Boone was standing at the sink, scrubbing potatoes for supper, Andrew sitting at the kitchen table behind him, reading a book.
"Boone?" the boy asked.
"Yeah?" He responded with a sigh, the kid had been nothing but questions since he sat down. Boone assumed that all five year olds must have a cord in their backs with a ring attached, and every time you pulled it they asked a different question. The only problem was, he didn't remember pulling the string.
"What's this word?" He asked looking at it, puzzled.
Boone closed his eyes and focused, "Copyright."
"Oh, okay," he responded, brightly.
Boone took a couple more swipes at the potato; then stopped. 'Wait…..that can't be right…copyright?' he thought. What the hell was the kid reading? He'd given him a Paddington Bear book.
He set what he was working on, on the bottom of the sink, and turned, crossing the room to the table as he dried his hands on the towel he'd pulled through one of his belt loops. "What are you reading there, bud?"
"The book you gave me." Andrew smiled up at him.
Boone looked over his shoulder; he had the book open to the flyleaf with all the registration information. "That's not part of the book."
"Sure it is," Andrew tugged on the page, showing his dad that it was firmly bound into the spine.
"Yeah, it is," he ran his hand, wearily, over his face, "I mean it's not part of the story."
"That's not what you said." He pointed out, being extremely literal, Boone thought.
"No, I know it's not," he flipped the pages to the beginning of the chapter, "Start here, okay?"
"Kay, Boone." He bent his head over the book again.
Boone went back to scrubbing potatoes.
"Boone?"
Jesus, he thought, maybe he could change his name to Steve, or Scott, or Sceve, it really didn't matter, just so long as it wasn't Boone any longer, he was getting so tired of hearing it.
"Yeah?"
Boone heard the kitchen door open.
"Can we look at the pictures after dinner?" Andrew sounded a little hesitant.
Boone found his hands clenching, his jaw tightening. The cycle was starting again; it always began with 'Can we look at the pictures?' and ended with 'Why did Shan leave?' He took a shuddering breath, preparing to answer, when suddenly Heather spoke up. "I'll look at the pictures with you if you want Andrew, if your dad says it's okay."
He turned from the sink, ready to say yes, begging himself to say yes, to spare himself the pain, but suddenly realizing that it would be wrong. It was a family thing, the boy wanted to share memories with him that simply weren't Heather's.
"Thanks, but we'll have fun with it, won't we?" He forced cheerfulness into his voice, and pasted a false smile on his face.
"Kay, Boone." The boy repeated.
He turned back to the sink and braced his arms against the edge, furrowing his brow, trying to regain a bit of himself.
He felt Heather touch his shoulder, "You don't have to do this, Boone. I'll gladly look at the pictures with him." She said quietly.
He took a deep breath, "No," he breathed deeply again, and looked up at her, "I'll do it. Can you finish up with these, and put the chicken in the oven in half an hour?"
Heather was about to say yes, but hesitated, if he was just going to up to his room and brood, she'd rather have him scrubbing root vegetables.
"What are you going to do instead?" she asked.
"I thought I'd go for a swim." When she looked up, concerned, he clarified, "In the pool, not the lake, I know you think I'm going to just swim off into the sunset, and drown myself, if I go in the lake."
"I'm going to check on you in an hour." She warned him.
"Thanks mom." Boone answered sarcastically, rolling his eyes; then nodded at her in real thanks.
The pool had become his closest friend; he spent hours in it, swimming against the current, pushing himself harder and harder. He already had it set to its' highest maximum flow rate. The doctors had encouraged his exercise, and had told the Marshall's that they should be completely behind any physical exertion that he seemed interested in. The natural endorphin high produced by exercise, far preferable to the chemically elevated mood that his meds produced.
He headed out the back door to the gym, passing by the table to ruffle Andrew's hair, and telling him he'd be back soon.
After changing into swim trunks, he slid into the water, leaning into the current as it increased in strength, digging his arms into the water, his feet kicking out behind him, just below the surface of the water, easily falling into a rhythm.
The hour passed by without him even being conscious of it, so he was startled when the timer slowed and then stopped the current, almost crashing into the forward end of the unit as his arms kept churning at the water.
He'd just climbed out of the pool, and had his back to the door when Heather entered.
"Boone?" he turned quickly, almost slipping on the wet tiles of the floor, his arms came up to cover himself, the silver of his wedding ring catching the light and reflecting it for a minute. She wished he'd take it off, but he was still legally married, even if Shannon had been gone for just over two years. She supposed that it was probably the smallest of the reminders of the girl that he was surrounded with every day anyway, stilling living in the same house they'd shared, sleeping in the same bed, and of course, raising their son.
She saw how painfully thin he was, even given his meagre attempt at hiding himself from her. Oh, Boone, she shook her head as he grabbed for the towel draped over the edge of the pool and pulled it around himself.
"I'm okay, just getting out." He said.
"I see that. Dinner's almost ready; you've got five to have a shower." Heather informed him.
Boone nodded, then started to turn to go into the locker room.
"Wait." He turned back.
"You need to promise me that you'll eat something at dinner," He looked down and off to the right, not meeting her gaze. "I'm serious Boone. It's not just for you, it's for Andrew, he worries about you, and you're his role model. If he sees you not eating again, you're just going to upset him, and then he won't eat either."
He knew she was right, but other than cooking it, food held no interest for him at all. He brought his head up, nodding, "I'll eat."
"You worried about him starting school tomorrow?" Heather started a different subject.
'Well there's the whole 'he's growing up' thing going on, and I'll miss having him around all day, but I'm most worried that he'll slip up somehow, and someone will find out what he can do. I've got a Stephen Kings' Fire Starter kind of scenario going on in my head; I keep picturing him being taken from me and put in some government compound where they can study him. It's paranoid, I know," Boone shrugged and breathed a bitter laugh, "but why shouldn't I add paranoia to my list of problems."
"He'll be fine," Heather assured him. "I heard you explain it all to him, how it would be like stealing. He's got a very grounded moral compass, he gets that from you I'm sure." She knew all about Shannon's cons. "He won't slip up; no-one will find out he can read minds."
"I hope you're right," he wished.
After dinner, the two of them settled on the couch, the photo album in Boone's lap, he'd done what he'd promised Heather, and had finished all the food on his plate, feeling more like a five year old than Andrew did, at the accomplishment. "Do I get dessert?" He'd asked with a bit of a smile.
He took a deep breath and opened the front cover, revealing Shannon's smiling face in one of their wedding photos. He glanced down at Andrew, the boy was looking up at him, obvious concern on his face, he reached a small hand out and patted Boone's knee. "I really want to see the pictures, sorry Boone."
"It's good, bud. I'm alright." He was so sensitive to Boone's moods; sometimes it caught his dad off guard. "Okay, so here's Shan and I at our wedding…" he started, telling a little story about each picture as they paged through the book. He actually found himself smiling a bit and relaxing as he recounted the happy memories, all too aware, however, of the crushing depression he'd suffer through later, alone in bed, as he sobbed into Shannon's pillow, trying to muffle the sounds.
"Thanks, Boone," Andrew said as Boone closed the book on the last picture, the one of them, backstage, at a Driveshaft concert.
"No problem, it's nice to remember, I wish you could remember her, she's pretty special." He ruffled Andrew's hair.
"I remember her through you; you've got pictures in your head, more than are in the book, but from the same times. She's pretty," he smiled.
"Yeah, she's beautiful." Boone paused for a minute, reflecting. "Okay, bed time, school tomorrow."