A Moment in Time

Peter spent most of the day on his own. He walked a lot. Many of the fighters who had qualified for the finals were enjoying the sun, swimming or flirting. The shooting competition for the rookie shooters took place that afternoon and access to the Casa was closed. So much the better. The almost wild forest that ran along the sea, starting with the northern part where the bungalows were, and ending beyond the inhabited part of the island, was almost entirely to himself.

Right now Peter, too, was struggling to find the reason. After tomorrow, after the battle was finished and lots have been taken about who lives and who dies, what happens after tomorrow?

For a few blissful hours, scattered in several eventful days, this Shaolin priest thought, only barely, that maybe, maybe there could be happiness for him, too. This strange thing he and Tara had going on, he took it as it came. None of them, he was certain, made plans about life beyond the Island. First of all, they didn't know if there would be any life. And what if there were?

Peter had spent this one week preparing for the likelihood of never coming home. He was ready. Well, spending 12 years of his life in a game of Russian roulette with Death certainly helped for that… readiness. And what if they both lived to see the sun rise on June 13?

A part of his drained, lonely soul longed to jump head-first into the powerful storm of feelings raging inside his heart, a storm he found ever more difficult to keep in check.

Another part, the logical one, wanted to leave it all on the Island, and then everyone would go their way, and casually pretend those last days never happened.

X

At about five o'clock Peter found himself at a secluded spot just before the black rocks. It was outside the hidden bay he and Tara had found two days ago. To the left was the giant rock formation. To the right it was all sand, sea and the sweet freshness from the forest that was spreading like a green wall along the coastline. A giant solitary palm tree was incongruously growing on the beach itself, stranded more than five metres away from its siblings, its hairy body surrounded by nothing else but golden sand.

Peter liked it; it reminded him of himself.

'You're lonely, aren't you,' he murmured. 'Mind some company?'

He sat under the crooked, massive body. Briefly he considered which view was more pleasant, the sea ahead, or the golden rays of the setting sun piercing through the forest humidity behind him. He chose the sea.

It occurred to him that the only other moment of the day he had spent still was his lunch, which he had an hour ago in his bungalow. He never sought the company of other fighters and the only person whose presence he craved was nowhere to be seen.

The stillness put order in Peter's thoughts. As a result he was forced to face what he'd been avoiding the whole day. The chaos of feelings he was facing was not caused only by the extraordinary Chinese woman he had met. Flashing images of the photo in Ketonna's office started harassing him along with the heaps of information on Laura Fitzroy that Tara had supplied him with.

He couldn't tell her. Despite everything, talks of trust and all, Peter couldn't tell Tara that Laura Fitzroy was his mother. Hell, he had to figure it himself first. His mother engaged to a crazed criminal. And then, what had he meant by 'She paid'? 'She got away'? Ketonna still considered her the finest ornament of his collection? The apparent answer shone so bright that Peter preferred to pretend he didn't see it. Considering Ketonna somehow responsible for his mother's death was far easier to swallow than… No! That was impossible, unthinkable. He was not even going to consider it, not until his father was back and they could talk it over and close the subject for good.

For some reason thinking now about his mother and the new discoveries about her didn't make Peter physically sick the way it did in the morning. The ex-cop's self-preservation instinct, so perfectly trained into dealing with shocking discoveries made in the worst of times, had simply added this new bit of information to the rest of stuff, emotional and physical, that was to be dealt with when…. if he was to be out of here. And the pile was growing.

X

Sitting with arms wrapped around his knees Peter was watching the motionless water, his mind equally still.

Peter didn't know what he sensed first – the presence of another person's chi, or the displacement of the air it caused. The sun was heading west so what he saw when he turned was only a silhouette. It was good enough. He smiled lightly and then let go. Would she shout at him? Talk to him? Or would she just reveal the plan for the final push? It didn't matter. He would still take it as it came.

Tara was almost dragging her feet through the sand, yet she stepped light but firm. The baggy linen trousers combined with the tight sleeveless top made her slim waist look even slimmer and her long arms - even longer. She was holding a pair of sandals. The thick black hair had been negligently tied above the neck; flocks of it were falling playfully on her shoulders. Dancing with the light breeze they formed a golden halo around her head.

From Peter's point of view there no colours, no face, not even eyes. It was the silhouette of the Goddess that had mesmerised him, finished to perfection by the shimmering halo around her head.

For the first time in his life Peter Caine was not interested in a woman's appearance; he hadn't even noticed those little but significant details that once would cause a stir in every bit of his body. To him Tara was a pair of endless black eyes in the depths of which he had seen a soul ancient, pure and beautiful.

The subtle feeling that he had known those eyes and that soul before he had suppressed from the beginning; it was not the time and place for deja-vu.

In the meantime Tara had come close enough for Peter to distinguish her face features. She didn't have the look of a fighter. Her face was pale, the gaze sad. The big dark eyes looked lifeless. Her whole body was unusually relaxed. Peter didn't even change his position. He only looked, waiting for her to say whatever it was she felt like saying.

'I can't, Peter… I'm empty.'

A hand opened and the sandals fell.

'I'm so tired,' cried out Tara, practically on the brink of tears.

Peter didn't utter a sound. He just opened arms.

This time she gave up. Softly Tara dropped to her knees and crawled towards him, resembling an upset little girl seeking protection.

They exchanged a brief look.

'Take from my strength,' he said quietly. 'I have enough for both.'

And then Tara turned and leaned back on Peter's chest. He didn't move. Realising he had a scared wild animal in his arms, Peter kept completely still. His arms remained on the knees, the eyes were still exploring the horizon. Only his face changed; he was smiling.

At first tense, as soon as her body felt Peter's warmth, Tara started calming down. The Shaolin's chi was so powerful she completely forgot the shyness from the obvious sexuality of their closeness. This went deeper than carnal instincts and they both knew it.

She leaned head on the base of his neck. While nesting in his lap she had to touch his legs but nothing happened. He didn't stir, nor did he try to touch her or strangle her or do her any harm. The expectation that anyone who'd see her week would try to harm her, result of the life she had had, started receding. As a consequence her body slowly relaxed and obediently followed the shape of Peter's posture.

Words weren't necessary. Words would spoil the moment, an absolutely perfect moment in time. Tara felt safe like never before. Her exhausted body and the even more drained mind were entirely left for Peter to take care of. Her left hand remained relaxed on Peter's leg, the other was resting on her chest. As she became more aware of her surroundings the first thing she felt was his breath. He had even breathing, as a Shaolin should, and with every breath out he was caressing her neck and right shoulder. The second thing she felt was his heartbeat. At first she had been too nervous to feel it pace up the moment their bodies touched, but she could feel it now. It was a steady and strong heartbeat and before she knew it, Tara's own heart took up the rhythm, and soon two lonely hearts were beating like one.

Peter was at ease. True, the sensation of feeling the weight of Tara's body almost brought him heart-attack, but once his unbelieving mind got used to the idea, he felt peace. This was something he'd probably never felt before, this feeling of wholness. When Tara laid head on his chest, it was as if nothing else existed but this beach, and this moment, and this woman. The world beyond was gone. Life home was gone, his problems, his feelings of failure and betrayal – all gone. During those minutes, or was it hours, nothing was wanting in Peter Caine's life. After all, in his arms he held everything he needed.

A slightly stronger flush of wind lifted playfully Tara's hair; the woman shuddered. Peter moved hand, intending to put the tickly hairs back to their place and immediately she tensed up. He felt her hand being ready to respond to a potential attack. But he didn't blame her; it had become clear that whatever her life, it had made her unable to trust anyone, and he was really flattered that she allowed him such intimacy.

Peter's hand stopped midways, then slowly moved up to the head and Tara felt what she believed to be the most tender and careful caress her aching head had ever experienced. With great care Peter smoothed her thick hair; his strokes resembled someone touching glass surface, so tender they were.

That done, his arm went back to its position, at least close. His knee relaxed a little, his arm found the gap between his and Tara's body, and carefully nested. She smiled. Her comfort was perfect. So perfect that she drifted into a nap.

X

Some time later the wind was caressing the bare feet. Tara opened eyes unaware how long she had slept. The sun was not visible any longer but the sky was still bright. She felt rejuvenated and light. Then the young woman inevitably remembered where she was. Her head was still resting on Peter's chest, his breath was still warming her skin, and the warmth of his body was still engulfing her. His right leg was now parallel to hers and his left hand was holding her through the waist, her own hand lying on top of it.

Tara wondered whether Peter had fallen asleep, too, and moved. Immediately his face leaned on top of her and she saw the corner of a playful smile.

'Wake up, sleeping beauty.'

She melted at the sound of those words. Their eyes met, again briefly. They laughed at their situation, both romantic and amusing, and then Tara felt Peter's cheek rubbing on her hair. She was in Heaven.

'Did you sleep?'

'No way.'

'Why?'

'You need sleep more than I do; had to make sure that nothing disturbs it.'

She purred quietly and nested. For the first time in her adult life someone had been watching over her sleep. Yes, this must be how Heaven felt like.

'Feeling better?'

'Better? I'm reborn!' she said blissfully.

Peter smiled.

'What I wanted to hear,' he replied contently.

There was an urgent subject hanging above them and talking about it was inevitable.

''What's wrong?' asked Tara, and turned head slightly, trying to grasp at little from Peter's expression.

'What makes you think something's wrong?'

'I don't know, I can feel it. Something about you changed. What happened?'

'You can feel that?'

'Apparently I can. I could also yesterday, but never got around to telling you.'

'What could you feel?'

'You were upset by my 'thing' with Ketonna, and I'm really sorry, but it had to be done.'

He chuckled. 'What did you give him?'

'A cocktail… Based on sodium amatol.'

'I see. It tickles the tongue.'

'And the imagination, too, especially if you feed that imagination.'

'Cool.'

'Peter… You don't really believe I would…'

Silence.

'N-no… I… didn't want to, I…'

'I'd never do that.'

'I know,' he said, and a finger caressed her hip. 'I trust you.'

Her head wen backwards and gently pressed Peter's chest. He kissed the head.

That was Heaven.

'I was thinking… You said countdown…'

'My job here is done, the cavalry will be here tomorrow.'

'They want Ketonna alive I guess.'

'Dead or alive; dead, if you ask me.'

'Is there a plan?'

'Yes, we'll talk later. Make sure you have your stuff packed. My subordinates know which our bungalows are; in case we don't manage, others will collect our belongings.'

'I'm honoured.'

'About what?'

'That you thought of me…'

'Of course, Shi, we're a team.'

Peter giggled like a little boy.

'I love…' Tara's heart stopped. '….it when you call me like that.' She could breathe again.

'It suits you.'

Nobody said anything for a while. The splashing waves accompanied by the whistling wind were the only sound.

'So…' said Peter barely heard, 'tomorrow it ends.'

Tara gulped. 'Tomorrow it ends.'

This time two pairs of eyes were wet and their owners were more reluctant than ever to look at each other.

'Please, promise me you'll fight,' he said with a trembling voice.

'And you promise me you'll live.'

Peter held tight his eyes.

'Only if you…' he whispered in her ear.

Then he moved. His hands lifted and wrapped the lean body. He held her so strong like he wanted to glue her body to his.

Tara had forgotten completely her earlier mistrust. She didn't resist. Her hands held the strong arm that has hugging her chest, and held it tight. She rubbed head on his neck and nested even closer. Peter didn't know what to do with his hands. Wrapping them around her body was not enough. He was caressing her face, holding her head and pressing it against his chest, then back wrapping them around her body.

Whatever he did, it was not enough, she was not close enough. Tomorrow was still going to come and no matter how close he held her now, nothing could prevent Providence from taking her away from him the next day.

Until now Providence had claimed everything Peter Caine ever cared for. Like some supreme power up there had decided that he was not allowed even a little bit of happiness, not even the ordinary, simple happiness of being with someone, that most people blindly took for granted.

'Only if you,' he whispered again.

They remained like that for a little bit more. Time, so generously given to them before, was now the enemy. It was inexorably slipping away; every second was moving them closer to the unknown and inevitable – tomorrow.

XXX