Author's Note:

Thanks to those who reviewed/commented, favorited and put an alert on this story. I really appreciate it and it makes me happy in stressful times. Thank you so much! I hope I can live up to your expectations with the next chapter.

This chapter is a flashback only, so other than Eric none of our other beloved characters will make an appearance. Just to clarify things for anyone wondering, I altered with Erics age a little. During my research I found a picture from one of the episodes stating that Eric is born on 9/17/1981 but I decided to have him born in 1985 to fit with my story outline. It would make him 29 now and honestly he doesn't look much older on the show most of the time, if you ask me.

Anyways, I present to you chapter 3. Enjoy!

March 1995

"Eric, where's mommy?"

The addressed nine-year-old boy briefly turned his head towards the girl sitting next to him on the bench in front of the Elementary School. His curly blonde hair partially fell into his eyes obscuring his vision, but he didn't care to brush it away. "I told you, I don't know", he answered flatly and drew one leg up onto the bench and braced his elbow on his knee.

The little girl dangled her feet, shifting on the seat restlessly. It was mildly annoying, but the older boy didn't comment on it. "She always picks us up from school", she exclaimed.

Eric leaned his head back against the red brick wall and exhaled. "I know, Emma. She's probably stuck in traffic somewhere." The explanation was meant to calm his sister, but she was smart and always caught on his little lies. Technically, it wasn't really a lie since he really didn't know where his mother was and seeing that they lived in Los Angeles, traffic could very well be the reason she was running late. But this late? He wasn't so sure anymore. School was out for one and a half hour now, the school bus had left an hour or so ago and the Spring sky was slowly turning an orange color indicating that the sun would be setting soon. Upon noticing this, the temperature gradually dropped.

"I'm cold, Eric", Emma whined and huddled her arm around her waist.

Eric noticed the shivers. He pushed himself away from the wall and rummaged through his backpack looking for the sweater that he was sure he still had somewhere in there. But he came up empty. He'd probably forgotten it in his locker. With some hesitation he slipped out of the green sweater he was wearing over his school uniform and gave it to her.

"Here, put this on", he said.

"Thanks." Emma put the pullover on and snuggled closer to him. He threw his arms around her small frame and drew her to his side.

"No problem", he said, absentmindedly.

Eric studied his little sister for a while. Her washed-out blonde hair fell in waves around her face, the coiffure that had looked immaculate this morning was long since disheveled because of the wind. The way too big piece of clothing she huddled into now looked ridiculous on her 3'5'' tiny frame and didn't match her beautiful dress in the slightest, but as long as it answered its purpose, he really couldn't care less. Neither did Emma.

As the wind peaked up another notch and the temperature dropped further, Eric felt the cool air of early spring creep into his bones. Goosebumps erupted on his forearms, and he shivered slightly. Deciding it was fruitless to wait for their mother any longer, he stood up and slung his backpack over his shoulder.

"Come on, Emma", he simply instructed and grabbed her hand to help her off of the bench, but the petite girl pulled back.

"Why? Where are we going?", she asked confused.

"We're going home", he answered matter-of-factly.

"But mommy will get us. We have to wait for her", she argued. She dug her heels into the pavement and crossed her arms in stubbornness.

"No we don't and I don't think she will", Eric said as way of an explanation, but it did nothing to satisfy his sister in the slightest.

"Why not? She always comes", she argued in childlike innocence.

"Not today." Eric started to become annoyed with her attitude, but found that he couldn't really blame her. Their mother had never before forgotten to pick them up from school. She had been the occasional few minutes late or – if she had known she wouldn't make it in time – called ahead to inform the school and told them to take the school bus. But this was different and Eric didn't like it one bit. To be honest with himself, he was scared shitless, but he didn't want Emma to catch up on that, hence his short non-explanations.

"Why not? You said she is stuck in traffic."

Eric deflated and let his shoulders sag. "Emmy", he started, calling her by her rarely used nickname, "if mom was on her way here, she would be here by now. But we are waiting for two hours now. She isn't stuck in traffic for that long. Home is not that far away."

Emma looked at him, thoroughly confused. His reasoning didn't make any sense to her. She was too young to understand. Eric sighed.

"Look, just… Just come, Emma", he begged.

"But I don't want to walk!", she whined.

"C'mon. It's not that far! It's only five blocks and if mom is on her way, she will see us on the sidewalk and pick us up there okay? And if your feet start to hurt, I could always carry you for a short distance." Emmas face lit up at that and she finally gave up her ramrod position. "Now let's go, before it gets dark."

Eric grabbed her hand and gave her a little nudge forward. She started walking without much resistance. He was relieved by that, because it made the journey a little more pleasant. They had walked four of five blocks that lay between their school and home, when they noticed the flashing of red and blue lights in the near distance and smoke in the air. A feeling of unease overcame Eric, but he didn't say anything to his sister as not to scare her.

As they got closer and closer to their destination, the anxiety grew even more and when they rounded the corner to their street, Eric's breath caught in his throat. The street was filled with firetrucks, police and an ambulance, people of each profession hurried over the scene, neighbors were watching either from their front lawns or from behind their curtains. It was quite a commotion going on and it took a while for Eric to realize that the smoke they had seen just a few minutes earlier was actually coming from the small bungalow they were living in with their mom. His heart was beating frantically in his chest and his breath hitched.

He was broken from his reverie by a tug on his sleeve. "Eric, what is the police and the firemen doing here?", Emma asked in a small voice.

"I… I don't know, Emma", he answered, his voice wavering. He grabbed his sisters' hand tightly to prevent his own from trembling. Taking a deep shaky breath, he squared his shoulders to calm himself down for Emma, but couldn't hide his own trepidation. "C'mon, let's find out."

Together they walked unsteady steps towards the bungalow and came to a halt right in front of the gate, but a man stopped them abruptly by grabbing Eric's biceps in a bruising hold. "Hey, this is not a playground!", the man growled and planted himself in front of the siblings.

Eric hissed as the man's grip dug into his upper arm muscles. "Let me go, we live here!", he argued and tried to push past the man, his hand still entwined with his sisters', but the fireman didn't budge, only stood up taller to demonstrate the bulkiness of his stature. In desperation, the blonde boy let go of Emmas smaller hand and used it to try to pry away the large rough paw from his arm, but the grip only got tighter.

"Let go off me, you're hurting me!", Eric bit out between clenched teeth, anger getting the better of him and that was a very rare occurrence. He was usually a very quiet and calm child, never raised his voice or threw a tantrum. He usually accepted anything thrown his way with a nod and a smile, which was remarkable for a kid his age. If noted by strangers, his mother usually told them she didn't think he was capable of anger and aggression. Right now, though, he was terrified for his mother's wellbeing and the firemans' reluctance to let him pass left him feeling raw and irritable.

"Collins, a problem here?" Another, even bulkier man came over with long confident strides as he overheard the commotion. The small patch on his uniform identified him as Batallion Chief. He came to a stop about five feet from them. His stance, back straight, shoulders square and legs slightly apart, gave off an air of authority, but he didn't seem as intimidating as his colleague.

Without any change in demeanor the fireman gripping Erics arm answered, not even looking at his superior. "These two little brats claim to live here. I was just telling them that this isn't a playground and that they can't go in there", he reported with arrogance lacing his every word.

"We don't claim to live here. We actually do live here!", Eric interrupted the unkind man and once again tried to free himself from the man's grip. His arm started to tingle with numbness from the pressure.

"Ease up, Collins", the Batallion Chief ordered his subordinate calmly.

Collins, as the other man was called, gave his boss an incredulous look. "You sure?!"

"I said, ease up!", the bulkier man repeated, voice dangerously low. His eyes seemed to bore into Collins' and after a few seconds of staring at each other the latter reluctantly let go of Erics arm. The blonde boy immediately took a few steps back from the man and cradled his abused arm, rubbing at it subconsciously. "Good, now go back to work", the Chief added, then turned to the kids and kneeled before them. "What're your names?"

Emma, who had moved a few feet away, when Collins had grabbed her brother, now rushed back to his side, huddling close to him and Eric laid a protective arm around her. "I'm Eric", he introduced himself. "This is my sister, Emma."

"Okay, Eric and Emma", he smiled at them respectively. "I'm Batallion Chief Whitman. So you live in this house?" Whitman pointed at the bungalow behind him.

"That's what I just said", Eric answered impatiently. "Our mom was supposed to pick us up from school. We waited for an hour and a half, but she never showed. So we walked home. Was she in the house? Is she okay? Is our mom okay?" Eric rushed through the information and questions without taking a breath and once he was through he bit his lips nervously. Whitman noticed the agitation as a feeling of dread of what the answer might be. This kid only wanted to know that their mother was alive and well. He could only feel for them.

Whitman curled his lips into a reassuring smile. "Your mom is okay. She was in the house, when the fire started, but we got her out in time. She's over in the ambo getting checked out by the paramedics, but she's alright. Do you want to see her?"

Eric and Emma simultaneously nodded their heads. Of course they wanted to see her.

"She will be wearing a plastic mask, when you see her, but don't worry. She breathed in a little of the smoke and the mask is there to help her breathe", Whitman explained, mindful that the children might be worried when they saw her that way.

"Will she have to go to the hospital?", Eric asked, still worried.

Whitman shook his head. "No. I don't think so. It's just a precaution."

The boy exhaled, comforted by the answer. Emma pulled at Eric's t-shirt in that moment to get his attention. "Eric, can we see mommy?", she asked. She was scared, he noticed. Drawing an arm around her and pulling her tight, he looked questioningly at Whitman in hopes of a positive answer.

"Of course. C'mon, you two." Whitman motioned for them to follow him and Eric and Emma, both eager to finally see their mom hurried after him.

Emma saw her first. Sitting in the back of the ambulance, Mrs. Beale held an oxygen mask to her face and nodded to one of the paramedics as they asked her something that they couldn't understand from the distance. Her clothes were stained with smoke smudges but other than that she seemed physically unharmed.

"Mommy!", Emma yelled and ran over. Mrs. Beale turned towards the familiar voice just in time to catch the little girl as she threw herself into a tight embrace. Eric followed her at a slower pace, but nameless relief was written all over his facial features.

"Mom!", he smiled and stood awkwardly next to them, until moments later Mrs. Beale discarded the offending mask and used the now free hand to draw him into a tight hug as well.

"Emma, Eric! My two little angels", she said with a raspy voice and put her arms around them, pulling them close to her. Eric could smell the smoke lingering in her clothes and hair.

"Mom, are you okay?", he asked, the concern for her resurfacing.

"I'm fine, Eric", she reassured the boy with an honest smile and stroked through his blonde locks.

"But the fire…" He trailed off.

"I must've forgotten to turn off the stove before I went to clean the house. It was dumb on my end, but thankfully nothing else happened", she laid out some of the facts to him, but didn't tell the whole truth as not to worry her children. Truth was, she had no recollection of what exactly had happened after turning on the stove. She only remembered that she hadn't been in the kitchen anymore once the fire started and hadn't even realized it until firemen had rushed the house and dragged her to safety.

Mrs. Beale was shaken from her thoughts by her daughter. "Mommy, we were waiting for you to pick us up from school", Emma said, voice muffled from burying her head in her mothers' shoulder and raw with emotion from crying.

"Yes, but you never came, so I decided we should walk home", Eric added as an afterthought. He let go of his mom and shifted a few inches away from her, hunching his shoulders, anxiously waiting for her reaction. Their mother had once told them not to leave the school yard by themselves. Too many dangers were waiting for them on the streets of Los Angeles and who knew what might happen to two kids their age. Eric had obeyed her principle today. He chewed his lips nervously.

"Oh, you did?" Mrs. Beale addressed him, her voice surprisingly light. Eric looked up to her with anticipation.

To his surprise, his mother smiled. "You did great. Both of you", she reassured them and drew Eric closer once again. "That was good thinking on your part, Eric, and I'm happy to be the mother of such smart kids."

Eric blushed at the compliment. "Really, mom? You're not mad?"

"I'm not mad, Eric. I'm proud of you." Mrs. Beales voice was thick with emotion and still scratchy from the smoke inhalation. She breathed a kiss on each of Emmas and Erics heads and hugged them both tight to herself. They sat like that for a long time.

Little did the family know that this incident would only be the first of many to come and that this was the beginning of a difficult time, one that would be emotionally challenging in so many ways. One that would force a nine-year-old kid to grow up way too fast and take responsibilities no-one his age should even have to imagine. One that would force a nine-year-old kid to take care of an ill mother and raise a little girl.

So, I struggled a little with this chapter as I don't consider myself any good at writing child dialogue. But I set myself up for the challenge and hope it turned out decent enough and the interaction between Eric and Emma comes across believable.

- S.