Interludes: Grace Returned

 

            Kwai Chang Caine paused at the sound of a step in the outer corridor. He knew without turning, the identity of his visitor. And the emotions which washed over him in buffeting waves, were not entirely unexpected. He sensed them to some degree for most of the day and had thus been expecting this meeting. But it was the lack of the customary 'Pop? You here?' that caught his attention the most, causing him to look up from his task of crushing dried herbs toward the doorway with a frown.

            Peter stood several paces inside of the room, a look of quiet anguish on his features. For a moment, he seemed to lean slightly in his direction, as if he meant to move toward him. But he didn't. Instead he murmured a quiet, "Hi Pop. Thought I'd . . . come by for a visit."

            Caine's frown deepened. "You are always welcome here, Peter. You know that." He immediately began to brush the dusty green remnants of the herb from his fingers. His son required all of his attention.

            "Look. . . you're busy," Peter gestured toward the bowls and implements that sat on the low table. "I don't want to interrupt. I could come back some other time."

            Peter was already turning and headed back toward the doorway before Caine called after him. "I would be honored if you would assist me?"

            Peter glanced back at him, his look skeptical.

            Caine picked up a small bowl and held it in his son's direction. "Shall I take your reluctance as refusal? I assure you, you will not find the aroma unpleasant."

            Peter offered an anemic half-smile that did not reach his eyes and moved back into the room. He reached slowly across the table for the proffered bowl, never quite meeting his father's gaze. For several long moments afterward, he simply stood and stared into the empty container, seemingly at a loss. 

            Caine followed his son's motions with growing concern. The silence spoke of the depth of pain that burdened his heart. Peter, who railed and cried out at injustice and tragedy and suffering, withdrew when the victim was his own soul. Such emotion, so tightly guarded and contained, yet it leaked from his very pores. Helplessness in the face of a child's pain was a father's greatest fear.

            Instinct prompted Caine to move around the table so that he would be closer. Proximity could be its own comfort, especially when one was unsure of how to proceed. He did not wish to somehow push Peter away as he had several days earlier. Though he had reviewed the incident in his mind, he had arrived at no conclusion as to how he might have better handled the situation.

            Peter had arrived, similarly upset, and Caine had agreed to spar with him, thinking that the physical activity would relieve the tension caused by the incident at the Blaisdell home the previous evening. The exercises had not gone well. Peter remained tense and distracted until Caine had felt compelled to dig deeper. 

            Peter's response had been passionate. 

            "Can't you just say anything straight out? I mean, at least when Blaisdell says something, you know where he stands. He lays it on the line. Why can't you just say, 'What troubles you son?'"

            Perhaps this time he should do as Peter had suggested and just lay it on the line. But somehow, that did not seem correct, for he already knew what troubled his son. There was no herb or ChiGong technique that could ease the pain, and Caine was not sure that he had any words of wisdom with which to soothe the way ahead.

            Despite memories of having been left behind while his own father traveled many years past and ironically, having left Peter a year prior to embark on his own journey, there was nothing that he considered of use. He felt inadequate to the task and would simply have to feel his way as best he could. 

            Caine came to a stop at Peter's side and removed the bowl from his grasp. Peter immediately pushed his hands deeply into his pockets before glancing sideways at him.

            "Sorry. I'm a little distracted."

            "Yes." Caine settled the bowl on the table and decided to open the conversation, but to allow his son to determine its direction. He could think of no way to preface the statement. "Captain Blaisdell came to visit me this morning." 

            Peter turned sharply, surprise showing on his face. For a moment Caine thought he saw an edge of hope, but then the expression morphed to resigned realization. "Yeah, that's Paul. I should have known that he would've come to see you. He always covers all the bases." He paced away a step and began to fiddle with a broken spot on the edge of the table. "He happen to tell you where he was going?"

            "He did not."

            Peter glanced in his direction with a humorless chuckle. "And if he did and asked you not to tell, you wouldn't would you?"

            Caine remained silent. The question did not require an answer. He continued to study his son as the forced smile quickly fell away. It was obvious to his trained father's eye that his son had more to say, that he searched for a way to put into words the things that he was feeling. He didn't need to hear them to know that they caused a tight band of pain around Peter's heart. Caine felt it with him. But to say the words was to release the pain, and Peter needed the release.

            Finally he spoke, pacing as he did so. "We had a family meeting last night, and he told us that he had to go away." Peter stopped and glanced at him almost sheepishly before continuing. "I can usually talk to him about anything, anything at all. But I couldn't talk to him last night. I just couldn't say anything. I . . . I thought that there would be more time, but he's leaving today. Tonight. That's why he's at the precinct right now packing up his office, saying goodbye to everyone. I couldn't be there for that."

            Caine spoke carefully. "Sometimes when we know that a thing will be painful, it is better to do it quickly to shorten the suffering."

            "But why does he have to leave at all? Why can't he just stay here? I don't understand. If he's in trouble, why can't he come to us for help? Hell, he's got friends and connections that probably even Kermit doesn't know about.

            "His family's here. The people who love him are here. Every cop at the precinct would willingly put their life on the line to save him."

            Caine shrugged. "Perhaps for those very reasons he must go. To stay may mean danger for his family and friends. In his other life, things were very different. Strange alliances were made. There are times when our past comes back to haunt us, when we must battle those demons before we can go on."

            "I can understand the battle, Pop. But why does he have to do it alone?" Peter's eyes widened, tear-bright, reflecting his desperate need for knowledge.

            Caine felt something twist within himself as he stared into that gaze. All of his protective instincts clamored to be heard. He wanted very much to spare his son this pain. But he could not.             

            Paul Blaisdell was an honorable man, one who cared very deeply for his son. Though they were very different in many ways, Caine could not help but acknowledge the similarities. He could not ignore the fact that he had once walked the path that Blaisdell had yet ahead of him. And despite that experience, he could not give his son the answers he sought. Only life and experience could. And though he hoped that Peter would never gain that experience, he knew that it was a useless desire. Life's cycles had a way of repeating themselves. 

            "All things are not for us to understand," he finally said. "When the battle rages on within ourselves, that is often where we must go to fight it. It is not a fight that another can assist in."

            Peter seemed to deflate. His shoulders slumped and he bowed his head. "I don't want him to go," he said softly.

            "I know, my son." Caine placed a hand on his arm, soothing. "He has been a very important factor in your life and will remain so. He acted as father for you when I could not. I am grateful beyond words for that. But you must let him go, to allow him to do what he must do. Just as a year ago, you allowed me to do what I had to do."

            Peter looked up at him then. His eyes, already misty, filled with tears. Caine's filled in response.

            "All right, I can do that. I'll let him go. He doesn't need me trying to hang on to him anyway."

            "No, my son. That is not why. You have much love in your heart. You touch the lives of those with who surround you. You have grown into a man of great honor and courage. Both I and your foster father are very proud of you. It is very difficult for a father to part from a son such as yourself."

            Peter's voice choked as he pulled Caine into a hug. "I love you, Pop."

            "As I love you, my son." Caine smiled slightly. The band across Peter's heart was not so tight as it had been before, the deep emotions not so overwhelming. It was a first step.

            Pushing back from Peter, he glanced quickly toward the door. "Your other father will be here in a few minutes. I will leave now so that you may talk."

            Peter nodded and headed toward the balcony. Caine watched until he stepped through the doors, and then moved off toward the kitchen.

 

 

 

            When Caine had completed preparations in the kitchen, he entered the balcony from the far door. He caught sight of Peter and Blaisdell in an emotional embrace. Not wishing to interrupt, he waited until they said their final goodbyes before approaching.

            He placed a comforting hand on his son's shoulder, wanting him to know that he wasn't alone. "When he has conquered his loneliness, and the demons have stopped chasing him, he will be back, my son."

            "You sure about that?" Peter asked, his eyes never leaving the door through which Blaisdell had disappeared.

            "I came back." Caine said the only words he could offer as hope.

            Peter turned then and allowed himself to be pulled into a tight embrace. He knew that his son was near the breaking point, but still held his emotions very tightly. Releasing him, he turned and led him inside out of the cold. It was time to take a second step.

            "I have prepared a tea for us," he said, gesturing toward the set table. "I was hoping that we might talk. There are some things that I would like to tell you and that I was hoping that you might tell me." 

            Peter looked at him for a long moment, and Caine began to wonder if his son might object. But then Peter smiled slightly, a myriad of emotions playing across his face. His eyes shone with the love reflected in his heart as he settled into one of the chairs and spoke huskily. "I'd like that, Pop. I'd really like that."

            Caine smiled and allowed his gaze to linger just a moment longer. To be able to relieve a child's pain, in even a small way, was a father's greatest joy.