He scanned the small creature from head to toe, several times, sneeringly. Maybe it was his military breeding, but he couldn't look at something this ridiculously small and fragile any other way. His eyes took in the tiny leather sandals with the white socks (now a bit grayish, but kids are always dirty), the red jumper, and the two short plaits projecting on the sides of her head like mouse's tails. Hands clamped behind her back, she just keeps staring with those immense eyes of hers. This last thing made him slightly nervous. This is not natural. Half of her face are eyes, blue-green-grayish, crystalline clear windows to her sprouting soul.
A couple of seconds later, he mentally shook and tore his gaze away from hers. He knew he would greatly regret it, but nodded in resignation.
Allison's gaze turned away from him, too, onto her Mommy lowering herself to one knee in front of her, brushing her bangs from her forehead. She felt an awful tightness in her throat and tears gather in her eyes. Suddenly she was angry with herself. She really was big enough to understand that Mommy had to leave for a while, but she would be back, she wouldn't leave her. But no matter how many times she repeated these encouraging lines in her head, she couldn't stop herself from snuggling against her mother, a tiny fist clutching tightly on her blouse.
"Allie honey, Mommy will be back before you know it; you play with Gregory until then; why don't you show him how beautifully you can draw? Then you go to sleep like a good little girl, and Mommy will wake you up to take you home, okay? And Mommy will bring you something… something really beautiful…" – she cooed, but little Allison wished she had stopped talking. She clearly felt the nervousness in her mother's voice, and that she was hurt, too, having to leave her here. The corners of her pouting mouth now turned down uncontrollably, but she managed to squeeze out a breathy "O.K.", and restrained herself from holding on when her mom gently pushed her away and stood up. She kept staring at her longingly, just a bit alarmed when Blythe House laid her hand onto her hair. Until then, the woman had been whispering silent orders to her son in hurrying sentences. Now her husband already stood on the gravel outside the door, making a big show taking a look at his expensive watch. Blythe put an encouraging arm around Lily's shoulder, and together they walked out onto the street, while John pulled up onto the driveway in the huge black car.
Allie watched all this, hypnotized, and she jumped when the front door closed on the sight before her. An icy dread started mounting her spine as she felt a gaze on her back. Still she shyly turned around and peeked at the tall boy leaning against the railing.
Ignoring the disturbingly admiring glance, he spoke in a low voice.
"Rule number one. No whining."
Allie wanted to protest, when she felt that her cheeks were wet and her eyes prickling. Embarrassed, she quickly wiped her face and straightened her little form, defiant.
"I'm not whining. I am almost this old." – She held up a tiny palm with all five fingers spread out wide. – "I didn't even cry when Tommy Greaves pushed me off the monkey bars, though that hurt very, very bad! And there's still a huuuge, ugly wound on my leg! Wanna see?" – She eagerly started peeling the healing patch off her knee.
Greg recoiled a bit, rather from the unexpected flood of words than the idea of examining a little child's bruised knee.
"No, thanks." – he protested quickly. Allie shrugged.
"I can understand; it's really scary…"
The corner of the boy's mouth twitched, but he immediately felt slightly annoyed, because he thought forward and realized how many hours of this never-ending babbling awaited him. He decided making sure not to encourage the little one to tell the whole story of her almost five years.
"Okay now, I have stuff to do. Got your toys? Good." – he acknowledged when Allie spun around to show her briefcase-sized backpack. He ushered her into the living room. – "See? That corner is yours. You even have a table. You sit there and not make a sound, unless you're really starving, or uhm… Can you go to the toilet by yourself?" – he asked, strained.
"Of course I can!" – the little girl snapped – "I'm…"
"I know, I know. Almost that old." – He couldn't help but let out a small but relieved breath. No way he let them make him fuss around with diapers. Hell knows when these kids get potty trained nowadays. – "So I don't wanna hear from you until you have to eat or go to bed. I'm everything but your playmate. Understood?"
The child nodded a bit nervously, but obediently went and sat on the carpet next to the coffee table, took off her backpack and started unpacking her crayons.
Gregory quickly mounted the stairs to grab his notes from his room. He would have preferred staying there, but who knows what a four year old can do to an immaculately tidy living room in five minutes alone. And no way he let her near his precious stuff here. So he had no choice but to go back down with a heavy book and several pages of scrabbled notes under his arm.
He was relieved to see that the kid was still busy trying to grab her things all at once, both arms in the backpack up to the elbow. She only looked up when she heard him enter the room, and gave him a glowing, mouse-toothed grin.
He just shook his head, again, and looked around for a relatively peaceful spot for himself. His glance brushed over his father's bureau door, but that was clearly out of question. He still carried the reminder of his first and only exploration in there on his lower back. After a few moments of hesitation, he lowered himself into an armchair near the sunlit window. That was his mother's territory and as that, safe to use.
He sighed and buried his nose into the book, immediately closing the outer world out.
He really, really needed this, needed to be good, the best, in order to finally get the long desired freedom and autonomy. He concentrated his thoughts and started memorizing.
It didn't take five minutes for him though to be distracted already. He had been unconsciously hearing the little girl scurrying around the room for a while, but the blood froze in his veins when something he caught from the corner of his eye broke through his wall of concentration.
In a second, he was at the bureau door, and grabbed the little impostor from behind by the neckline of her playing dress like a kitten, and spun her around to face him. She cracked a shy grin at him.
"What do you think you're doing?" – Greg growled at her. Merely five minutes, and she's already making trouble.
"I… I… You told me not to go to you, unless I'm hungry or have to go to bed. I'm not hungry and it's not bedtime yet, so I thought…" – her thin voice faded away at the strict look on her supervisor's face. She didn't want to do anything wrong, she really didn't. She just…
"I just…" – she mumbled.
"What do you want?" – Greg scowled.
"I don't have any paper to draw on…" – she breathed.
Greg huffed, grabbed a couple of sheets from the bottom of the stack of his notes, and pushed them roughly into her hands, then pointed towards her corner.
"Here. Now get lost."
The little girl stared at the paper in her hands, and swung on her heels back and forth, but didn't make a step away.
"Now what?" – Greg asked in despair. Allie peeked up at him.
"These are lined…" – But at the glare the boy gave her, she rather scurried back into the corner, neck between the shoulders, and with a sigh way too big for a little thing like her, she started rummaging between her colorful crayons.
Greg sighed, too – he might be hyperventilating if he had to calm himself down with deep breaths so often, he thought. He sat back and got immediately lost in medical science again.