Tinderbox-chapter 1
Title: Tinderbox
Author: Fayding_fast
Sequel: Yes, to Duped. See link below.
Chapter: 1/4
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em
Wordcount: 5145
Spoilers: Yes, for Love hurts and minor for Damned if you do.
Warning: This is a (reasonably) light-hearted chapter, but angst galore will follow. Particularly in chapters 2 and 3.
Con-crit? Yes, please.
Rating: Gen
Author's note: Dedicated to sydneylover150 who has been gifted with the patience of a saint.
Edited March 2021
Duped
September 21st 2012, 15:33 hrs
The kids all surged towards the school exit like lightening drawn to a tree.
All week, their teacher had been reading a children's classic to the class, and the children had just spent another blissfully happy hour listening to Peter Pan.
Peter had been enthralled. If only he could soar sky high! He wasn't keen on the idea of being smothered in fairy dust, but if he was gifted with a pair of wings..... Wow! Oh, he would travel far!
Settling his school bag onto his back, he caught up with his friend Brian at the classroom door and walked out with him, eyes radiant with daydreams, lessons finished for the day. "Where would you go if you had wings?" he asked, suddenly interested.
Brian didn't even have to stop to consider. "I'd whisk around the supermarket snatching loads of candy and drinks," he said, face flushed at the very idea of it. "Then I'd fly out the door before anyone could grab me."
Staring at him in horror, Peter couldn't wrap his head around the fact that his friend would do that. That he would actually want to take things without paying for them. "That would be a really naughty thing to do," he said, his head shaking slightly in disapproval. "That's just thieving. If you were ever caught, you could go to prison."
"Who's gonna catch me?" Brian enquired. "I could be over in the next town before the store knew anything was missing." He warmed to his theme. "I could travel all over the country taking things, and I'd never be stopped. All the best games, clothes.... How many times have we had to go without them? If I could fly, I could just steal them. It would be great, wouldn't it?"
"No," Peter whispered. "It wouldn't."
"It's not like it's ever gonna happen," Brian said, shrugging.
It was amazing how quickly their conversation had turned sour. Ill at ease, Peter scanned the adults milling about in the playground, searching for House.
The two boys were approaching Billy who was waiting for his father to arrive. Brian nodded briefly, and Peter smiled at him as they went by. "Hi Billy," he greeted the older boy.
Billy nodded back. As Peter passed by, he slyly stuck out his foot.
Peter hit the ground hard, on all fours. Several children laughed at him; others clapped. For a moment, he remained where he was, stunned. The pain was just beginning to register, when a hand curled around his arm, and someone hauled him to his feet.
"Careful, Peter," Billy said. "You alright?"
Brian and Billy were both looking at him in concern, but the other children surrounding him - they were all grinning at him, like hyenas. Peter nodded and struggled valiantly not to cry. He refused to look down at his hands or knees; instead, he glanced behind him, searching for what had caused him to trip. He couldn't see anything. He looked all around him, biting his lip in confusion. "I'm fine," he said after some deliberation. Then he heard House calling his name, and he turned to acknowledge him, so very, very pleased that the older man was close by.
House walked up to him and noticed immediately that something was wrong. Ignoring all the other children, he put a hand on the back of Peter's neck, bending down so that he could look directly into his young friend's face. "You fallen over, Pedro?" he asked.
The solicitude in that voice made him want to cry all over again. Don't you dare break down, now, he told himself fiercely. Don't you dare. But to his chagrin, tears were quivering on his lashes, his throat was aching, and he knew, without a doubt, that he was going to start blubbering like a baby. In front of his classmates. The shame of it; he'd never live it down.
House dropped his cane onto the ground and gathering the boy up, he cradled him, shivering and distressed, against his shoulder. "Nothing to see here?" House murmured.
House understood. He really understood. "There will be soon," the child whispered into his ear. He stared at House, expressive face despairing. "Any moment, now."
House nodded. He looked down casually, taking in Peter's audience. They were all waiting eagerly for the floodgates to open, the little cherubs. He lightly flicked the end of Peter's nose.
The youngster recoiled and chuckled.
House pulled a hideous face that would have looked perfectly at home on a gargoyle.
Peter giggled again.
The onlookers were totally bored.
Suddenly, without warning, Peter was hoisted high above House's head. His inclination to cry negated, every single muscle in his body clenched. That had been a taste of what flying would be like, he realized - the heart-stopping, toe curling, incredible feeling of weightlessness that had him shrieking half in terror, half exhilaration and sent his stomach plummeting all the way down to his knees.
How was his friend managing to lift him? Peter wondered. How was House, with such a badly damaged leg, able to balance, supporting all of his extra weight?
For a long, trembling moment, he stayed suspended there - House's extended arms holding him aloft and steady. Gray eyes marveling, he gazed down into House's beautiful, upturned face.
"Let's see what we can do about that," House said.
*
September 21st 2012, 16:15 hrs
Carrying a stool, House led his friend into his bathroom to clean him up. He ruffled the child's hair. "Change out of your school clothes," he said, "and at the same time, I'll take a look at those knees."
Peter stepped out of his ruined pants, and House lifted him up and sat him on the stool. The child watched passively as House first rinsed his knees, thoroughly cleaned them using sterile gauze, dried them, and then applied graze dressings.
House lightly laid his hand over the dressings for a minute, to warm them up. "Knees are done," he said. He set the child back down on the floor. "That was quite a nasty tumble you took there. Were you running?" He turned to the medicine cabinet to get some more gauze and looked at Peter's reflection in the mirror.
"No," Peter said softly, securing his pants. "I was just walking with my friend. We were talking about what we would do if we could fly." Standing there in House's bathroom, the thought of flying didn't seem quite as thrilling as it had done. Not with his pants torn, his hands and knees stinging, and the likelihood of a good rollicking when he got home. Unaware that House was watching him, he quickly pressed his knuckles against his eyes.
House's heart contracted at the sight. He gave the child a couple of moments to compose himself. "Flying, huh? I bet you came up with some really neat ideas." He turned on the tap so that the water was running out at a steady trickle and beckoned for the child to come closer to the sink. "Let's rinse your hands to wash off most of the dirt and gravel, and then I'll take a closer look at them, 'kay?"
Peter held his hands out cooperatively. After rinsing them off, House checked them to make sure nothing was embedded in the palms. The boy's hands, unprotected, were grazed very badly, indeed.
House worked with brisk efficiency. "Well, I think your hands will stay on," the doctor assured his young patient.
"They will?" Peter looked very relieved. "That's good to hear, House. I think I'm gonna need them when I go away on vacation."
"Vacation?" Mr. Talbot hadn't mentioned anything to House about that. "Is your daddy taking you out of school?"
"My daddy doesn't know about it," Peter said. "I've decided to go to Neverland."
Not a real vacation then. House relaxed, concentrating on his task. "Neverland? Most kids want to go to Florida or California. Trust you to be different. You off to see Tinkerbell?"
"Peter Pan. His shadow's got a crease in it. I'm going to lend him my daddy's iron."
Always the doctor, House reflected. "Your daddy will be pleased," he said.
Peter nodded seriously. "Yeah, I figured," he said.
"You know where the place is?" House looked up and met the stunningly enormous eyes.
The child thought hard. "Second to the right and straight on till morning. I'm not sure what that means, but anyway, House, it has lots of golden arrows pointing at it; you can't miss it."
"Who needs a map?" House said, smiling at him.
"Not me." He flinched as House cleaned a particularly tender bit.
"Sorry," House said, almost wincing himself. "Nearly finished." He threw a bloodied square of gauze into the bin. "So," he said, "that sounds like an incredibly cool adventure. When are you setting off?"
"Sometime next week, when my hands aren't so sore."
"Okay." House mulled things over for a minute, working silently. He didn't think the boy would try to run off by himself, but with Peter, it was hard to tell. He was hardly a conventional, common old garden child. "You're very brave," he said casually, "going to an island where you might have to tackle redskins, pirates and beasts. I take it, you're gonna take lots of weapons with you?"
Peter stared at him and swallowed. He might have been wool-gathering during crucial parts of the book. "I'll be taking my toothbrush," he said uncertainly. "Will that do?"
"They're probably all trembling as we speak."
Pirates, huh? And what was that - beasts? "Y'know, House, I might get lonely traveling there on my own," the child declared tentatively. "Perhaps you'd like to come with me, to keep me company?"
House shook his head. "I'd like to," he said, "but a long trip like that.... it would take a lot of planning."
"I see," the boy said. That hadn't been a definitive no. Peter still had room to maneuver. "How much planning, would your say?" he asked.
"About twelve years' worth."
"That's not too bad."
House smiled at him. "Tell you what. You still want to go when you're older, I promise I'll take you on your eighteenth birthday. How about that?"
"That would be great, House." Peter's face lit up with delight. "I think you'll really enjoy it."
"I'm sure I will." It was charming, House thought, the way that Peter, with access to all of Wilson's memories, could still be sucked in by fairy tales. It was endearing. "You know, I've never met Peter Pan myself, but I've run across Santa. You remember when he walked into our clinic?" House was hoping to elicit a reminiscent smile from his young friend, but Peter stared at him, agog.
"Santa was at our hospital? Why?" he asked. "Was he bringing us presents?"
House looked at him, a bit surprised. Wilson had discovered that he had prescribed cigarettes for that patient, but evidently, he must have missed seeing the man in costume. "No," he said slowly. He chose to embroider the tale a little. "He came in with a broken toe." He threw another square of gauze into the bin. "A reindeer stepped on it."
The child covered his mouth in fascinated horror. "Oh, my God. I bet Santa was really annoyed. Which reindeer was it - Rudolph?"
"Dancer," House said, with barely a pause. He grinned at the child. "He's got two left feet."
"Gee, I bet he got himself into a lot of trouble."
House nodded, disappointed. Wasted. His jokes were all wasted.
Peter sat quietly, his own injuries forgotten, as House gently dried off his hands. "Why did Santa travel all the way to our hospital? Don't they have hospitals up in the North Pole?"
Beginning to regret that he'd ever mentioned it, House carefully considered his response. "No, they don't," he answered. "There's not much there at all because the North Pole is bitterly cold. There are no houses there. Just a large workshop for his elves to use all the year round. A few animals manage to survive in the Arctic..... bears, foxes, hares. Many of the animals have white fur - the smaller ones so that the predators can't see them easily against the snow, and the larger ones so that their prey can't see them coming. Ain't nature grand?"
"It sure is," Peter agreed.
House deftly applied two more dressings and warmed them, like the others, with his hands. "But I digress. The long and short of it is, with no hospitals there, Santa was forced to come down here." He stepped back to admire his handiwork. "There," he said, "all done."
Peter watched House tidy up, still ruminating on the story. "Did his toe heal up, House? A lot of kids will be disappointed if he doesn't turn up at Christmas, any more."
"Yeah, it did," House assured him. "When he left, he was as good as new."
"That's amazing." Peter's normally pensive little face had come alive with animation. "When I grow up, I think that I'd like to be one of Santa's elves. It would be fun making hundreds and hundreds of toys."
"Won't you mind having pointy ears?" House asked.
"I'll cover them with a hat," Peter said.
"I'll start knitting you one, now."
Peter looked up at him and smiled shyly. "That's very kind of you, House. Thank you very much. To be on the safe side, you'd best make it a white one." The child shook his head. "Wow, Santa. I can hardly believe it."
"It is hard to swallow," House said. "I can hardly believe it myself." He checked his watch with a flourish. "We ought to get cracking if we want to get you some more pants."
About to leave the bathroom, Peter stopped, surprised again. "You're gonna buy me some new ones?" He was thrilled to bits. His daddy didn't have to know that he had ripped the ones he had worn. Gingerly, he hugged House, careful that he didn't put too much pressure on his injured hands. "I do love you, House," he whispered.
House had wandered a long way from the person he had been three months ago. He gazed down at the child's silky head and closed his eyes, belly up and vulnerable. "It's a shame you're such a doofus, but yeah, me too," he whispered back.
*
September 28th 2012, 19:05 hrs
"House," Peter said politely, "please may I have some of your carrots?"
"See if you can manage your own, first, before you start stealing everyone else's," House suggested.
"I'm not stealing everybody's, just yours," Peter corrected him.
Lee snorted. Who was House kidding? He waited, and sure enough, just a few seconds later, House was tipping half of his vegetables onto the child's plate.
"Thank you," Peter said. "I'm very grateful."
"I should hope so." House looked at Lee. "Don't say anything," he warned.
Lee smiled, content. He'd invited House and Peter over to dinner. The good doctor had been looking forward to it, all week.
Intrigued by the color, Peter was eyeing up the Merlot in House's glass. "Please may I have some of your drink, as well?"
House tried a mouthful of lamb and chewed noisily. "You want the shirt off my back, whilst you're at it?"
Peter scrutinized the shirt apprehensively. "I'd rather not if you don't mind, House," he said, almost shuddering with revulsion. "It's well past its best."
Past its best? Eyes narrowing in outrage, House looked down at the maligned garment.
Lee smirked. "Just let him have a sip of wine. You know you're gonna give in to him anyway, so why postpone the inevitable?"
"Who's in charge here?" House asked.
Lee's eyes widened. "You think it's you?"
House pushed his wine glass over to Peter. "You hear that? One sip, that's all you're allowed."
"Thank you, House," Peter said, beaming at him. The two men started chatting about a salmonella poisoning outbreak possibly caused by peanut butter, and Peter tuned them out. He tentatively tried a mouthful of the ruby red wine, and the flavor blazed across his tongue. Holy Moly, it was incredible. It was like..... He took another sip. Cherries - that was it. Wicked. And to think he'd wasted six years of his life drinking orange juice. If only he'd known what he was missing.
"So, Peter," Lee said later, when there was a lull in conversation. "You enjoying your meal?"
"It's not too bad, Doctor Lee," Peter replied thoughtfully, "but you've cooked the rosemary for far too long. You should only add it during the last few minutes of cooking or, otherwise, you might as well forget it. Also, you've used too much pepper."
The two adults looked at the boy in surprise. "Peter....." House said reprovingly.
"I know quite a lot about cooking," Peter said to Lee. "Anything you want to know, just ask. As long as it's not about beef; I hate beef. House is very good at cooking, too," he added loyally. "He makes wonderful toast. Don't you, House?" He tugged at the collar of his T-shirt. "Phew," he said. He waved his hands through the air. "Is it hot, or is it me?" Picking up his wine glass, he prepared to take another drink.
"It's you," House said unsparingly. "How much wine have you drunk?" He plucked his glass out of the young child's hands before Peter could even begin to formulate a protest and stared at the last few remaining drops. His sardonic gaze lifted to the boy's face. "Enjoy this, did you?"
"It was yummy, thank you, House," Peter said. He kissed the tips of his fingers, Italian style. "It tasted like cherries." He nodded reassuringly. "You ought to try it."
"I would if there was any left!" House looked over at his fellow doctor. "He's merry; his father's gonna murder you," he warned him.
"Me?" Lee pointed at House's glass with his fork. "You're the one that plied him with drink."
"Plied? I told him he could have a sip, not a sinkful." House pushed Peter's orange juice nearer to the child's plate. "You're gonna send me to an early grave," he complained. "Here, I want you to drink this up - every single mouthful."
When Peter pouted, Lee chuckled to himself. Then he sobered. A tinge of pink stained the tops of his ears. "Actually, I did want to ask for some advice, but not about cooking. My neighbor's asked me if I'd like to go out for dinner on Friday, and I said yes." Lee blushed even more. "I guess I just wanted your take on it."
House blinked. "You've dated before, right?"
"Of course I have," Lee answered, rather waspishly. He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin - stalling. "But.... I don't know why.... after a while, something always seems to go wrong."
"You've come to the right place," House assured him swiftly. He didn't believe that he could possibly be of much help, but excellent company, good food, and now, by the looks of it, the tantalizing promise of gossip. What could be better?
Peter's eyes had gone suspiciously blank. Where was the memory? Where, where...... ah! There it was, in glorious, technicolor detail. How neat it was, to have lived before. No matter what the situation, he could offer his friends some counsel. His eyes re-focused. "You certainly have," the boy piped up clearly. "What did you want to know?"
Lee choked. Hiding his grin behind his hand, he looked at the child with fondness. "Well, I'd be very interested in any tips you could give me," he said, when he could speak. "Guess you've had plenty of practice at impressing the ladies, huh?" He glanced at House to wink at him, but his friend didn't wink back. House was watching his young friend carefully, with an expression of mild alarm. Lee, too, looked at Peter. He frowned slightly.
The mild teasing flew right over the boy's head. "I sure have," Peter said, concurring. "I've been ma.... rmmph." The words came to a muffled halt when a calloused hand descended across his mouth. His eyes locked onto House's. Those bright blue eyes were firing warnings at him. What? he wondered, his forehead creasing with puzzlement. What on Earth is the matter with you?
House chuckled - the sound brittle and manufactured. The boy was sloshed, and if he wasn't badly mistaken, had been about to divulge that he'd been married three times. A six year old. Perfect. He glanced at Lee. The other doctor was gazing back at him with open fascination. Damn.
Peter squirmed, understandably becoming impatient.
House swallowed, his hand still covering the boy's mouth. Mercifully, inspiration suddenly struck. "Madly in love with Steph the Steg," he said smoothly. "That's what you were gonna say, wasn't it, Peter?"
Unable to speak, eyes flashing with irritation, Peter tried to shake his head.
"Wasn't it?" House said again, a trifle more sternly. His own eyes threatened dire consequences if the child didn't play along. Had the boy's I.Q. taken a nosedive? Was he going to be compelled to spell everything out?
After a contemplative pause, Peter nodded.
House cautiously removed his hand from Peter's face, ready to clamp it back again at a moment's notice.
Once his mouth was freed, Peter sucked in an overdue breath and stared dreamily towards the ceiling. "Steph is a catch," he admitted wistfully.
Face creasing with amusement, Lee looked back down at his plate.
Disaster averted, House's shoulders relaxed. Thank you, God, he thought with fervor.
"But House, this isn't the time for games," Peter chided his friend gently, and House twitched and tensed up again. "Doctor Lee has asked for our help. Could you please try to be a little more serious?"
House laughed incredulously. "I am being serious; deadly serious." He gave Peter his most intimidating look. "I couldn't be more serious if I ....."
Peter rolled his eyes and then ignored him. "Doctor Lee," he said, swiveling around to stare intently at the utterly enchanted man. "On your date, you need to open the doors for your neighbor, and you also have to pull her chair out for her, so that she can sit down." Peter thought about his own sage advice for a second. "The trouble is, you might end up in a diner where they've nailed all the chairs down to the floor." Eloquent hands fanned out, narrow shoulders rising in consternation. "What's a guy to do?"
What House actually wanted to do was tuck the talkative youngster under one arm, haul him out of the room and then wedge him into the nearest closet. Preferably, a deep and soundproof one - with a padlock.
"I suppose that could be a problem," Lee said. This eagerly awaited dinner party was surpassing his wildest expectations. "I'll have to fret about that if it happens."
"Don't fret about it, call me," Peter said. "I'll have a rethink. Anyway, after that," the little boy carried on, exquisite face grave with concentration, "you should com..... comler... comper... oh, whatever," he said, waving a dainty hand dismissively. "Tell her that her shoes are nice, her dress, her earrings, her hair if she's got any..... in fact.... well, everything. Tell her that you like it all." He leaned towards Lee confidentially. "Even if you really think they're all as ugly as sin."
"Oh, good Lord," House interjected. He snatched up his wine glass and downed the rest of its contents in one gulp. He reached for a refill.
"Ugly as sin," Lee repeated, practically on the edge of his seat. Who needed to hire a guest dinner speaker, when they had Peter? The boy was an orator, agony aunt and natural comedian, all rolled into one. "Got it." He looked at House. "Isn't he cute?"
"Oh, he's completely adorable." Screw the closet, House decided. It was time to utilize diversionary tactics. "Peter," he began, "have you ever......?"
"Next," Peter continued, interrupting him, "you should talk about her dreams, hopes and as......"
Lee became still. "Ass?" he questioned faintly. That had come out of left field. Where had the child learnt all this? He was beginning to wonder if he'd stepped through a looking glass.
"Aspirations," House chimed in moodily. "Oh, boy." He swigged down the wine in his newly filled glass. He knew what was coming next, and he heartily wished that he didn't. Wasn't it a shame that the child's legs weren't a bit longer? He really would have enjoyed kicking him hard, under the table.
"That's the word, House, you remembered." Peter smiled at House warmly, jumping slightly when he received a murderous glare in return. What is your problem? He turned his angelic, brilliant smile upon Lee. "Trust me...."
And there was something about the boy's tone when he said those words, that really snagged House's attention. Suddenly, he was catapulted back in time - back to his apartment on a night when he'd been bitching about going on a date.
Anyone would have thought he'd had a date booked with a harridan, rather than a dinner planned with one of the prettiest doctors in his hospital, but moan..... he just didn't stop. That evening, patiently listening to the ever constant kvetching, Wilson had lounged lazily on his couch, giving every appearance of being totally at ease.
The boy had mimicked Wilson perfectly, capturing the carefree self confidence.... the affectionate ribbing. If his friend hadn't been there to encourage him, House would probably have backed out of the entire thing.
".... panty peeler," Peter said, and yes, there again, the inflections had been exactly the same.
House had been getting ready to go out with Cameron. If Wilson had been in love with him, how difficult had it been for his friend to present such a nonchalant front? His friend had either put on a performance of a lifetime, or he'd been genuinely pleased for House, excited that House was going out and hopeful that he'd have a good time.
Which one was it? Tragically, House thought, knowing Wilson, it had probably been a mixture of both. He stared at Peter, and the boy stared back. His hand, seemingly of its own accord, settled gently on the child's head. He was distantly aware that there was a weighted silence in the room, and he thought it might be prudent if he addressed it. "His father lets him watch a lot of television," he said absently.
"What does he watch, a porn channel?" Lee asked, but he wasn't truly expecting an answer. His companions had transported to their own private world, and he'd been left behind, forsaken in his own home. Alienated at his own table.
Peter lost himself in House's eyes. "Did I do good, House?" he asked softly.
Still holding the gaze, House eventually smiled. "Oh, you did brilliantly," he replied, and the child glowed with pride. "Both times." Lee's fork clattered against his plate, and the sound drew House back into the room. He removed his hand from the boy's head. "So good, in fact, that there's no need to mention the next bit, okay?"
"Okay." Peter shrugged. "I'm not sure what a condom is, anyway."
That late already? Wasn't it time to leave? Pretending that he hadn't heard, House glanced at Peter's dinner and waved his finger at the child, menacingly. "Now, God help you, if you don't eat every one of my carrots."
Lee watched Peter laugh and then House laugh, and then the two of them looked across the table at him and grinned. They were plainly out of their tiny minds, but they were compelling in their madness, and Lee cherished them both dearly. In no time at all, he found himself gormlessly grinning back.
It was good to be back in their circle, once again.
*
October 1st 2012, 12:08 hrs
Sitting next to Brian in the main hall, Peter pulled his lunchbox out of his bag and quickly removed the lid. He was absolutely starving.
"Oh, Peter," Billy said, walking up to stand in front of him. "Just the person I was looking for."
"Billy," Peter said, looking up at him.
"I'd like you to give me your lunch."
Sure he'd misheard, Peter stared at him, amazed. "Why would I do that? Haven't you got your own?"
"I've eaten it, but it wasn't enough. I didn't think you'd mind giving me yours."
"If you're hungry, why don't you ask your mommy to give you more food?" Peter asked, perplexed.
"They can't afford to give me more; they haven't got much money. But Peter, the bigger you are, the more food you need, right?"
"I guess," Peter said.
"There you are. I'm bigger than you, so you should hand the food over. Friends are supposed to share everything, aren't they?"
Peter hesitated. This all seemed very strange, but yes, friends were meant to share things, Billy was right. Hadn't he shared most of his lunches with House, when he had prepared them as Wilson? Of course he had, and although he had grumbled about it on occasion, secretly he had enjoyed providing sustenance for the older man. He'd gotten a lot of pleasure out of it. Billy was his friend too, wasn't he?
Wasn't he?
Peter glanced at Brian, but the other boy refused to meet his eyes. He looked back at Billy and held his gaze for an extremely long time. He weighed up his hunger against his fundamental need to be liked.
Finally, he handed over his lunch.
part 2
Author: Fayding_fast
Sequel: Yes, to Duped. See link below.
Chapter: 1/4
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em
Wordcount: 5145
Spoilers: Yes, for Love hurts and minor for Damned if you do.
Warning: This is a (reasonably) light-hearted chapter, but angst galore will follow. Particularly in chapters 2 and 3.
Con-crit? Yes, please.
Rating: Gen
Author's note: Dedicated to sydneylover150 who has been gifted with the patience of a saint.
Edited March 2021
Duped
September 21st 2012, 15:33 hrs
The kids all surged towards the school exit like lightening drawn to a tree.
All week, their teacher had been reading a children's classic to the class, and the children had just spent another blissfully happy hour listening to Peter Pan.
Peter had been enthralled. If only he could soar sky high! He wasn't keen on the idea of being smothered in fairy dust, but if he was gifted with a pair of wings..... Wow! Oh, he would travel far!
Settling his school bag onto his back, he caught up with his friend Brian at the classroom door and walked out with him, eyes radiant with daydreams, lessons finished for the day. "Where would you go if you had wings?" he asked, suddenly interested.
Brian didn't even have to stop to consider. "I'd whisk around the supermarket snatching loads of candy and drinks," he said, face flushed at the very idea of it. "Then I'd fly out the door before anyone could grab me."
Staring at him in horror, Peter couldn't wrap his head around the fact that his friend would do that. That he would actually want to take things without paying for them. "That would be a really naughty thing to do," he said, his head shaking slightly in disapproval. "That's just thieving. If you were ever caught, you could go to prison."
"Who's gonna catch me?" Brian enquired. "I could be over in the next town before the store knew anything was missing." He warmed to his theme. "I could travel all over the country taking things, and I'd never be stopped. All the best games, clothes.... How many times have we had to go without them? If I could fly, I could just steal them. It would be great, wouldn't it?"
"No," Peter whispered. "It wouldn't."
"It's not like it's ever gonna happen," Brian said, shrugging.
It was amazing how quickly their conversation had turned sour. Ill at ease, Peter scanned the adults milling about in the playground, searching for House.
The two boys were approaching Billy who was waiting for his father to arrive. Brian nodded briefly, and Peter smiled at him as they went by. "Hi Billy," he greeted the older boy.
Billy nodded back. As Peter passed by, he slyly stuck out his foot.
Peter hit the ground hard, on all fours. Several children laughed at him; others clapped. For a moment, he remained where he was, stunned. The pain was just beginning to register, when a hand curled around his arm, and someone hauled him to his feet.
"Careful, Peter," Billy said. "You alright?"
Brian and Billy were both looking at him in concern, but the other children surrounding him - they were all grinning at him, like hyenas. Peter nodded and struggled valiantly not to cry. He refused to look down at his hands or knees; instead, he glanced behind him, searching for what had caused him to trip. He couldn't see anything. He looked all around him, biting his lip in confusion. "I'm fine," he said after some deliberation. Then he heard House calling his name, and he turned to acknowledge him, so very, very pleased that the older man was close by.
House walked up to him and noticed immediately that something was wrong. Ignoring all the other children, he put a hand on the back of Peter's neck, bending down so that he could look directly into his young friend's face. "You fallen over, Pedro?" he asked.
The solicitude in that voice made him want to cry all over again. Don't you dare break down, now, he told himself fiercely. Don't you dare. But to his chagrin, tears were quivering on his lashes, his throat was aching, and he knew, without a doubt, that he was going to start blubbering like a baby. In front of his classmates. The shame of it; he'd never live it down.
House dropped his cane onto the ground and gathering the boy up, he cradled him, shivering and distressed, against his shoulder. "Nothing to see here?" House murmured.
House understood. He really understood. "There will be soon," the child whispered into his ear. He stared at House, expressive face despairing. "Any moment, now."
House nodded. He looked down casually, taking in Peter's audience. They were all waiting eagerly for the floodgates to open, the little cherubs. He lightly flicked the end of Peter's nose.
The youngster recoiled and chuckled.
House pulled a hideous face that would have looked perfectly at home on a gargoyle.
Peter giggled again.
The onlookers were totally bored.
Suddenly, without warning, Peter was hoisted high above House's head. His inclination to cry negated, every single muscle in his body clenched. That had been a taste of what flying would be like, he realized - the heart-stopping, toe curling, incredible feeling of weightlessness that had him shrieking half in terror, half exhilaration and sent his stomach plummeting all the way down to his knees.
How was his friend managing to lift him? Peter wondered. How was House, with such a badly damaged leg, able to balance, supporting all of his extra weight?
For a long, trembling moment, he stayed suspended there - House's extended arms holding him aloft and steady. Gray eyes marveling, he gazed down into House's beautiful, upturned face.
"Let's see what we can do about that," House said.
*
September 21st 2012, 16:15 hrs
Carrying a stool, House led his friend into his bathroom to clean him up. He ruffled the child's hair. "Change out of your school clothes," he said, "and at the same time, I'll take a look at those knees."
Peter stepped out of his ruined pants, and House lifted him up and sat him on the stool. The child watched passively as House first rinsed his knees, thoroughly cleaned them using sterile gauze, dried them, and then applied graze dressings.
House lightly laid his hand over the dressings for a minute, to warm them up. "Knees are done," he said. He set the child back down on the floor. "That was quite a nasty tumble you took there. Were you running?" He turned to the medicine cabinet to get some more gauze and looked at Peter's reflection in the mirror.
"No," Peter said softly, securing his pants. "I was just walking with my friend. We were talking about what we would do if we could fly." Standing there in House's bathroom, the thought of flying didn't seem quite as thrilling as it had done. Not with his pants torn, his hands and knees stinging, and the likelihood of a good rollicking when he got home. Unaware that House was watching him, he quickly pressed his knuckles against his eyes.
House's heart contracted at the sight. He gave the child a couple of moments to compose himself. "Flying, huh? I bet you came up with some really neat ideas." He turned on the tap so that the water was running out at a steady trickle and beckoned for the child to come closer to the sink. "Let's rinse your hands to wash off most of the dirt and gravel, and then I'll take a closer look at them, 'kay?"
Peter held his hands out cooperatively. After rinsing them off, House checked them to make sure nothing was embedded in the palms. The boy's hands, unprotected, were grazed very badly, indeed.
House worked with brisk efficiency. "Well, I think your hands will stay on," the doctor assured his young patient.
"They will?" Peter looked very relieved. "That's good to hear, House. I think I'm gonna need them when I go away on vacation."
"Vacation?" Mr. Talbot hadn't mentioned anything to House about that. "Is your daddy taking you out of school?"
"My daddy doesn't know about it," Peter said. "I've decided to go to Neverland."
Not a real vacation then. House relaxed, concentrating on his task. "Neverland? Most kids want to go to Florida or California. Trust you to be different. You off to see Tinkerbell?"
"Peter Pan. His shadow's got a crease in it. I'm going to lend him my daddy's iron."
Always the doctor, House reflected. "Your daddy will be pleased," he said.
Peter nodded seriously. "Yeah, I figured," he said.
"You know where the place is?" House looked up and met the stunningly enormous eyes.
The child thought hard. "Second to the right and straight on till morning. I'm not sure what that means, but anyway, House, it has lots of golden arrows pointing at it; you can't miss it."
"Who needs a map?" House said, smiling at him.
"Not me." He flinched as House cleaned a particularly tender bit.
"Sorry," House said, almost wincing himself. "Nearly finished." He threw a bloodied square of gauze into the bin. "So," he said, "that sounds like an incredibly cool adventure. When are you setting off?"
"Sometime next week, when my hands aren't so sore."
"Okay." House mulled things over for a minute, working silently. He didn't think the boy would try to run off by himself, but with Peter, it was hard to tell. He was hardly a conventional, common old garden child. "You're very brave," he said casually, "going to an island where you might have to tackle redskins, pirates and beasts. I take it, you're gonna take lots of weapons with you?"
Peter stared at him and swallowed. He might have been wool-gathering during crucial parts of the book. "I'll be taking my toothbrush," he said uncertainly. "Will that do?"
"They're probably all trembling as we speak."
Pirates, huh? And what was that - beasts? "Y'know, House, I might get lonely traveling there on my own," the child declared tentatively. "Perhaps you'd like to come with me, to keep me company?"
House shook his head. "I'd like to," he said, "but a long trip like that.... it would take a lot of planning."
"I see," the boy said. That hadn't been a definitive no. Peter still had room to maneuver. "How much planning, would your say?" he asked.
"About twelve years' worth."
"That's not too bad."
House smiled at him. "Tell you what. You still want to go when you're older, I promise I'll take you on your eighteenth birthday. How about that?"
"That would be great, House." Peter's face lit up with delight. "I think you'll really enjoy it."
"I'm sure I will." It was charming, House thought, the way that Peter, with access to all of Wilson's memories, could still be sucked in by fairy tales. It was endearing. "You know, I've never met Peter Pan myself, but I've run across Santa. You remember when he walked into our clinic?" House was hoping to elicit a reminiscent smile from his young friend, but Peter stared at him, agog.
"Santa was at our hospital? Why?" he asked. "Was he bringing us presents?"
House looked at him, a bit surprised. Wilson had discovered that he had prescribed cigarettes for that patient, but evidently, he must have missed seeing the man in costume. "No," he said slowly. He chose to embroider the tale a little. "He came in with a broken toe." He threw another square of gauze into the bin. "A reindeer stepped on it."
The child covered his mouth in fascinated horror. "Oh, my God. I bet Santa was really annoyed. Which reindeer was it - Rudolph?"
"Dancer," House said, with barely a pause. He grinned at the child. "He's got two left feet."
"Gee, I bet he got himself into a lot of trouble."
House nodded, disappointed. Wasted. His jokes were all wasted.
Peter sat quietly, his own injuries forgotten, as House gently dried off his hands. "Why did Santa travel all the way to our hospital? Don't they have hospitals up in the North Pole?"
Beginning to regret that he'd ever mentioned it, House carefully considered his response. "No, they don't," he answered. "There's not much there at all because the North Pole is bitterly cold. There are no houses there. Just a large workshop for his elves to use all the year round. A few animals manage to survive in the Arctic..... bears, foxes, hares. Many of the animals have white fur - the smaller ones so that the predators can't see them easily against the snow, and the larger ones so that their prey can't see them coming. Ain't nature grand?"
"It sure is," Peter agreed.
House deftly applied two more dressings and warmed them, like the others, with his hands. "But I digress. The long and short of it is, with no hospitals there, Santa was forced to come down here." He stepped back to admire his handiwork. "There," he said, "all done."
Peter watched House tidy up, still ruminating on the story. "Did his toe heal up, House? A lot of kids will be disappointed if he doesn't turn up at Christmas, any more."
"Yeah, it did," House assured him. "When he left, he was as good as new."
"That's amazing." Peter's normally pensive little face had come alive with animation. "When I grow up, I think that I'd like to be one of Santa's elves. It would be fun making hundreds and hundreds of toys."
"Won't you mind having pointy ears?" House asked.
"I'll cover them with a hat," Peter said.
"I'll start knitting you one, now."
Peter looked up at him and smiled shyly. "That's very kind of you, House. Thank you very much. To be on the safe side, you'd best make it a white one." The child shook his head. "Wow, Santa. I can hardly believe it."
"It is hard to swallow," House said. "I can hardly believe it myself." He checked his watch with a flourish. "We ought to get cracking if we want to get you some more pants."
About to leave the bathroom, Peter stopped, surprised again. "You're gonna buy me some new ones?" He was thrilled to bits. His daddy didn't have to know that he had ripped the ones he had worn. Gingerly, he hugged House, careful that he didn't put too much pressure on his injured hands. "I do love you, House," he whispered.
House had wandered a long way from the person he had been three months ago. He gazed down at the child's silky head and closed his eyes, belly up and vulnerable. "It's a shame you're such a doofus, but yeah, me too," he whispered back.
*
September 28th 2012, 19:05 hrs
"House," Peter said politely, "please may I have some of your carrots?"
"See if you can manage your own, first, before you start stealing everyone else's," House suggested.
"I'm not stealing everybody's, just yours," Peter corrected him.
Lee snorted. Who was House kidding? He waited, and sure enough, just a few seconds later, House was tipping half of his vegetables onto the child's plate.
"Thank you," Peter said. "I'm very grateful."
"I should hope so." House looked at Lee. "Don't say anything," he warned.
Lee smiled, content. He'd invited House and Peter over to dinner. The good doctor had been looking forward to it, all week.
Intrigued by the color, Peter was eyeing up the Merlot in House's glass. "Please may I have some of your drink, as well?"
House tried a mouthful of lamb and chewed noisily. "You want the shirt off my back, whilst you're at it?"
Peter scrutinized the shirt apprehensively. "I'd rather not if you don't mind, House," he said, almost shuddering with revulsion. "It's well past its best."
Past its best? Eyes narrowing in outrage, House looked down at the maligned garment.
Lee smirked. "Just let him have a sip of wine. You know you're gonna give in to him anyway, so why postpone the inevitable?"
"Who's in charge here?" House asked.
Lee's eyes widened. "You think it's you?"
House pushed his wine glass over to Peter. "You hear that? One sip, that's all you're allowed."
"Thank you, House," Peter said, beaming at him. The two men started chatting about a salmonella poisoning outbreak possibly caused by peanut butter, and Peter tuned them out. He tentatively tried a mouthful of the ruby red wine, and the flavor blazed across his tongue. Holy Moly, it was incredible. It was like..... He took another sip. Cherries - that was it. Wicked. And to think he'd wasted six years of his life drinking orange juice. If only he'd known what he was missing.
"So, Peter," Lee said later, when there was a lull in conversation. "You enjoying your meal?"
"It's not too bad, Doctor Lee," Peter replied thoughtfully, "but you've cooked the rosemary for far too long. You should only add it during the last few minutes of cooking or, otherwise, you might as well forget it. Also, you've used too much pepper."
The two adults looked at the boy in surprise. "Peter....." House said reprovingly.
"I know quite a lot about cooking," Peter said to Lee. "Anything you want to know, just ask. As long as it's not about beef; I hate beef. House is very good at cooking, too," he added loyally. "He makes wonderful toast. Don't you, House?" He tugged at the collar of his T-shirt. "Phew," he said. He waved his hands through the air. "Is it hot, or is it me?" Picking up his wine glass, he prepared to take another drink.
"It's you," House said unsparingly. "How much wine have you drunk?" He plucked his glass out of the young child's hands before Peter could even begin to formulate a protest and stared at the last few remaining drops. His sardonic gaze lifted to the boy's face. "Enjoy this, did you?"
"It was yummy, thank you, House," Peter said. He kissed the tips of his fingers, Italian style. "It tasted like cherries." He nodded reassuringly. "You ought to try it."
"I would if there was any left!" House looked over at his fellow doctor. "He's merry; his father's gonna murder you," he warned him.
"Me?" Lee pointed at House's glass with his fork. "You're the one that plied him with drink."
"Plied? I told him he could have a sip, not a sinkful." House pushed Peter's orange juice nearer to the child's plate. "You're gonna send me to an early grave," he complained. "Here, I want you to drink this up - every single mouthful."
When Peter pouted, Lee chuckled to himself. Then he sobered. A tinge of pink stained the tops of his ears. "Actually, I did want to ask for some advice, but not about cooking. My neighbor's asked me if I'd like to go out for dinner on Friday, and I said yes." Lee blushed even more. "I guess I just wanted your take on it."
House blinked. "You've dated before, right?"
"Of course I have," Lee answered, rather waspishly. He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin - stalling. "But.... I don't know why.... after a while, something always seems to go wrong."
"You've come to the right place," House assured him swiftly. He didn't believe that he could possibly be of much help, but excellent company, good food, and now, by the looks of it, the tantalizing promise of gossip. What could be better?
Peter's eyes had gone suspiciously blank. Where was the memory? Where, where...... ah! There it was, in glorious, technicolor detail. How neat it was, to have lived before. No matter what the situation, he could offer his friends some counsel. His eyes re-focused. "You certainly have," the boy piped up clearly. "What did you want to know?"
Lee choked. Hiding his grin behind his hand, he looked at the child with fondness. "Well, I'd be very interested in any tips you could give me," he said, when he could speak. "Guess you've had plenty of practice at impressing the ladies, huh?" He glanced at House to wink at him, but his friend didn't wink back. House was watching his young friend carefully, with an expression of mild alarm. Lee, too, looked at Peter. He frowned slightly.
The mild teasing flew right over the boy's head. "I sure have," Peter said, concurring. "I've been ma.... rmmph." The words came to a muffled halt when a calloused hand descended across his mouth. His eyes locked onto House's. Those bright blue eyes were firing warnings at him. What? he wondered, his forehead creasing with puzzlement. What on Earth is the matter with you?
House chuckled - the sound brittle and manufactured. The boy was sloshed, and if he wasn't badly mistaken, had been about to divulge that he'd been married three times. A six year old. Perfect. He glanced at Lee. The other doctor was gazing back at him with open fascination. Damn.
Peter squirmed, understandably becoming impatient.
House swallowed, his hand still covering the boy's mouth. Mercifully, inspiration suddenly struck. "Madly in love with Steph the Steg," he said smoothly. "That's what you were gonna say, wasn't it, Peter?"
Unable to speak, eyes flashing with irritation, Peter tried to shake his head.
"Wasn't it?" House said again, a trifle more sternly. His own eyes threatened dire consequences if the child didn't play along. Had the boy's I.Q. taken a nosedive? Was he going to be compelled to spell everything out?
After a contemplative pause, Peter nodded.
House cautiously removed his hand from Peter's face, ready to clamp it back again at a moment's notice.
Once his mouth was freed, Peter sucked in an overdue breath and stared dreamily towards the ceiling. "Steph is a catch," he admitted wistfully.
Face creasing with amusement, Lee looked back down at his plate.
Disaster averted, House's shoulders relaxed. Thank you, God, he thought with fervor.
"But House, this isn't the time for games," Peter chided his friend gently, and House twitched and tensed up again. "Doctor Lee has asked for our help. Could you please try to be a little more serious?"
House laughed incredulously. "I am being serious; deadly serious." He gave Peter his most intimidating look. "I couldn't be more serious if I ....."
Peter rolled his eyes and then ignored him. "Doctor Lee," he said, swiveling around to stare intently at the utterly enchanted man. "On your date, you need to open the doors for your neighbor, and you also have to pull her chair out for her, so that she can sit down." Peter thought about his own sage advice for a second. "The trouble is, you might end up in a diner where they've nailed all the chairs down to the floor." Eloquent hands fanned out, narrow shoulders rising in consternation. "What's a guy to do?"
What House actually wanted to do was tuck the talkative youngster under one arm, haul him out of the room and then wedge him into the nearest closet. Preferably, a deep and soundproof one - with a padlock.
"I suppose that could be a problem," Lee said. This eagerly awaited dinner party was surpassing his wildest expectations. "I'll have to fret about that if it happens."
"Don't fret about it, call me," Peter said. "I'll have a rethink. Anyway, after that," the little boy carried on, exquisite face grave with concentration, "you should com..... comler... comper... oh, whatever," he said, waving a dainty hand dismissively. "Tell her that her shoes are nice, her dress, her earrings, her hair if she's got any..... in fact.... well, everything. Tell her that you like it all." He leaned towards Lee confidentially. "Even if you really think they're all as ugly as sin."
"Oh, good Lord," House interjected. He snatched up his wine glass and downed the rest of its contents in one gulp. He reached for a refill.
"Ugly as sin," Lee repeated, practically on the edge of his seat. Who needed to hire a guest dinner speaker, when they had Peter? The boy was an orator, agony aunt and natural comedian, all rolled into one. "Got it." He looked at House. "Isn't he cute?"
"Oh, he's completely adorable." Screw the closet, House decided. It was time to utilize diversionary tactics. "Peter," he began, "have you ever......?"
"Next," Peter continued, interrupting him, "you should talk about her dreams, hopes and as......"
Lee became still. "Ass?" he questioned faintly. That had come out of left field. Where had the child learnt all this? He was beginning to wonder if he'd stepped through a looking glass.
"Aspirations," House chimed in moodily. "Oh, boy." He swigged down the wine in his newly filled glass. He knew what was coming next, and he heartily wished that he didn't. Wasn't it a shame that the child's legs weren't a bit longer? He really would have enjoyed kicking him hard, under the table.
"That's the word, House, you remembered." Peter smiled at House warmly, jumping slightly when he received a murderous glare in return. What is your problem? He turned his angelic, brilliant smile upon Lee. "Trust me...."
And there was something about the boy's tone when he said those words, that really snagged House's attention. Suddenly, he was catapulted back in time - back to his apartment on a night when he'd been bitching about going on a date.
Anyone would have thought he'd had a date booked with a harridan, rather than a dinner planned with one of the prettiest doctors in his hospital, but moan..... he just didn't stop. That evening, patiently listening to the ever constant kvetching, Wilson had lounged lazily on his couch, giving every appearance of being totally at ease.
The boy had mimicked Wilson perfectly, capturing the carefree self confidence.... the affectionate ribbing. If his friend hadn't been there to encourage him, House would probably have backed out of the entire thing.
".... panty peeler," Peter said, and yes, there again, the inflections had been exactly the same.
House had been getting ready to go out with Cameron. If Wilson had been in love with him, how difficult had it been for his friend to present such a nonchalant front? His friend had either put on a performance of a lifetime, or he'd been genuinely pleased for House, excited that House was going out and hopeful that he'd have a good time.
Which one was it? Tragically, House thought, knowing Wilson, it had probably been a mixture of both. He stared at Peter, and the boy stared back. His hand, seemingly of its own accord, settled gently on the child's head. He was distantly aware that there was a weighted silence in the room, and he thought it might be prudent if he addressed it. "His father lets him watch a lot of television," he said absently.
"What does he watch, a porn channel?" Lee asked, but he wasn't truly expecting an answer. His companions had transported to their own private world, and he'd been left behind, forsaken in his own home. Alienated at his own table.
Peter lost himself in House's eyes. "Did I do good, House?" he asked softly.
Still holding the gaze, House eventually smiled. "Oh, you did brilliantly," he replied, and the child glowed with pride. "Both times." Lee's fork clattered against his plate, and the sound drew House back into the room. He removed his hand from the boy's head. "So good, in fact, that there's no need to mention the next bit, okay?"
"Okay." Peter shrugged. "I'm not sure what a condom is, anyway."
That late already? Wasn't it time to leave? Pretending that he hadn't heard, House glanced at Peter's dinner and waved his finger at the child, menacingly. "Now, God help you, if you don't eat every one of my carrots."
Lee watched Peter laugh and then House laugh, and then the two of them looked across the table at him and grinned. They were plainly out of their tiny minds, but they were compelling in their madness, and Lee cherished them both dearly. In no time at all, he found himself gormlessly grinning back.
It was good to be back in their circle, once again.
*
October 1st 2012, 12:08 hrs
Sitting next to Brian in the main hall, Peter pulled his lunchbox out of his bag and quickly removed the lid. He was absolutely starving.
"Oh, Peter," Billy said, walking up to stand in front of him. "Just the person I was looking for."
"Billy," Peter said, looking up at him.
"I'd like you to give me your lunch."
Sure he'd misheard, Peter stared at him, amazed. "Why would I do that? Haven't you got your own?"
"I've eaten it, but it wasn't enough. I didn't think you'd mind giving me yours."
"If you're hungry, why don't you ask your mommy to give you more food?" Peter asked, perplexed.
"They can't afford to give me more; they haven't got much money. But Peter, the bigger you are, the more food you need, right?"
"I guess," Peter said.
"There you are. I'm bigger than you, so you should hand the food over. Friends are supposed to share everything, aren't they?"
Peter hesitated. This all seemed very strange, but yes, friends were meant to share things, Billy was right. Hadn't he shared most of his lunches with House, when he had prepared them as Wilson? Of course he had, and although he had grumbled about it on occasion, secretly he had enjoyed providing sustenance for the older man. He'd gotten a lot of pleasure out of it. Billy was his friend too, wasn't he?
Wasn't he?
Peter glanced at Brian, but the other boy refused to meet his eyes. He looked back at Billy and held his gaze for an extremely long time. He weighed up his hunger against his fundamental need to be liked.
Finally, he handed over his lunch.
part 2