Destiny
by Pho
It only takes a moment for triumph, or tragedy to strike.
***********
After twenty hours of watching and waiting, the beeps and whines of the
life sustaining medical equipment are beginning to prey on my nerves.
It all happened so fast. The car came out of nowhere. How could a car
so large be so, so unnoticeable? And because I didn't notice, I didn't
see, Peter, my son, my miracle, now fights for his life. I have been
told, by my closest friend, that this may be his destiny, but I do not,
cannot believe that. He is too young to lose his life. He has so many,
many years ahead of him. As I stare at my unconscious son, my mind
returns to the day before, when life had been simple, and perfect.
The childish giggle was followed by a demand. "Higher, Fadder, go higher!"
Kwai Chang Caine smiled his first real smile in months as the little
boy's infectious laugh reached his ears. Reluctantly he refused his
toddler's request. "I am sorry, my son, but you are too young to swing
higher."
The child's lower lip trembled in disappointment. "Down."
The young father sighed, and slowed the swing. He reached down and
plucked his three year old from the safety seat. It had been a
wonderful day, so far. The first since Laura's death several months
before, that little Peter had not searched the park for his mother,
dissolving into tears when she could not be found. Caine really hoped a
tantrum was not about to rear its ugly head. He was pleasantly
surprised when the child threw tiny arms around his neck and planted a
sloppy kiss on his cheek. "Swide?"
"Of course, Peter. You may play on the slide." Caine quickly moved away
from the swing set, aiming for the little slide near the swings. He
lowered the squirming tot to the ground, and held his breath as tiny
legs struggled to climb the oversized steps. Little hands gripped
tightly to the handholds at the top, and the father unconsciously moved
closer to the slide as the little boy flopped gracelessly onto the top
of the slide.
The child giggled as he reached out and touched his father's chest.
"Tag, Fadda." The startled young man gasped as his adventurous son
pushed off, and slid to the bottom, all by himself. Wincing as the
child landed on his bottom, Caine moved quickly to dust him off. Peter
squirmed out of his grasp. "Peter big boy, Fadda." Pointing at the
large slide across the playground, he declared firmly. "Big swide,
Fadda."
Caine shook his head. "No, Peter, you are too little for the big
slide." He held his breath, once again expecting a tearful response and
again, it did not come.
Instead, the child cocked his head to one side and stared solemnly up at his father. "Sambok?"
Grinning at the pronunciation, Caine replied. "Yes, my son, you may
play in the sandbox." He reached for his small son's hand, and
captured... air. The little boy was off and running for the sandbox,
located on the opposite side of the playground. "Peter, NO!" Caine knew
the shout would fall on deaf ears, but he had to try as he started
after his mischievous son. Peter slowed suddenly, startling the father
into believing that, for once, his stubborn little son had listened to
his 'no'. His hazel eyes widened in horror as he realized his child had
noticed the open gates, and the fountain, with water that danced from
level to level, across the street. Peter had been drawn to water from
the beginning. Caine's own legs moved now in sheer panic, knowing he'd
never stop the tiny boy before he reached the street. "PETER! STOP!"
There was an edge of panic in his voice, and his movements, as he
strained to catch his son. The combined sounds of screaming brakes and
a dull, heart wrenching thud, would remain engraved in his memory for
all eternity.
The room was small, only nine by ten. Caine knew this
because he'd counted the ceiling tiles a hundred times, as he listened
to the ventilator breathe for his small son. Little Peter had been
fortunate not to be killed outright, he'd only been grazed by the
bumper. The driver had managed to maneuver her car so that the tot was
not hit head on, which would have meant his death. He received mainly
cuts and bruises. No internal injuries, but he had sustained a severe
concussion. Possible brain damage. Caine still heard the doctor's tired
voice as he spoke. "If he doesn't awaken in twenty-four hours, he
probably won't."
The ventilator had been removed three hours before, and the child's
breathing pattern could almost have been mistaken for normal sleep.
Caine once more gently stroked his son's soft, silky hair with one hand
while holding a delicate little hand in his own larger one. His eyes
were dry now, he'd cried himself out hours before as he berated himself
for his carelessness. The tracks of his tears were plain on his
careworn face as the hollow orbs that had once been his eyes remained
fixed on the small face of his son. Exhaustion, born of despair and no
sleep, overcame him, and he closed his eyes for a moment, praying once
more to any deity that would listen to spare his baby.
A small sound caught his attention, and he instantly focused on the
face of his son. Confused hazel eyes stared back at him from a too pale
face. "Fa...dder?" Fear replaced confusion as the pain from his
injuries awakened and he started to cry. Caine had him in his arms in
an instant, careful not to disturb the wiring connecting the child to
the monitors, and IV's. With the grace born of years of Shaolin
training, the young father settled back on the bed, his tiny son
clasped firmly to his chest, and rocked gently to and fro, mumbling
indistinct words of comfort to calm his small miracle. As the medical
staff, alerted of the change by the monitors outside, entered the room,
Peter Caine sighed softly and drifted off into a normal sleep, tiny
hands clutching the soft fabric of his father's robe. Kwai Chang Caine
raised his eyes to the heavens, thanking the powers that be for
returning his child to him.
************
After twenty hours of watching and waiting, the beeps and whines of the
life sustaining medical equipment are beginning to prey on my nerves.
Lo Si hovers like a mother hen, but even he is helpless as my son
silently suffers. He has told me that this may be Peter's destiny, his
words echoing another's so very long ago. But Ping Hi was wrong then,
and I believe, no, I know, that Lo Si is mistaken now. My son, my
miracle, has *not* been restored to me only to be snatched away by a
shot made in panic by a drug crazed addict. The memories of that
earlier, terrifying day from his childhood, come back to haunt me once
again, and I feel my tears as they flow freely down my face. Despair
and exhaustion have become my constant companions and, in my
helplessness and grief, I lower my head to the bed, his bed.
A small sound catches my attention, and my eyes are instantly focused
on the face of my son. Confused hazel eyes stare back at me from a too
pale face. "Fa...ther?" Once again, I watch as fear replaces confusion
as the pain from his injuries awakens.
I feel myself smiling now through my tears, and I take immeasurable
delight in stroking his silky hair. "Rest my son. You are safe and you
will be fine. Sleep now. I will be here when you awaken." Peter's eyes
lock with mine for a moment, then his hand reaches out and I take it in
my own. Reassured, his magnificent hazel orbs slowly disappear as he
drifts at last into a normal sleep. At long last I can relax, and a
sigh of relief escapes my lips. Once again my child has been restored
to me. I can not, will not squander the gift of this latest return.
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