, the reawakened pain refused to die down quietly as it normally would. He was normally able to push it back into that small, dark section of his soul where it could not further hurt him, but this day that pain was as sharp and fresh as it had been that first day that he stood over his son's grave.
A brief stab of irritability shook his normally placid nature. There was no need for this. Too many years had gone by since Peter's death. Besides, his son was not the only one who had died that day, and the pain of loss was not only Caine's to bear. The healing of his spirit should have been well under way by now. Should have been, but wasn't. Caine was an honest enough man to know that in reality, he had never truly accepted Peter's death.
He turned his gaze back to the trio of boys, laughing in youthful exuberance as they played. They were about the age that Peter had been when he died. At another time, Caine might have been envious and angry that these children were alive and would grow to adulthood whereas his son never would, but too many years had passed. Anger had only been replaced by profound sorrow that had woven itself throughout his spirit. Mentally calculating, Peter would have been twenty five... no, twenty six now.
A strange thing, to think of his son as an adult. Whenever Caine thought of his son, it was as the boy had been. Never at what he might have become. In death, Peter had been frozen in his youth. Immortal.
A slight smile touched the priest's lips as his mind painted an image of Peter as he might have been now, had he lived. Tall and lean, his features a refined mixture of both his parents. The dark eyes were intelligent and bright, the mouth curved into a ready smile. The youthful power and spirit that had shown such promise were tempered, granting the young man a wisdom well beyond his years.
His imagination further embellished the image, trying to decide what else Peter would have become. Caine doubted that he would have remained at the temple, but what profession would he have followed? Thinking back, he remembered Peter's interests being widely diverse and unpredictable in what would hold it attention for the moment. A doctor perhaps, because he hated to see anything in pain. Or perhaps a fireman. An astronaut? That was but one of many ideas that had possessed Peter at one time or another.
There was one dream that Peter held that stood out especially strongly. He remembered his son facing him one sunny afternoon in one of the temple courtyards, holding out his glove, eyes intent upon the ball flying towards him. A look of awe and delight came into Peter's face in learning that his father was skilled in more playful things than the martial arts.
Perhaps Peter would have learned that following the Shaolin ways did not negate his other dreams and would have stayed. Still, Caine could not resist mentally dressing the image of his grown-up son in the uniform of a professional baseball player, the cap tilted at a jaunty angle.
The strangely sad smile dissolved, replaced by a look of sadness so deep that it was a miracle that it had not driven Caine mad, let alone never completely shaken it off. If only he could put his son's death in the past where it safely belonged, rather than clinging to it with this fierceness, as if the pain were the only thing to reassure him that Peter had been real and not some fantasy he had imagined up.
He did not even have the comfort of the presence of Peter's spirit about him. The boy's soul seemed as lost as Peter's physical being to Caine. The strangely comforting finality of a soul put to rest was missing. In a way, the pain was all he had left of his son. The idea that Peter's spirit might never find rest because of the mistakes that his father made was as unbearable as the loss of the boy himself.
"I will find a way, my son," he whispered softly, a mere breath of sound. He owed it to Peter to set his soul at rest. The mistake that cost Peter his life had been Caine's. Only he could free the boy from whatever bonds that refused to allow him peace.
Perhaps what he was searching for might be here, in this city. Maybe the answers were just around the corner, waiting for him to inadvertently stumble across them. Maybe. Or maybe not. In any case, it was his destiny to wander. He wasn't going to accomplish it seated in a park bench. Telling his body that it'd had enough rest, he rose to his feet and slung his satchel over his shoulder.
Still, he could not resist one last glance as that dark haired boy playing baseball and shed a tear for what might have been.
Peter made a small mumble in his drugged sleep, a small furrow of pain settling between his finely drawn brows. Caine gently touched his son's forehead and whispered soothingly as he had done when Peter was a very small boy. The lines of distress faded as Peter drifted back into the depths of a healing sleep.
Caine could only sit there, looking down at his sleeping son with a joy so sharp that it was almost painful. His son was alive. This was something he'd never dared to hope for, and could only barely bring himself to truly believe.
When he'd come to this city, thinking he'd finally found what he'd spent so many years searching for. A way in which to redeem his lineage's honor and perhaps to give his son's spirit rest. In his most heartfelt fantasies, he could never have believed that instead that he would locate not only his most deadly enemy, but the child that had been lost to him. The circle that had begun with the monastery's destruction finally came fully about to it's starting point again.
"You are alive," he whispered in joyful wonderment, taking Peter's hand in his. His son was hurt, but alive and would remain so. The pulse of spirit was strong within him.
A pair of dazed hazel eyes opened and looked up at him, woken by the softly spoken words. "You're really here," Peter murmured, his mouth curving into a tired smile. "I was beginning to think it was just a dream."
Caine leaned closer so that Peter could see him clearly, squeezing his hand gently in reassurance. "I am here," he assured him, a slight catch in his throat coloring his words. "You must rest, my son."
"I don't want to," Peter insisted, struggling to sit up, but the injuries he's suffered would not allow movement. Gasping in renewed pain, he fell back against his pillow, his face gone white and taunt.
"Peter!" Caine quickly reached out to his son, seeking to comfort him and take away his suffering. Peter swallowed deeply, waiting for the deep throbbing in his shoulder to ease before trying to speak.
"No, I'm alright," he assured his father, seeing the fear in the older man's eyes. Caine gently smoothed back the lock of dark hair that had fallen across Peter's forehead. "Try to sleep. We will speak again when you are stronger."
The young man shook his head stubbornly. "No. You've just come back into my life and I'm sure as hell not going to sleep. I..." He closed his eyes, his throat tightening in a powerful mixture of joy and sorrow, leaving the young police dectective shaken by feelings he could barely understand and cope with.
Caine smiled tightly, taking his son's hand. "I know," he whispered, the hint of tears in his voice. "When you were lost to me, I could only wish that Dao had slain me instead. There was no joy or hope left in my life. Now both have returned full measure."
Peter opened his eyes, looking up into his father's. "All I can see are all the years we lost. Why did Ping Hai lie to us? All that time we could have had together."
"Ping Hai had his own reasons, my son. He believed that he was protecting our lives. Let us not think back on him with anger." Caine inhaled deeply, remembering the anguish that had filled him that need never have been, but most likely Ping Hai had been right to do what he did. Had Dao learned that either father or son had survived, he would have spared no effort to destroy them. The only way to protect both was to hide them away, even from each other. The old man had made a remarkable sacrifice to safeguard Peter's safety and Caine would honor him for it. Remembering the words that the elderly priest had said by that grave site so long ago, Caine had to admit that Ping Hai had not lied. His sorrow had ended.
"But we'll never have those years back," Peter complained bitterly, with the sorrow of youthful idealism that refused to completely die.
"No, we will not. To wish for what cannot be is pointless. It is better if we concern ourselves with the time we have now."
"Wonderful. I haven't seen you in fifteen years and what do I get? More Shaolin wisdom," Peter groused.
The complaint brought a smile to his father's face. Some things would never truly change and for some reason, the display of Peter's intrinsic stubbornness and impatience heartened Caine.
The outburst seemed to have drained what strength Peter had in him. Caine did not miss the lowering of eyelids, or the stifled yawn. Placing his son's hand back down on the bed, he insisted "Sleep. We will speak more when you wake."
Exhaustion made arguing impossible, yet Peter was clearly reluctant to allow his father out of his sight, least he vanish again. "You'll be here when I wake up?" he asked, sounding more than a little like the child he'd been when Caine had last seen him.
The priest smiled, patting his hand. "Have I somewhere more important to go?"
Peter grinned in spite of himself. "I was kinda hoping you'd see it like that."
Watching his son sleep, Caine could relax, allowing the distance that time and separation had forged between them slip away. Peter had grown into a man without him, but this was still his son. He could believe his own words, that the time apart no longer mattered. He refused to allow regret for what they had lost to color the happiness that filled him. They had each other again. The knot of hurt within him that had wrapped about his heart finally released and vanished.
Thinking back on all the others of his past, his wife and Ping Hai and other friends and kin who were no longer with them, he could not help from thinking that they were watching father and son now and were pleased that destiny might finally play out. Yes, very pleased indeed.
