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Lark
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They are both still small enough to fit in one bed together.
So, against her better judgment (and because they beg and plead after they've had their bath and promise promise to go straight to sleep and not keep each other up all the night), Nina lets Rocky sleep with Freckle in his bed, rather than his own bed across the hall in the spare room. She has them tucked in by 9:30, and since the night is warm leaves the window ajar.
"Good night, boys," she says, and turns the light off, pulling the bedroom door closed.
Nina's footsteps hardly fade down the staircase before Rocky is up on his hands and knees, blue eyes on the door, and grinning. Freckle rolls over to look at him, grunts in surprise when Rocky brusquely climbs over the top of him, "'Scuse me, Freckle," and down his side of the bed. His feet silent on the hardwood floor, Rocky moves across the room and presses attentively against the door.
He listens until he is sure that Nina is out of earshot below, then, slowly, turns the knob and opens the door. A peel of yellow light from the lamp in the hallway stretches across the floor, briefly; Rocky's silhouette cuts across it as he sticks his head out, throwing a fleeting glance down the stairs, and bolts from the bedroom.
Freckle sits up, as well, and watches, ears straining forward for every tiny creak of the floorboards, or the wind brushing past the house and whispering in through the window. The sliver of light leaking into the room broadens when Rocky returns, a thick book tucked under his arm, and disappears to a thin line under the door when he eases it shut and lunges for the bed book-first.
"Make yourself comfortable, Freckle," Rocky advises enthusiastically.
He leans across Freckle again, pushes him up against the headboard and pillows and out of his way when he reaches for the bedside table and produces a flashlight from the drawer. Rocky sits back, the book in his lap, and holds the flashlight in both fists. He's quiet for another few seconds, to be certain Aunt Nina isn't on to them, and Freckle takes his advice and gets comfortable.
His diminutive cousin finally stops moving, settles, and watches expectantly with eager amber eyes.
Rocky's grin returns in the dark room.
He flicks on the flashlight.
And it casts long, intimidating shadows across his face and against the wall behind him. By his nature, Rocky is a fabulous story-teller, and he makes Freckle a good listener, because his outré, expansive gestures and varying pitch keep his doe-eyed cousin enthralled, even in those occasional moments when he diverges from the story line.
Small inquisitions from Freckle pull him back to the subject, and even though the book is of a darker content than Freckle can honestly enjoy, he finds himself interested nonetheless. Mesmerized is probably a more appropriate word. Rocky leans toward Freckle over the book, flashlight in one hand, his voice a raspy murmur as he reiterates the most gripping words on the page from memory and grins, knowing they'll terrify with the right delivery.
They do; and Freckle is so busy clenching the blanket against his face and staring into Rocky's blue eyes that he fails to notice his cousin's other hand when it slips under the blanket.
In the story, the outside door creaks open of it's own volition and the character in question turns, slowly, in the darkness. A breeze picks up, leaves rustle; a hand reaches out and a face appears, and when the protagonist screams, Rocky, forsaking every unspoken rule of clandestine storytelling, shouts as loud as he can, too - and grabs Freckle by the tail.
Freckle's fur stands on end, his tail twice it's normal size around Rocky's fist.
He wails and throws himself off the bed, flings the door open, and stumbles down the staircase.
Rocky's laughter follows him out of the room. Hastily, he shoves the book and flashlight aside and chases Freckle down the stairs, laughing apologies because Freckle is crying and sobbing and shaking and he's so little, it's almost cruel how funny he is when he's scared. All wide eyes and tears, and short limbs, and the fact that he'll acknowledge, later on, that maybe it was sort of funny and appropriate.
What isn't funny is that they now have Nina's attention.
Freckle sobbing; Rocky laughing, grinning when he catches his smaller cousin around the middle, in the kitchen, and trying to coax him back upstairs with, "I had to, Freckle, I'm sorry!". Around all that, Rocky swears he can hear the bible snap shut from the living room, and he definitely hears the chair creak when Nina stands and comes to investigate.
By the time she flicks on the over-head light and looms in the kitchen doorway, tapping her foot, Freckle has at least subsided to small gasps and breaths that only come out as short whimpers before he sucks them back into his lungs. Rocky grins at her over the top of Freckle's head, still holding onto his cousin tightly, though it's more for his own safety than anything else, now.
There is a long pause, and then,
"Roark. What're y'doin' t'Calvin?"
His response is, perhaps, too quick, "Educating him on the nuances of thriller and horror so he can better appreciate the appeal of a, uh, more varying literary experience?"
Aunt Nina is not impressed.
"He's four."
That upward lilt at the end sounds so much like an accusation that Rocky takes offense. He drops his hold on Freckle and crosses his arms, and Freckle cowers, wet-faced, between them, eyes on his mother.
"He can read," Rocky says smartly, as if Aunt Nina didn't know that, and has, surprisingly, not yet learned that this is a mistake.
He gets caned, without question, but for many reasons - all of which Nina beats into him every single agonizing, painful step up the stairs and across the short hall, into the spare room. Mostly, it's his mouth that earns him a whack on every step, because he always has something to say and can't really find the restraint to hold the words in. One hand on the doorknob, the other still around her cane, she watches Rocky climb stiffly into bed, his tail curled under.
"And not another peep until mornin', Roark," she says, "D'y'hear me?"
Rocky bites his lip and tries to smile a little, nodding confirmatively. Satisfied, Nina pulls the door closed after turning off the light, pointedly adds, "Good night, Roark," and claps the door shut. Immediately, Rocky turns over onto his stomach with a grimace, because his legs sting, and a chuckle, because it was sort of worth it, and buries his face in the cool pillow.
He knows Nina picks Freckle up outside the door and carries him back to bed; hears her ask Freckle if he's still scared and wants her to lay down with him for a while. Surprisingly, Freckle quietly declines the offer, though he's still breathing heavily and wiping tears (it's hard to stop crying once you start, sometimes), and Nina asks if he's sure, and tucks him in, and leaves his door half open when she goes back downstairs.
The stairs stop creaking, and the upstairs is quiet for a while.
Then soft footfalls patter across the short hall, and the bedroom door opens. Freckle brings the book, a different one, and the flashlight, and Rocky lifts his head to look when Freckle sets them up on the bed and climbs up after them. He nudges Rocky over a little, so he has room, and shifts under the blanket, sitting propped against the pillows.
"Rocky, will you read this one?" he asks, and hands the book to Rocky when he sits up, as well.
It's a small book from Freckle's own shelf, and even though the simple story and illustrations aren't his cup of tea, Rocky reads the rhythmic words with the very same fervor as he read his suspense novel. When he's finished, he snaps the book closed dramatically and grins at Freckle, saying, "Now go to sleep."
Freckle smiles and flicks off the flashlight, setting it on the bedside table, and then the book when Rocky passes it back. He nests under the blanket, against the pillow, and sleeps curled against Rocky's shoulder.
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(A/n) Just some randomness, because scary little kids is so fun (I do it all the time xD), and because pre-series Rocky and Freckle are just. so. cute! Please review!
-Motcn