Eric lay stretched out in bed, staring at the light breaking through his window shining up from the street lamp and flicking across his ceiling. It made a most interesting design of scattered ovals and intricate crisscross lines, and the opportunist inside him mentally stored the aesthetically pleasing pattern away to use in his visual arts assignment, which wasn't due for a couple of weeks.

Checking his watch for about the twentieth time, he shut his eyes and groaned with boredom. How the hell was he supposed to drop off to sleep when his body clock wasn't anywhere near ready? It had been monumentally unfair being sent off to bed like a…along with the little squirt. Peter had, once again, totally overreacted to the whole situation by firstly imposing a completely unreasonable forced slumber and then by… Eric cringed as he shuffled on the bed, a small tingle in his rear reminding him of his unfortunate encounter with the man's unnaturally hard, unyielding palm. In retrospect, he probably should have relented and given some weak, Burke friendly answer like, 'We shouldn't drop our dinner on the floor,' but his more creative response, certainly hadn't warranted the half dozen or so subsequent whacks that had rained down upon his sorry behind.

After he'd scurried upstairs, he'd made a point of staying in the shower for as long as he could, simply so he didn't add to his embarrassment by having to face his executioner for the rest of the evening. As planned, by the time he'd finished in the bathroom, Peter was done with reading to the squirt and was already back downstairs with Elizabeth. Eric didn't care too much that he'd missed out on listening to the next chapter and finding how Moonface and Bessie escaped from the land of Orchestra Instruments. It was a little kid's story after all, and besides, it was something he could easily read himself, if he could be bothered.

In his immense state of boredom, Eric attempted to listen to what might be happening down stairs…what movie the oldies may be watching, what college football game Peter was engrossed in…what hushed conversations they were having because they figured no prying ears were listening. One night, not long after he'd come to stay, he'd made a trip to the bathroom long after everyone had gone to bed, and he'd heard Peter and Elizabeth whispering in their bedroom about their house guest. Eric had strained to make out the exact words but the gist of the conversation seemed to be a discussion about whether there were any other possible living arrangements for the bunch of trouble they'd just inherited…or something to that extent.

Eric checked his watch for the twenty-first time and considered sneaking to the top of the stairs, more for want of something to do, than of any real interest in what he might overhear, but was stopped by the rustling coming from the bed against the opposite wall. Soon after, the tell-tale shuffling of little feet padding across the carpet, stopped at his bed.

"What's up, squirt?"

"Cans my get in?"

Eric rolled his eyes, for the benefit of no one but himself. "Yeah. Get in."

He pulled back the blanket, shuffled over and made room. For a little while, both boys lay in silence, staring up at the ceiling. Eric checked his watch again. "Arrrgh," he moaned.

"What wongs?"

"Nothin, squirt," Eric whined, with effort.

"Air-wick…"

"Yeah?"

"Hows come use hab dat on?"

"What? My watch?"

"Yep. Use oorways hab its on in bed."

"So?"

Scottie shrugged. "Dunno."

"Maybe I like how it can do this…" Eric pressed a button on the side and the inner casing and clock-face lit up with a bright blue, then a green, a yellow, orange and finally all colours flashing in quick succession.

"Wow," Scottie gasped. "That sooooo cooool. Cans I hab a turwn?"

"I suppose so," Eric levelled his wrist above Scottie's chest. "Just press this button here…"

But instead of touching any of the buttons, Scottie placed his fingers on the metallic band, "Cans I hab it on my arm?"

Eric shook his head. "Nope."

"Whys not?"

"Listen squirt," Eric stated firmly, "either press the button or don't, but my arm's getting tired of holding still."

"Okays," Scottie reached out and touched a different button. This one shot a tiny led spot light out of the top of the casing. Both boys looked up as it made a little white dot on the ceiling. "Coooool."

"Yeah," Eric said in a distant voice as he remembered something that made him suddenly recoil his arm and tuck it away under the covers.

Scottie watched the reaction but didn't say anything.

After another long stretch of silence, Eric finally asked, "How come you're not tired, squirt? You should be on your third dream by now."

Scottie shrugged, "Dunno."

"Probably that big serve of apple pie and ice-cream you had? There was enough sugar in that bowl to power an ethanol vehicle from Jersey to Tennessee."

"Pwobabsly."

"You've got no idea what I'm talking about, have you, squirt?"

"Yeas."

"Okay," Eric shut his eyes, forcing himself not to look at the time on his watch anymore.

"Air-wick…"

"Yeah?"

"Cans use tell me ones of da tories?"

"Which one?"

"Da ones when use sescape fwoms da means kins car tells."

Eric laughed, "Sir Marc was many things, but he was not a king, my young naïve friend."

"Whats was he?"

"Okay, you close your eyes, get comfortable," Eric waited for the little boy to manoeuvre himself for a better position on the pillow before he continued, "and imagine the clearest, bluest, freshest water on the planet, so clear that you can see your toes in the water, even when the water is as deep as your neck…"

He continued to tell the story until he heard the long, regular beat of soft breathing coming from the little guy. Eric wished he could drop off to sleep as easily but instead, found himself thinking of the story some more – not the fantasy version he'd been telling Scottie, but the actual version of events. And try as he might to distract himself by staring at patterns on the ceiling or playing with his watch, the memory persisted in his head…even well after he'd fallen asleep.

And such was his immersion into the depths of the story that Eric never stirred when the little guy was lifted from his bed and carried back to his own, and he wasn't even slightly roused when someone readjusted his blanket and kissed him lovingly on his forehead. Unfortunately, he didn't wake until the dream played out to its frightening finale and became too much for his consciousness to handle, at which time he was startled awake, gasping for air and shedding silent tears of relief that he was, in fact, where he was.