Eric stepped through the front door and flung his bag onto the stairs before kicking off his shoes and discarding his jacket, which he hurled on top of the bag. He stomped into the living area, his mood only slightly less agitated than when Peter had first collected him after school to take him to his appointment. Eric had hoped, since he'd heard the agent discussing with Elizabeth, a busy caseload he was in the middle of, that he may not have to go, but Peter had turned up to collect him at the usual time. Eric had proposed that from now on he could make his own way to the appointment, if he felt like an appointment was even necessary but Peter hadn't so much as humoured the suggestion with a response. In which case, all the way to the doctor's office, Eric had made it his mission to make the trip as uncomfortably irritating as he could, by complaining, whining, grumbling and citing once again that he shouldn't be expected to act responsibly if he was never allowed to make decisions and do things on his own.
"Dadda, dadda," the little rug rat came running past Eric, ignoring him completely and into the arms of his father, who had was still coming through the door.
"Hey, little man. You have a good day?"
"Ah huh," Scottie nodded. "I gots to hab my terwn holbing Misterw Wax today!"
"You had a turn with Mister Max?"
The child nodded, excitedly.
"That's awesome, Scottie."
Eric groaned and rolled his eyes with a, 'you've got to be kidding me,' expression. Anyone would think the kid had been given a chance to snuggle up to de Milo's Aphrodite and not the oversized feral rat they called the class pet. Hell, it was highly unlikely Scott-Allen had even heard of Aphrodite! By the time he was the squirt's age, his mom had taken him to all the European art galleries and museums, his favourite being the Uffizi Gallery in Firenze. He figured the only place Scott's mom had ever taken him to was to Kindy, and of course the playground at the end of the road.
"Hi hon," Elizabeth appeared on the scene and kissed Peter before planting a kiss on the top of Eric's head has he tried to dance out of the path. "I hear you've already been informed of the exciting news?"
Eric groaned some more. These people were just too much.
"Well, come on, all of you. You can finish talking over dinner. Go wash up, the food's already on the table."
Eric was happy to disappear up the stairs to the bathroom, but wasn't so happy when he sat down at the table and examined the menu. "Lasagne?"
"I thought you liked lasagne, sweetie." Elizabeth went about serving the boys while Peter lifted Scottie onto his booster seat.
"I do when it's made with home made pasta and sauce. Did you make the pasta?"
"I didn't. I'm sorry, Eri. I didn't have time after I got home. I know you like the fresh pasta so maybe on the weekend you and I can make it from scratch." She laid down the plate in front of the boy then went about getting her own.
Eric folded his arms, possibly more put out by what Elizabeth had just called him than the issue in front. "I'm not hungry."
"I'm sure you are a bit hungry. Why don't you try it? It's probably not as bad as you think."
"No thanks."
Elizabeth opened her mouth with a counter offer but Peter held up his hand, indicating it was his turn. "That's fine, sport. But if you don't eat your dinner then you don't get any dessert."
Eric's eyes immediately shot to the large hot apple pie, sitting beside the lasagne dish. "Well that's hardly fair. Just cause I don't like something, I have to miss out on something I do?"
Peter nodded, "Yep, that's the way it is."
"So I won't get any dessert if I don't eat this?" He held his hands over his plate like it was a bowl of gruel.
"That's right."
Scottie paused with a forkful of food on the way to his mouth. "Air-wick, use can sharw mine desserp wib me if oo want."
Elizabeth patted his son on the arm, "That's very kind of you to offer, Scottie, but no, Eric can't share your dessert with you."
"Why not? Why can't he share his dessert if he wants to? He offered. What's it teaching him if you're telling him not to share?"
Peter sighed in frustration and was about to lose it when Elizabeth cut in, "Listen Eric, I know this isn't how you like your lasagne, so if you just make an effort to eat, let's say half, and all of your salad then you can still have the apple pie."
Eric pressed his lips together as he considered the offer. The store bought pasta, while not much better than slices of cardboard, was coated with meat and sauce so it probably wasn't the worst thing in the world to have to shove down his throat, plus, it was as though the apple pie was calling his name. He couldn't not have a piece. "Fine."
Elizabeth nodded, with relief. "That's good, sweetie because I have a new tube of madagascar vanilla ice-cream to have with the apple pie."
The boys' eyes lit up – Eric's because madagascar vanilla was his very favourite and Scottie's because any time Eric got excited, he did too.
"Thanks, Elizabeth."
"You're welcome, sweetie. Now eat up."
Eric scooped up some of the lasagne surrounded by a piece of lettuce and tomato. It didn't taste as bad when it had some fresh veggies to conceal the taste.
"How did you go this afternoon at Doctor Patrick's?" Elizabeth asked as she set about eating her own meal.
Eric glanced at the time on his watch before shrugging, "Okay."
Elizabeth waited for more, but there wasn't any so she glanced across at Peter who shook his head ever so slightly.
"How was your day, hon? Did your bridal party end up deciding on a theme?"
"No. And I can't see it happening anytime soon…
Eric tuned out the oldies and continued eating the spruced up cardboard. Every chance he got, he let some of it spill off his fork and onto the floor beside his chair leg, right where the Labrador had come to wait, expectantly.
Scottie noticed what the older boy was doing and with a twinkle in his eye, tried it out for himself, except he wasn't as covert and Peter saw.
"Scott Allen! You better not be doing what it looks like you're doing?"
"My sowwy, Dadda," he offered while dropping his bottom lip.
"Eat up," he stated, fixing a glare with the older boy at the same time.
"Uh huh, my am."
"Is that enough, Elizabeth?" Eric ignored any implied direction from his right and lifted his plate to the left.
Elizabeth pressed her lips together, while considering, "Maybe just three more mouthfuls and then you can have some pie."
"Ans Wice Cweams," Scottie added.
"Yes, sweetie, and ice-cream."
Grudgingly, Eric scooped three minuscule portions into his mouth and announced, "Done."
Elizabeth didn't comment as she left the room to collect the ice-cream. Best she didn't say anything because it wouldn't be a battle she would win tonight.
The two boys happily worked their way through their dessert then Peter announce while they were scaping the final crumbs from their bowls, "Okay, both of you, go brush your teeth, time for bed."
"What?" Eric's eyes shot up. "Not me too?"
"Yes, you too," Peter stated indifferently as he went about helping Elizabeth to stack the dinner dishes.
Eric checked his watch again. "But I don't have to get into bed for another hour and a half. I'm not a baby." He directed the last statement at the little guy.
Scottie didn't seem, or appear to be bothered as he snatched some apple out of his bowl as his mother was removing it from under his chin.
"No, you're not," Peter stated. "But you have been irritable, unpleasant and obnoxious ever since I picked you up from school. I think an early night may help remedy your grumpiness and start you off on the right foot tomorrow."
"This isn't-"
"Fair? I know, I've heard the speech already, now listen to mine… Bed."
Scottie didn't need to be told twice. He clambered off his seat and over to his dad. "Use weading my tory tonigh?"
"Yes, bud, I'll be up as soon as I've helped Mommy clean up the dishes…but first," Peter turned the little boy sideways and swatted his butt. Scottie yelped and flung his hands back to rub at the sting. "What don't we do at the table, Scott-Allen?"
The little guy blinked away the sudden mist of tears that was blurring his vision before answering, "Nots to wop food on the door?"
"Yes, sport. Don't purposely drop your food on the floor again."
"I wonts, Dadda."
"Good, now up you go," Peter sent the little one on his way with another, much gentler tap to his rear. "I'll be up in about ten minutes," he called after him before spinning back around in his chair and fixing his attention on the older boy.
Eric remained unbudging. "I'm not going to bed like a four year old baby."
"Yes, you are, and if you call Scott-Allen a baby again, or any other name that is derogatory, I will put you over my knee while you and I have a very long chat about disrespect.
Eric shrugged his shoulders to show he didn't care, and slouched in his seat some more.
"Well," Elizabeth stood up, indication the boy should do the same. "I'm going to start on the dishes. I've put some fresh towels under the sink in the bathroom, Eri, and there's a new bottle of shampoo in the cabinet. I think the old one is just about empty."
"Fine," Eric pushed back his chair and stood up with all the dramatic infliction he could muster. "Nothins gonna be happening down here anyway." He moved around the table, keeping what he thought was a safe buffer between himself and Peter, but it so happened that Eric incorrectly predicted the man's reach. "Hey-" was all he got out before one large hand swatted his backside, hard. He tried to jump clear but he appeared to be anchored by his upper arm.
Peter waited till the boy gave in and stopped moving before he asked, "What don't we do at the dinner table, Eric?"
Eric glared at the man for treating him the same as his four year old…baby! While he was busy considering an appropriate response to such a childish question, from the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of said baby, stopped at the bottom of the stairs, no doubt waiting to see what would happen next. Eric shot a glance over his shoulder to see if Elizabeth was doing the same, and what a shock...she was. Eric locked eyes with Peter once more. The man looked at the ready to pound his ass the moment he uttered any words other than, 'Nots to wop food on the door.' And sure the swats would sting, but he was a Hunter, and he had a reputation to uphold.
"Eric…" Peter repeated. "What don't we do at the dinner table?"
Eric shrugged before responding with more indifference than Peter had ever achieved, "What don't we do? Many things, but the first to spring to mind is that at this table, we don't eat decent pasta. Marilena's Italian Kitchen anyone?"