Part 11

Peter sat on the hospital bed waiting for the discharge orders and paperwork to be done. His mind continued in a whirl from the past week's events.

Mary Margaret had gone home yesterday after having refused to see the psychologist, stating instead that Caine could help her with the nightmares and self-doubts that had been plaguing her mind.

Caine had visited each day, bringing healing teas for Peter to drink and news from Chinatown; Lo Si's niece was moving to New York and Mrs. Sho had her baby. Underneath his words lay his true feelings, feelings he hesitated to speak of with Peter; feelings of guilt and blame.

The door slowly opened, raising Peter's hopes of a quick escape from this prison, an escape from his tumultuous emotions, and the onslaught of feelings from those around him.

Caine stood in the doorway, his hat folded in his hands. "You are…getting sprung?" Caine asked, using the slang he had heard from Lo Si when Caine was bailed out of jail. He looked at Peter, seeing the paleness of his son's skin; the red patches encircling Peter's wrists. Caine knew the greater part of the slow healing skin was being hidden by the long-sleeved shirt Peter wore. Dark circles under Peter's eyes.

Peter nodded, looking at his father, then toward the window. "Yeah, Paul is taking me home. Mom said she'd either move in with me or I'd come stay with them."

"She is a very…obstinate," Caine noted with a smile. The woman Peter had come to think of as his mother had a way with getting people to do as she wanted. Her blindness and small stature did not prevent her from making her wishes known and obeyed.

Caine watched as Peter turned his eyes toward him, seeing the war going on inside this young man who was his son. "Peter, please. I feel the distance growing between us. It is like an abyss, and I feel I cannot cross it alone. I need you there with me so we can build a bridge to one another. I see the pain in your eyes; I feel your hurt and anger. I know that you do not blame me for what happened and yet, your mind tells you otherwise."

Peter didn't respond. He instead told his mind that it was wrong; Caine would never hurt Peter. But every night he woke up from the same dream -- the dream of the dagger impaling him, the sound of his father's voice speaking loudly to his mind. Peter's heart argued with his mind, but the mind was stronger.

"I…have nightmares, Father. One's where I wake up screaming for you to stop, not to hurt me, but you go on." Tears filled Peter's eyes. He hadn't wanted to admit his fears, didn't want to talk about his feelings, at least, not now. Not while the memory and pain was so fresh in his mind.

Caine moved toward his son, holding out his arms to embrace Peter, remembering Peter as a little boy who, when hurt, would run into his father's open arms for comfort.

Today, Peter avoided the touch, avoided the comfort. "I can't, not yet." Peter let out a sigh, wanting to run to his father, but also wanting Caine to leave. Torn, he lay back against the bed and closed his eyes, the movement leaving him dizzy.

"I understand. Please remember, I love you." And Caine left, unable to fight the shield Peter had built around himself. Caine had healed, his chi now growing stronger. He had sensed Peter's dreams and anxiety at night. The carefully erected shields prevented him from helping his son to heal.

"You ready to go home?" Paul asked, pushing a wheelchair ahead of him. He had been outside when Caine visited. Hearing the conversation, he hesitated to leave. Paul knew the pain both Caine and Peter were going through; he was experiencing it himself.

A brief smile played on Peter's lips. "Yeah, I've been ready. Mom ready for me?"

"She wanted to throw a coming home party, but I told her you really just wanted to have a meal that didn't taste like cardboard."

Both men laughed as Peter made his way slowly to the wheelchair. The nurse assigned to him held him steady as he walked slowly to the wheelchair. "Maybe he needs to stay another day and have the special iron-enriched diet," she quipped, but to herself she thought the young man was pushing himself too quickly.

"Yuck. I think I've had that before," Peter retorted, trying to sound chipper.

Paul pushed the occupied wheelchair as the nurse walked beside him on their journey to the car.

Most of the trip was spent in silence, each man's mind involved in trying to sort through his feelings of anger and deception. Paul still had not forgiven himself for Peter's abduction from the hospital. Talking to Caine had helped, but what he needed to do now was talk to Peter.

Paul pulled the car over to the curb. "You feel up to a short walk?"

Peter looked around. Paul had parked at the man-made lake the city had developed. A bench sat close to the water, not 25 feet away from the car. "Yeah."

Paul helped Peter out of the car and to the bench. Peter took in the warming rays of the sun, feeling it disperse the coldness he felt had taken residence in his bones. The doctor had told him he would start getting warmer as time went on. Looking out over the water, hearing the waves lap before they left to go back to the lake, Peter felt the water carrying his thoughts with it.

A red ball bounced over to them, followed by a small boy being chased by an adult. Paul caught the ball and grinned as he handed the ball back to the child. The adult apologizing for the interruption. Paul watched them walk away, feeling like the adult that had chased the child. "Peter, there is something I need to tell you. I didn't want to wait until we got home."

Peter cut his eyes to Paul, away from the departing interlopers, but didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry I let you down at the hospital. I should have known what was happening, but instead, I got caught up in the routine of the hospital, and it almost cost you your life." Paul's eyes held tears wanting to escape. He swiped at them and looked away for a moment, thinking that life without Peter would be horrible. He had come to love Peter as a real son, as a son he never had.

Shaking his head, Peter reached for Paul's shoulder. "We were all duped, Dad. I guess…" He let out a long breath, feeling his eyes filling as Paul's had. "I guess we all started seeing with our eyes instead of our hearts, as Pop would say. I blame myself for not being able to help Mary Margaret, for blaming Pop. Paul, you have always been there for me, watching over me and helping when you could. Just like that little boy." Peter pointed to the young child with the ball. "Sometimes you couldn't catch me, but you were there to pick me up. Just like now, you never gave up trying to protect me, trying to find me. I love you, Dad."

Peter fell into Paul's outstretched arms and felt the strong warm arms wrap around him, pushing away the fear that had inhabited his body.

"And I love you, Son."

Moments later, the two separated and each knuckled his eyes, driving the moisture out before it trickled down his cheeks.

"May I join you?" Came a soft-spoken request.

Looking up, Peter saw Caine standing in the doorway, his ever-present brown pouch slung over his shoulder, his flute case on his back.

A warm smile lit Caine's eyes, having heard a crack in Peter's shield.

Peter noticed the flute case on Caine's back. Realizing the meaning, Peter asked quietly, "You're leaving me?"

Caine bowed his head.

Peter felt his shields go up. He looked into Caine's eyes and saw love and compassion there. The shields began to crack again.

"I am sorry. I am taking Mary Margaret to Captain Blaisdell's cabin for a few days. She has lost her love of life, lost her hope. I wanted to tell you before I left." Caine took in Peter's pale features, stark against the dark eyes and hair. "Maybe some time away from each other will help you t…and myself…to think…about how we feel."

A gull's call overhead captured Peter's attention. As it flew out of sight, he set his gaze on the in and outflow of water. The gentle breeze seemed to disperse the tension that he felt each time he was near his father -- another crack in the shield he had erected so well. "Pop, Father, I don't know why I feel this way. I wish I didn't. I feel so used, so deceived by what I thought was normal. When I heard your voice over me that night, I agreed with you…her… when she said 'and the lamb shall pay for my sins.' I remember when we had to redeem our family name when we helped Sing Ling, and so I thought that to clear your name and spirit, I had to die and you…you had to kill me."

Caine reached toward Peter, wanting to ease the young man's ache. Peter pulled back, avoiding the touch. "Peter, when we helped Sing Ling, it was to pay for what our ancestor did, killing the Emperor's nephew. Killing and sacrifice is not the Shaolin way and never will be. To take another's life for your own redemption is wrong. I need to know what you want; I will try and fulfill it."

"I just want the nightmares to stop. I want…to be able to look at you without reliving that night." Peter let the words touch his mind and heart, and the carefully built shield shattered. The feel of his father's embrace and overflowing love drove doubt from Peter's troubled mind as Caine wrapped his arms around the troubled man. Peter felt Caine pull out of the embrace and stared into his father's eyes.

Caine sent comforting thoughts to Peter. "I cannot stop the dreams. You must fight those demons, which still haunt you. It will be easier if I am not here to remind you of what happened. If you need me, I will not be far away."

Paul watched father and son hold each other, talk to each other. It would be a while before everyone was completely healed, but it would happen.

Gardenia bushes hid the woman from sight. Her dark eyes were lit by the fire that burned inside her, fueled by the conversation she had overheard, fueled by the hate she had for the two men -- and now she added another name to her list of those whom she would seek revenge. 'Let Caine and his son feel the bond they once shared. Let Blaisdell feel secure with his authority. I shall have my revenge.'

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