When Thoughts Become Memories
by Linda Schwartz

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, but it was sure fun to take them out and play with them for a while.

The events in this story take place shortly after the Fu Ep "Lacquered Box" when Peter is shot in the bar by a junkie looking for a fix.

Enjoy.
 

Peter paced his father's living quarters above the Kwoon. It had been a few days since he'd felt strong enough to move about since being released from the hospital, after getting shot by a junkie looking for a fix.

His father had insisted that he stay with him to recuperate, in truth Peter had wanted an excuse to spend more time with his father, to get to know him better.

Peter stopped pacing when he noticed the Arabian Jasmine plant in a flower box, next to the window. He gently held one of the blossoms and bent down to smell it. The fragrance reminded him so much of his mother. He had so many questions he wanted to ask his father, so many things he wanted to say to him. He had trouble finding the right words.

"My son?"

Peter jumped at the sound of his father's voice. "Pop, make a noise when you come into a room," he looked down at the Jasmine plant again, seeking solace from his troubled spirit by caressing the flower.

"I am sorry I startled you. What is wrong, Peter?" He moved to stand next to his son. He could feel the tension emanating from the young man.

"I'm just not sure how to talk to you, Pop. There are so many things I want to know. I don't know how to ask."

Peter walked towards the window and stared, blankly, out the glass.

Peter could clearly see the bleak expression in his reflection in the windowpane. It was shortly joined by his father's face, juxtaposed near his.

"My son, do you remember all our talks at the temple, the lessons we shared with each other, the long walks we would take into town or into the woods?"

"Of course I do, father. I missed those the most during those fifteen years."

"You did not have trouble talking to me then, my son. Why do you find it so hard now?"

"I guess after fifteen years of thinking my father was dead, it's hard to get used to having you back in my life," Peter explained.

"I, too, find it difficult adjusting to being a father again. To see my son all grown-up and not being there when the boy became a man. I did not know whether you wanted me to be a part of your life," Caine sighed, "I still do not know if you do."

Peter placed a hand on his father's shoulder and squeezed it.

"Of course I do, father. I remember how you told me you'd always be in the light for me. When I thought you were dead I could almost see you in the shadows, just beyond my reach. I thought I was imagining things. I thought of you coming back into my life. Now that I have you all to myself, I'm at a loss for words."

"I do not think we need many words between us, my son. Our hearts and souls are as one. Our spirits travel together; it is what eventually led us to be reunited." Caine caressed Peter's cheek.

"Well I still want to know more," Peter continued to look out the window.

"You will. I shall tell you about your mother."

"It's not just Mom that I want to know about. I want to know more about my father."

"About me?" Caine asked incredulously.

"Yeah, I want to know everything I can, especially about those fifteen years, Pop."

"I will tell you, my son."

Father and son spent the rest of the day talking, sharing the missing years. Laughing and crying together and comforting each other.

"You will stay for dinner tonight?" Caine asked him.

"Okay, Pop." Peter was happy they didn't have to cut their evening short. He was glad for the time theyd been spending together during his recovery.

His father cooked for him and they sat outside on the balcony and ate out there.

"It's a beautiful night, huh Pop?" Peter stared off at the stars. He felt so happy and content. Once he and his father opened up to each other they became even closer.

"Well," 'YAWN' "Pop, looks like I'd better go home before I nod off." Peter had become so sleepy and he had been thinking it was time he went back to his apartment.

"Do you have work tomorrow, my son?" his father asked.

"No, I have the day off." Peter got up and took the plates to the kitchen.

"Would you like to stay here another night, my son? You should not drive if you are tired," his father asked him.

"I don't want to put you out."

"You are not putting me out," his father assured him, "Come, Peter." He ushered his son into one of the spare rooms down the hall from his bedroom. It was a change from the platform that Peter had been sleeping on. His father preferred to use the apothecary room when he was treating patients, then move them to a bedroom when they were better if it was necessary.

Peter looked the room over. It was sparsely furnished. A futon sat in the middle, a dresser lined one wall, and it had a small lamp sitting on top. It was the only light in the room.

Caine handed his son a pair of dark blue silks; they shone iridescently in the dim lighting.

"Thanks," Peter put the silks on. They were his favorites among the ones his father owned.

"Night, Pop," he said.

"Goodnight, my son. May your journey into slumber be a peaceful one." It sounded like a blessing he was making. Perhaps it was a prayer that Peter wouldn't suffer from the nightmares that sometimes plagued him.

Peter wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep before the nagging urge to use the bathroom woke him up. He'd stayed at the loft enough times to be able to find his way to the bathroom. Peter tossed back the quilt, grabbed a lit candle from the dresser and padded down the hallway, past his father's bedroom. On his return trip he heard the sound of laughter coming from his Dad's room.

Curious, he entered the bedroom. He quietly crept to the futon. His father was lying on his right side, facing him. A small smile was evident on his face.

Peter put the candle down on the nightstand next to the futon and knelt beside his father. His father began to laugh again. Peter reached out and touched his father's shoulder to reassure him that his father was okay.

As his hand made contact with his father, Peter felt himself being drawn into his father's dream.

Peter found himself standing in a park, it was a beautiful spring day, the sun was shining, and the air was warm. There was a small pond a short distance away. Peter could hear the sound of a child's laughter. He followed the sound until he saw a little boy; the boy was about three years old. He was searching for something. He circled around a group of large rocks; a look of disappointment was on his face when he didn't find what he was after.

Then he ran to an oak tree that grew near the water, a patch of reeds covered the ground at the base of the tree. The little boy disappeared among the growth and a few seconds later a high-pitched scream of glee could be hard in the air, quickly followed by the sound of laughter.

"I found you, Fadder."

Peter realized the little boy was himself and he'd been playing hide and seek with his father. He remembered they played lot of games together, most of them were meant to teach him the lessons of life. This one he was witnessing was purely for the fun of it.

His heart was filled with joy as he saw his father pick his younger self into his arms and carry him to the other side of the oak tree and sit down by the water. He sat with the boy on his lap.

Peter figured this scene must have been just before they went to live in the temple, he noticed his father had hair. It was tied in a ponytail.

"Are you hungry, my son?"

"Yes, my tummy is empty," he announced.

Peter saw his father reach into a picnic basket and pulled out a tablecloth and set it on the ground. Then he set out some plates. They had peanut butter and noodles salad and tapioca pudding for dessert.

"Peter there is something I must tell you," the tone in his voice made young Peter give his father his undivided attention. It always made his older self take notice too.

"Yes, Fadder?" his hazel eyes gazed at his father's face.

"I must tell you we are moving to a new home soon."

"A new home, why?"

"It has been difficult for me, my son, without your mother."

Peter realized that this must have been just after his mother had died. He could see the sadness in his father's eyes.

"There is a temple in the next town. I have visited it a few times. It is a nice place. There will be other children for you to play with."

Peter saw his younger self was looking at their father with a confused look on his face.

"Temple?"

"Yes, Peter, you remember I told you about the Shaolin temple, I was raised in one in China until it was destroyed by the Red guards. Your Grandfather, Matthew, brought us here to America and we stayed in a temple for a while."

The boy pulled up his father's left sleeve, which revealed the tattoo of a dragon.

"Shaolin, Fadder?"

"Yes, my son, those are the marks of the Shaolin."

"Will I have those too?"

"Perhaps one day."

Caine stood up and scooped his son into his arms.

"Let us go home and pack, okay?"

"Okay," the boy smiled and his father planted a kiss on his cheek.

Peter opened his eyes and was still kneeling next to his father. His father was looking at him with a grin on his face.

Peter bent down and kissed his father's forehead. "Thank you, Father, for that beautiful memory."

"It is our memory, my son," he caressed Peter's cheek with his right hand.

Peter reveled in the touch. He pulled the quilt higher on his father's body. "Go back to sleep, I'll see you in the morning." Peter got up and went back to their room. He had a feeling of contentment in his heart.

End