Pete woke up in confusion, wondering why he was warm, and at once startling himself awake because he was afraid—he'd fallen asleep in Grover or Willie's bed, and they'd get so mad—but almost immediately realized the happy truth: he wasn't in the Gogan's house.

He remembered, then. Passamaquoddy. Clam chowder. Nora.

He sat up, instead, letting his feet dangle from the bed that was too tall, and stretching luxuriously, feeling the borrowed nightshirt drooping over his fingertips, it was so big on him.

Nora had given him a tour of the lighthouse before showing him where he would sleep, and found him this night shirt—it dwarfed him. The sleeves were too long by almost a foot, and what might have fallen to a grown-up's knees puddled at Pete's feet—and Nora almost tried to dress him!

She had reached for the bathrobe, opening it, sliding it over his shoulders, and he'd clutched it around himself protectively without even realizing he was objecting. Then she'd politely stood apart from him with her back turned. To give him the privacy to change himself.

Pete heard footsteps on the stairs coming down, and looked up.

It wasn't Nora.

It was…the funny drunk man from yesterday.

"G'morning, sir," he said politely.

"Good morning, son," he responded absently, not really looking at him.

Pete wondered if the man remembered him. "Nice to see you again," he tried, his hands politely in his lap, though the sleeves flopped down his knees.

"Ah, thank you," the man answered, and he really didn't seem to know what he was saying. It looked like he was trying to find something.

But then he seemed to come to himself, giving Pete a double-take, and screaming outright, like he'd done yesterday, at Elliot. "It's you!"

Pete sat up straighter. "W-What's the matter?" he asked, wondering if he ought to try and run, or call for Nora.

(That was stupid. He ought to deal with it himself; take his licking like a man. He hoped he wouldn't cry.)

"It's you!" the man repeated insistently. "The boy with the dragon!"

Pete pointed to himself because the man was pointing at him, but then nodded. "Yes, sir," he affirmed.

The man took a step toward him, and Pete moved to back away.

Then the man…just screamed. Screamed and backed away himself, toward the descending stairs, down in the kitchen area.

"Dad! Dad, Dad, what is it?!" cried Nora's voice, and she appeared over the railing, coming up from downstairs.

Pete felt safer, immediately, upon seeing her.

(And it was so stupid, he was such a baby, expecting Nora to save him, like he had a right to expect anything from her.)

"The boy with the dragon!" the man repeated, and Nora smiled.

"I know, I know. Now, just take it easy," she coaxed the man, patting his back.

The man gripped her other hand in what seemed like genuine fear. "You saw it. You saw it?"

Pete was slowly putting it together. The man was her dad. He was the other lighthouse-keeper. Nora had talked about him, yesterday, while he ate his chowder.

"Well, I didn't actually see it, but I know what it looks like," Nora shot a wink at Pete, who smiled. "We'll talk about it later," she added.

They'd talked about Elliot, too, right before he'd fallen asleep.

"But…one thing I must know," the man said insistently, and he was suddenly there, and he had Pete's wrist in his grip…but it wasn't mean. It wasn't…forceful. "It…isn't in the lighthouse, is it?"

And when Pete slowly tried to extract his wrist from the man's grip, the man let him, easily. "No," Pete clarified, "Elliot's down in the cave."

The man was…very silly. Once Pete verified that Elliot was actually not an immediate threat, he actually seemed quite cheerful, again, and invited Pete and Elliot to the saloon with him.

Pete wasn't sure what to make of it. This…funny man. His emotions seemed to change quick enough, too, when Pete mentioned that Elliot could be unpredictable. Then, it was only too easy to decide not to bring Elliot to town, after all. And all of these changing decisions happening within a thirty-second space of time.

"Let's all have breakfast," Nora said, to change the subject, after assuring her dad that they didn't need to worry about Elliot right now. "The lamp has to be polished, and the lens cleaned," she said, and her dad seemed to agree whole-heartedly, taking one of her hands in both of his, as though comforting her, agreeing with everything she was saying.

"And I want to take Pete to buy some new clothes," Nora added, looking at Pete and raising her eyebrows. Like…it was a question. She was asking him if it was all right.

"Yes, we'll clean Elliot and eat the lamp," the man said certainly, but then realized he'd misspoken. "I mean, we'll clean the lamp," he corrected, before latching onto Nora, who was already going downstairs. He was telling her, like she hadn't heard, or didn't know, about Elliot's name…being Elliot.

Pete would learn, in his absent kind of way, that Nora's father went by 'Lampie,' which wasn't his real name, and that a large part of his confusion was actually to do with him not actually…being sober. A lot of the time.

When they finished breakfast and started walking to town, Nora wasn't surprised in the least when Lampie split off from them, saying he needed to ask 'the boys' some questions, and that he'd meet them at the General Store.

"He's harmless, even with enough drinks in him," she said lightly, shrugging. It...spoke to Pete, so much; that shrug. Disappointment, mingled with…acceptance.

It was a combination of feelings Pete knew well.

Pete had worn the Gogan's awful clothes into town, but once Nora had purchased the new ones for him, she instructed him to put them on straight away, and when Pete was done changing, she had taken the old clothes and thrown them right in the trash bin.

It was a smart suit. Pete wouldn't have picked it, really. It was a church suit, maybe. Or a school suit. His underthings were longer than the trousers, which only went to his knees, and so he had to wear thick, dark socks to cover his feet and calves. It did mean, though, that the new shoes didn't pinch, which was nice. His dress shirt was pressed and stiff and patterned in what the clerk called 'gingham,' and the suit jacket and trousers were a sort of…creamy tan color.

It was not a suit to play in, his Mama would say. Nora seemed to think the same thing, because then she was picking out more clothes for him. Overalls that fit him, that she said he could use for playing or working, another set that matched, because, she said, there was a sale, a brown bow tie that Pete didn't know how to tie, but Nora did, and said she could help him with, more stiff, long-sleeved shirts, because it was getting colder, Nora said, and a cap to wear with his suit, and one to wear when it was cold: a black knit one that covered his ears when he yanked it down far enough, with no bauble on the tip, which Pete liked.

And she did it in a way that Pete…couldn't object to. She didn't do it because she felt sorry for him, or because it was her Christian duty, or anything like that. She just smiled and told him he needed new clothes and couldn't buy them, and she could. So she would.

It was as simple as that.

She was just so nice.

It took them so long shopping that Lampie grew restless and went to see about a travelling doctor who'd apparently come to town with a miracle elixir.

Nora said Pete needed to practice wearing his nice suit without spoiling it, so she took him to a street cart by the saloon that sold fish meals, and made him laugh, showing him different faces he could make while eating that would mean he wouldn't drip on his clothes.

Funny as it was, it did work, because Pete's clothes were still pristine when they left the cart.

And the day passed, slowly, and without Pete even thinking about what he would do next.

They got back to the Lighthouse, and Nora showed Pete how to fold his new clothes like the sailors did, so they could all fit in the allotted space of a drawer in a dresser she had cleared for him, and then they were downstairs in the little kitchen, again, but the clothesline had been put away, and Nora needed Pete's help to match the saucers to the cups for tea, and the cupboard they were in was too low.

And when she asked Pete if he'd like her to warm up his milk because she didn't have evening teas, just the imported black ones that kept her and her father awake for their shifts at keeping the light going, and…she didn't even ask Pete about staying with her another night, or how he would pay her back for the clothes.

And Pete had struggled, for a moment, realizing how much money she had spent on him today.

(When he'd capped his own worth, for the longest time, at fifty dollars, plus fifty cents legal.)

And here was Nora, acting like that sort of thing didn't matter.

And treating him so nice.

"Pete, if you bring up the oilcan, we'll be ready for the night," she was saying, now, putting the kettle back on the stove.

"Sure," Pete said agreeably. Quickly. Pushing in his chair. "Before that, I'd like to show Elliot my new suit," he added carefully. "He'll never—"

"No!" Interrupted Lampie, coming in the room. "No, no, you can't bring Elliot up here. Government regulation 302 states that no dragons shall be allowed on the premises of the United States' lighthouses."

Pete nodded slowly. That…he didn't think that was really a rule. But he daren't call Lampie a liar. No matter how agreeable he was, drunk or not. (And he didn't seem like he was drunk. But Pete knew you couldn't always tell. Mister Gogan hit him more when he was drunk.

"Now, go on down and get the oil, so I can mark it up in the log that you did that," Lampie continued.

"Okay," Pete agreed. And he would. But… "Nora, first, can I bring Paul's picture down to Elliot?" he asked. Quickly adding, "Then he can start looking for Paul."

Pete saw the way Nora wouldn't react. He saw her glance at Lampie.

Paul had been…tiptoed around. Pete's sleepshirt wasn't Lampie's. It was surely Paul's. Nora wasn't somebody's wife, but she 'almost was.'

"All right," Nora agreed softly.

And the silence was tense. Thick. As Pete carefully took the picture of Paul from its display stand, frame and all, and neither Lampie nor Nora made a move to stop him doing it.

Once outside, Pete could breathe a little easier.

He knew that Lampie and Nora were nice. That Nora cared a great deal about him. (She must, to have spent so much money on him. When he didn't deserve it, when he knew exactly what he was worth, and it was certainly fifty dollars plus fifty cents legal. No more than that.)

He picked his way carefully down to the surf—the tide was still low, and the last thing he wanted to do was mess up his new shoes by getting them wet.

Once he got to the cave, however, he picked up the pace—he saw flickering shadows and heard Elliot's absent singsong chatter.

Elliot had made a fire. Set up an area for a little fire-pit, surrounding it with stones and filling it with the sticks and dried-out seaweed that had littered the cave floor, earlier.

"Hi, Elliot!" he called, and he was excited. He hadn't realized how much he had missed Elliot that day. "How do you like my new suit?" he asked, grinning wide to show Elliot his excitement.

Elliot made an excited noise that sounded like, "Wow!" before excitedly tugging at the lapels of Pete's jacket, and turning him to admire him from all sides, clapping and chattering in his not-words like he did.

"And new shoes, too!" Pete continued. "Look at the way they shine!"

He lifted his left leg, gripping his knee, so that Elliot could see the shoes in the scant light of the fire-pit.

Elliot clicked his approval, and Pete let his face morph out of his smile. "Nora is so nice to me," he said seriously. "I want us to do something for her."

(It's the least he could do. She had done so much…and he wasn't worth it. He had to pay her back with something that was priceless.)

Elliot nodded happily. Of course he agreed. He was so much like an agreeable animal. Intelligent, at times, but also very simple.

Pete showed Elliot the framed picture. Paul was a sailor. You could tell from more than his uniform that he was a man who loved the sea. And he…looked kind. Nora deserved to have him back. "I want you to concentrate on finding Paul for Nora," he said firmly. "This is what he looks like."

Pete released his hold on the picture when Elliot reached for it—Elliot was so big, and the picture was so small, and Pete knew he needed to see it up close. (But a part of him couldn't help remembering Elliot innocently uprooting an entire cucumber vine to 'help Pete with weeding.' Elliot hadn't meant harm, but Pete's back remembered that beating, after.)

"Remember his face. Try real hard," Pete said firmly.

And Elliot squinted at the picture. Considered it from other angles. And then very carefully returned it to Pete, who took it and put it back under his arm, where he could feel it. Where it was safe.

"Better go, now," he intoned. He felt, like an invisible tether, the need to go back and do the chores Nora and Lampie had told him to. (He wouldn't earn punishment. Not at Lampie's hands. Not at Nora's. He was good. He could be good.)

He pulled Elliot's head closer for a hug and kiss goodnight. "See you tomorrow!" he said cheerfully, and Elliot prodded him playfully with his tail as he left, waving behind him.


AUTHOR'S NOTE

Writing all the things, lalala.

Do you know how many Petes I have, now?

Pete Hampton, of Pete's Dragon,

Peter Parker, from Spider-Man,

Peter Pevensie, from Narnia.

Other notable Petes that appear atimes in my life:

Peter Pan

Peter Quince

Peter Quill

Stinky Pete

for Pete's sake!

(Dunno the importance of this. But it is interesting.)

~Angeladex