Being up and about wasn't something that Lennox necessarily wanted to be right now, but he had to get up, he had to shower and eat and bring food to Chris if he decided not to leave the hut or the Hamlet. Since Lennox figured Chris was allowed to stay home in bed if he wanted, it was up to him to get the food, which was what he was doing now, damp hair still dripping, even as he ran his hands through it.
"If you want to trade that one, I'll give you Hal," he said with a bit of a smile as he entered the kitchen. Despite what had happened in Neil and Gordon's hut, something good had come of that day, at least for him and Mike. Especially Mike. "Hal doesn't have thumbs, so it's hard to teach her to wait on us."
"I would," he says, looking up and returning the smile, faintly. "Think her mom might notice, though."
Since Halloween, things with Lennox have felt... eased. He's made no excuse for the fight with Chris, but maybe he's stopped feeling like he even has to. Lennox has seen what not even Hobbes has. There's a part of him he no longer has to explain.
"How've you been doing?" he asks, eying Lennox a little more closely as Flo wriggles in his arms. He still hasn't seen Chris. Maybe right now that's for the best.
Lennox held arms out for the baby in case Mike wanted to get rid of her for a bit. And maybe a small part of him wanted to hold her, just for awhile, just because she was so tiny and trusting and he knew that she wasn't going to stay this small forever. Soon she'd be Emmy's size and then Emmy would be even bigger.
"I'm okay," he answered. "Chris is okay, too. I mean, he's not great, 'cause he just... you know, but he's okay. He's talking to me about it a lot, so that's good." And more than Lennox had hoped for.
He gently transfers Flo to Lennox's arms without hesitation, and she goes to him with what sounds like a happy burble. He supposes that maybe he should be jealous that his daughter seems to like someone else more at the moment, but really he's just grateful to have free arms for the first time in a couple of hours.
"That's good," he echoes. "Talking's better than quiet." Which he knows first hand. He looks down at his boots.
"I feel like maybe I should have been there," he says after a second or two, and he means all of it and he means Chris in particular. "Like maybe I could've done something."
Peter was curled up in the armchair in the kitchen, curled in on himself in a way that might seem strange for such a wild boy. Stranger still was the fact that he was mostly asleep, but then it had been a very long few days even for him.
But it wasn't the sort of nap that invigorates a person and wakes them up from inside out. Rather, it was a sleep just this edge of waking and filled with Peter's nightmares.
As Mike came in, he kicked in his sleep, more like a dog than a boy, and murmured something piteous but incomprehensible.
He glances down at the boy and concern flashes across his face. He hadn't asked Eostre how Peter had dealt with the events of Halloween; he'd just sort of assumed that it had been all right. But nightmares can happen anytime.
He shifts Flo higher on his shoulder, leans down and places a hand carefully on Peter's arm. Not shaking, not yet; sometimes it's enough to jar someone out of the dream without waking them entirely.
Ever since before going to Neverland, Peter had had nightmares. He never remembered what they were about when he woke up, but they were there all the same. It's not something you'd expect from a boy like him, perhaps, but then, he was very alone in the world for a very long time.
Since getting to the island, they had started going away. But not entirely.
At the touch to his arm, he twisted away as though he was trying to press himself deeper against the cushion of the chair.
Even for Peter Pan, it had been a rather long few days.
It hadn't worked. He can tell, the way the small body tenses and twists in on itself. If there's one thing he's familiar with it's the structure of nightmares.
"Hey," he says, shaking gently now. "Peter. It's okay, man. Come on."
Not for the first time, Hobbes found himself leaning in the kitchen doorway, Mac tucked against his chest and grunting as she kicked her legs, watching Pinocchio with a slight smile. People change, but not past the point of being familiar. There had been orphans outside Santa Cruz, VC kids whose parents were just gone. Maybe their folks been druggies or rebels, but that wasn't the point. The point was the kids had been small and ruddy and totally without direction. And they found them and Mike had showed them how to play stickball and poker and now, looking back on it, Hobbes was ashamed for being surprised. Mike hadn't changed so much as he'd gentled. Some of it had always been there.
"No," Hobbes said smiling, giving Mac a knuckle to gum to death, "But you can get a store credit. Wanna trade?"
He glances over at Hobbes and then at Mack and makes a show of being unimpressed. "Not sure that one's a step up." The kettle starts to sing and he tranfers it off the burner easily. He's getting used to doing everything with one arm.
"Eostre still sleeping?" He'd left both of them when Flo had started to fuss, and he'd been awake anyway. A walk had quieted her down, but it had still been early and he hadn't wanted to take her back.
It's certainly not that he's looking for reasons to leave Hobbes and Eostre alone together. Not at all.
"This model has a quieter idle," Hobbes protested. "Goes through a lot more gas, though."
He leaned back against the table, shifting Mack up onto his shoulder.
"Like the dead. Well, if the dead could snore like that." He grinned to himself, looking up at Mike. "I didn't want to wake her. It's been a long enough week."
Charlie was up early, stifling a yawn against the back of her hand as she shuffled into the kitchen in a pair of plaid boxer shorts and one of Hiro's white t-shirts.
When she saw the man with the baby, she automatically smiled.
He turns to the girl and blinks, momentarily unsure who she's talking to. He glances down at Flo, who's waving her arms unsteadily. "Uh... have we met?"
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"If you want to trade that one, I'll give you Hal," he said with a bit of a smile as he entered the kitchen. Despite what had happened in Neil and Gordon's hut, something good had come of that day, at least for him and Mike. Especially Mike. "Hal doesn't have thumbs, so it's hard to teach her to wait on us."
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Since Halloween, things with Lennox have felt... eased. He's made no excuse for the fight with Chris, but maybe he's stopped feeling like he even has to. Lennox has seen what not even Hobbes has. There's a part of him he no longer has to explain.
"How've you been doing?" he asks, eying Lennox a little more closely as Flo wriggles in his arms. He still hasn't seen Chris. Maybe right now that's for the best.
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"I'm okay," he answered. "Chris is okay, too. I mean, he's not great, 'cause he just... you know, but he's okay. He's talking to me about it a lot, so that's good." And more than Lennox had hoped for.
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"That's good," he echoes. "Talking's better than quiet." Which he knows first hand. He looks down at his boots.
"I feel like maybe I should have been there," he says after a second or two, and he means all of it and he means Chris in particular. "Like maybe I could've done something."
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But it wasn't the sort of nap that invigorates a person and wakes them up from inside out. Rather, it was a sleep just this edge of waking and filled with Peter's nightmares.
As Mike came in, he kicked in his sleep, more like a dog than a boy, and murmured something piteous but incomprehensible.
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He shifts Flo higher on his shoulder, leans down and places a hand carefully on Peter's arm. Not shaking, not yet; sometimes it's enough to jar someone out of the dream without waking them entirely.
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Since getting to the island, they had started going away. But not entirely.
At the touch to his arm, he twisted away as though he was trying to press himself deeper against the cushion of the chair.
Even for Peter Pan, it had been a rather long few days.
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"Hey," he says, shaking gently now. "Peter. It's okay, man. Come on."
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"No," Hobbes said smiling, giving Mac a knuckle to gum to death, "But you can get a store credit. Wanna trade?"
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"Eostre still sleeping?" He'd left both of them when Flo had started to fuss, and he'd been awake anyway. A walk had quieted her down, but it had still been early and he hadn't wanted to take her back.
It's certainly not that he's looking for reasons to leave Hobbes and Eostre alone together. Not at all.
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He leaned back against the table, shifting Mack up onto his shoulder.
"Like the dead. Well, if the dead could snore like that." He grinned to himself, looking up at Mike. "I didn't want to wake her. It's been a long enough week."
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And other people aren't so lucky.
"Been easier with you here," he adds quietly.
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When she saw the man with the baby, she automatically smiled.
"Oh, hey, gorgeous. You remember me?"
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Charlie stuck out her hand, stifling another yawn against the back of her hand.
"I'm Charlie...Charlie Andrews."
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"Mike." He takes her hand with his free one and looks her over a little more carefully. Cute. Good body. In the days before a certain goddess...
Well, now's not then.
"When did you meet her?"
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