Summary: An obscure prequel to Torilei's fics "Three Words" and "The Forgotten Heir." Written in honor of her seventeenth birthday on May 7th! Mostly fluff, but with a "somewhat sober undertone". Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own either of these guys - they belong to Disney and to Tori.
Author's Note: Ok, I admit I never imagined I'd be writing a fic for "National Treasure," of all possible genres, but what can I say? Tori's inspired me with her own excellent fics, lol. So now I'm writing this basically as a birthday gift to her and as the best way I know of telling her thank you for letting me help out with her NT stories, which is always a great pleasure and an honor. Happy Birthday, Tori, you're such an amazing friend! I haven't had much time to spare for writing lately, but I just had to throw together this little "tribute" of sorts in honor of your birthday, and I do hope you enjoy it!
Cheddar Together
Ian Howe loved sleep. In fact, he had always regarded the activity as a most revered and sacred indulgence, certainly meant never to be disturbed. So when one night he found himself being dragged forcibly from his slumber, it seemed ample cause to be upset. He mentally wrestled against the feel of his shoulder being shaken, gently at first, and then more vigorously; but when the battle became verbal, all hope of victory was lost.
"Ian? Ian? Ian!"
"What?!" The blonde seventeen-year-old angrily whipped the covers back away from his head and sat up just in time to see another smaller blonde head jump away startled from his bedside. He sighed, exasperated, and wearily passed a hand over his bleary eyes so that the fuzzy shape next to him grew more focused.
"What do you want," he repeated hoarsely, only to be answered by a soft sniffle.
"Oh no, don't you dare cry! Please, I couldn't have possibly scared you that badly." Even Ian himself couldn't discern whether his tone was one more of commanding or of shameless pleading. It was an unpleasant, but no longer unfamiliar, dilemma.
Richard Howe and Lisa Baron had been married for just over six months now, and the two boys who had been unceremoniously thrust into the union appeared to be getting along well enough, especially since the younger had a favorable talent of staying out of his step-brother's way. Ian liked Nick, although he truly couldn't help teasing the kid over his love of hot dogs, baseball, and all things American. He never meant it to be cruel, as America was the boy's homeland, but it all still seemed so out of place here in the heart of England, like a shoe on the wrong foot.
"It's Cheddar."
Ian's brow creased into a deep frown as he slumped back down into his fluffy feather pillow. Why, oh why, couldn't the cruel world, currently in the form of a pestering nine-year-old, just go away and let him sleep?
"What about him?" he mumbled grudgingly.
Cheddar was Nick's rat of a dog, a skinny little rust-colored Chihuahua. Ever since his first unhappy meeting with the creature, Ian had insisted that "Cheddar" was a name far more appropriate for a mouse than a dog, and therefore suited the tiny nuisance just fine. Needless to say, their relationship in the months that followed had been rocky, at best. Cheddar's exuberant curiosity knew no bounds, and unlike his master, he possessed an uncanny ability of being annoyingly underfoot whenever someone, particularly Ian, least expected or desired it.
"He's not moving," Nick's timid voice spoke into the dark, "and when I tried to touch him, he was all stiff. I think - I think he might be dead."
The boy's voice had dropped to a faint whisper as he finished speaking, but Ian had heard enough. He sat upright again, suddenly concerned - not for the mongrel whose incessant yapping had nearly driven him mad on more than one occasion, but for the small blonde boy who still hovered anxiously by his bedside. The young Englishman swung his legs over the side of his bed and sighed again, more out of exhaustion this time than aggravation.
"Where is he?"
"On the floor in my room. I was trying to get him to come up in bed with me, like he usually does."
Ian grunted an acknowledgement, noting with a peculiar blend of amusement and satisfaction that traces of a good British accent were finally making themselves apparent in Nick's wavering voice. Goodness knew it had taken long enough! The accent would probably be lost in short order if the kid ever returned to the States, Ian realized, but it was still some progress.
"Okay. Let's go take a look at him," he complied as he got up and led the younger boy back down the hall.
"I'm sorry," Nick explained hurriedly along the way. "I didn't want to wake you, honest, but Mom and your dad are gone for tonight, and I didn't know what else to do."
"I know," Ian tiredly assured him. "It's all right. But what were you doing up this late in the first place?"
"Umm...remember that Coke you let me have earlier tonight?"
Ian balked. That had been about ten o'clock, if his memory served him correctly; no wonder the kid couldn't get to sleep. Next time he would think twice before giving children caffeinated beverages at late hours.
"Yeah, I remember. You might not want to tell your mom about that, though."
They had reached their destination now, and Nick hung back in the doorway, apprehensive, while Ian approached the small orangish form curled up on the floor and cautiously prodded it with his bare toe. The furry lump was cold and unresponsive, and Nick no longer needed any sort of confirmation. Cheddar was indeed deceased.
"What now?"
"Well..." Ian hesitated, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. Even he, who typically exerted such confidence and authority when he spoke, was for once uncertain. Alone late at night in a house empty save for one dead little dog and one emotional little nine-year-old was not a situation with which he had any prior experience. He had actually fared much better the last time they had been left alone, even though Nick had chosen that particular weekend to come down with a nasty flu bug that had kept them both busy. Ian had caught it shortly thereafter; but by then, thankfully, their parents had returned, and there had been no need to depend on a then eight-year-old's medical expertise for his care.
"I suppose we ought to do something with him," he offered at last.
"We should bury him," Nick chimed in, and Ian admirably stifled a groan, for a squinted glance at the glowing digital clock told him it was just shy of two in the morning. It had been less than two hours since he went to bed.
"Can't it wait 'til morning?"
"No!" the younger boy protested in alarm. "Please - I'll never be able sleep if we just put him somewhere until tomorrow. And besides, what if he gets all...icky?"
Ian rolled his eyes, yet he could tell there would be no winning this argument. Then again, tomorrow was Sunday, and they would at least be able to sleep in. Perhaps it would be best to just get this fiasco over with.
"Come on, then," he conceded at last. "Grab your coat and put some shoes on. We'll bury Cheddar together."
A short time later, they were in the backyard, shovels in hand and hard at work. A typical English mist hung heavy in the damp air, but a pale crescent moon still shone cold in the ebon sky above them. Nick tried to help as best he could, but at this time in late winter, the ground was still considerably stiff, and it was only with great effort, predominantly on Ian's part, that a sizeable hole was dug. After Cheddar had been laid to rest and a mound of fresh dirt strewn over top of him, Ian leaned heavily against the handle of his shovel and wiped his moist brow, all the while hoping that his father wouldn't be too upset by their less-than-immaculate burial site.
No doubt Nick likewise had his fears in that regard, but right now, the boy's thoughts were occupied elsewhere. And Ian himself was only mildly concerned. After all, he was already renowned among his friends as the chap who could extricate himself from virtually any sticky situation, and he certainly knew his own father well enough to know how to go about explaining a hole in the far corner of the property. He could handle it.
The silence between them stretched on, permeated only by the sound of their labored breathing, and for a moment, Ian feared his young charge might launch off into some overtly dramatic eulogy in honor of his pet. But such was not the case. Nick simply traced circles on the ground with the worn toe of his shoe and gazed woefully down at the little grave, looking small and sad and very much alone. He was also very visibly battling back tears.
"It's okay," Ian told him gently. "I cried when my mom died."
Nick swallowed hard and shivered violently in the chill of the night air. "Yeah, but that was your mom - not your dog."
"He was still your friend." Probably one of the few you have here in England, Ian couldn't resist adding silently to himself. From what he had seen so far, his new kid brother had a greater knack for making enemies than friends, and more than once already had Ian obligingly come to his rescue when the opportunity arose. Not that it was much of a challenge for him, of course. He actually rather enjoyed using his sheer size and seniority to strike terror into the hearts of a few obnoxious bullies, and as far as he knew, none of them had given Nick much trouble since. But something inside still whispered to him that they'd be back, sooner or later.
After a few moments, he rested a hand on the younger boy's shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze.
"Come on, let's get back inside. It's cold out here."
Nick nodded, sniveling, and hastily wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve before shuffling despondently after his elder. They tromped up the echoing stairs in sullen silence, until Nick drew to a halt beside the door to his own room.
"Good night, Ian," he uttered softly, "and thanks."
The British teen grinned for the first time since he'd awoken that night and extended a hand to ruffle the kid's unruly blonde hair. "Anytime, little brother. And if it gets too lonely in there without Cheddar, you're welcome to come sleep with me tonight - okay?"
Nick nodded sheepishly in reply but slipped into his room without another word. Ian only shook his head and made a bee-line back to his own bed, anxious to return and admittedly glad that the whole affair was over. As he lay back down, he realized that he would honestly not miss Cheddar in the least, although did feel quite sorry for Nick...
On that thought, sleep began once more tugging at his eyelids; and he was about to gladly give in to that enticing call, when suddenly he felt the bed give a little. Something warm snuggled up next to him in the dark, and Ian chuckled softly to himself. He hadn't really expected the kid to take him up on his offer. But neither the amusement nor the gentle rhythm of light breathing beside him offered any hindrance to his rest as he sighed contentedly and allowed himself to peacefully drift back into the world of dreams. After all, Ian Howe loved sleep.
Author's End Note: And so, there you have it. I hope this little gift of random fluffiness made you smile, Tori-kins, and may your 17th birthday be simply awesome!