Well, in many countries its common to bring a gift to a party you’re invited to. I thought you might prefer a little story instead of the usual flowers? <g> Nice to be here with you.


Greetings, LC



title:                  My beautiful son

author:              Lady Charena

fandom:            Kung Fu – the legend continues

time period:       after the bardo

codes:              POV Kwai Chang Caine – I think PG-13 ?


My first try on P/P – after barely a week of knowing this Fandom. So please be gentle with my baby, ‘cause I’m not really a brave lady… <g>


My thanks to Tami for telling me about this list and of course to my longsuffering beta. Blame remaining errors solely to me, especially grammatical faults, English is not my native tongue.




“I seek not to know all the answers – but to understand the questions.” (Caine “The third man”)




My beautiful son (May 2004)


It is within the heart of the night as I open my eyes, for a moment not knowing when I closed them or where I am. Then my gaze fells upon the nearby face of my son…


Peter sleeps, still needing to rest, even if he tries to convince me of the opposite. I did everything to ensure his slumber to be deep, healing, and undisturbed of demons and dreams. For the moment, my son is secure. My son, my beautiful son…


I rise from his side where I remained the last four hours in meditation, using his now peaceful face as an anchor for my drifting thoughts. As I bend over him to touch his forehead – carefully avoiding the bandages – I feel a sharp sting in my back. There is some pain remaining along with a strange stiffness to my legs – not caused from sitting here, but leftovers of the cramps I suffered during the fight for Peter’s life. I brush my fingertips over his dry, slightly open lips, and straighten. Choosing to ignore the pain, I stretch my body and test my muscles. I am just sore, not wounded - not in a physical way.


Still there in my brain… in my very soul… lingers a black void - filled with an almost unbearable blackness. The anger I felt, the sheer horror to face the danger of losing my only child to the all-consuming darkness of this place… I put an end to this meanwhile familiar train of thoughts – or so I try. Again, I fail.


Walking away from the bed I turn to the koi pond and picture once more Peter sitting here as he did hours ago, relaxed touching the cool surface of the water with his fingers. We talked - but more remained yet unsaid.


Sometimes I wonder.. I wonder if it would not have been better to never find him. But for whom? I do not know. To lose a child and to find a man… strange and familiar all the same.


Again, I turn to watch him. My beautiful son.


I hold my breath as he moves, still sleeping, turning from his side to his back, and pushing the blanket aside that covers his body up to the shoulders. A fine sheen of sweat glisters upon his bare chest. I can see his face now, outlined by the soft light of a single candle.


Like a mot is inevitably drawn to the fire, even if it means burning its wings, I return to Peter’s side. Kneeling next to him, I touch his temples with the back of my fingers to reassure him. I wonder how much he can feel of the turmoil in my soul…


Peter stirs for a second time, his eyelids flatter – but then he returns to a more peaceful state of sleep.


I brush my fingertips along his cheek down to his jaw, finally touching the warm, soft skin of his throat, revelling in the sensation of the strong pulse beneath it. Resting my hand on his shoulder, I bow to place a tender kiss onto his forehead.


Peter accused me once - during he was in a drugged fever state - of wanting him alive only to keep on the family lineage. Ever since I tried to tell and to show him, how much I love him. How deeply I care.


Does he still not know how precious he is to me?


Almost without a thought, I move my lips down to slightly brush over his closed lids. I long to see his clear, warm eyes – and fear it all the same. To see bewilderment or even contempt in his gaze would destroy me now, while I am still vulnerable.


I come closer, my nose touching the side of my sons nose as I gently lay my cheek onto his, thinking how Peter would cuddle up with me as a small child. Long ago, when love was given and received simply, easy – and pure…


I can feel the heat reflecting from his skin where I almost touch it with my own body. It could wake him up – and I want him to be asleep, because I need to be alone with my wild running thoughts.


Slowly I straighten again. Skimming my fingers lightly down his chest, to where I can feel the comforting beat of Peter’s heart beneath my palm. Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood…


I sense… no I know… there is a great gentleness inside of Peter. Mostly he tries to hide it, considering it as a weakness, but all the same longing for someone to hold, to love, to touch…


I wish he would touch me… Stop! I must stop this. Suddenly I feel like drowning in a wave of sensations I should not feel.


How can it be that I desire…the body of  my own son?


How can I… soil… the bound between him and me with such longings?


I withdraw my hand from his chest to drop my face into my palms. Sometime during the coma, I must have lost my mind.




Peter’s drowsy voice startles me and I drop my hands, searching his face. “Yes, my… son.”


A curious frown slides over his face. “Is anything amiss? Are you okay?”


I touch his cheek. “Yes. I am fine,“ I answer. “Sleep, Peter. Recover your strength.”


He smiles. “I don’t feel very tired now. How long did I sleep?”


“You needed every minute of it.” With my thumb, I touch the edge of his mouth, feeling his smile deepen.


“Dad, you’re nursing me like a little baby. I’m feeling much better now, I’ve already told you.”


His soft chuckle fills the air and vibrates at the hollow place in my heart. “I do not want to think how near it came this time to loosing you forever, Peter.” Not the words I want to say, but everything I dare.


His hand suddenly covers mine in a surprising hard grip, drawing me near to him. “Don’t even think of leaving me alone again, Dad. Ever!”


“I have no such intention.” A deliberate lie. Maybe the first I ever told Peter. What does he see in my face, in my eyes, to let him ask? He can see nothing in the dim light of the almost spend candle.


“Good. Very good.” His eyes close again. “You better remember.” He still smiles as he falls asleep some time later.


I carefully withdraw my hand from his grip, now loosening as sleep relaxes him once more.


Sleep, my beautiful son…






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