A/N I hope you are all having as much fun with the mystery 'guest' reviewer as we are – you know the one that said the story is boring, has called us dumb assess and thinks Peter's character is an abusive jerk? While we were having a good laugh, we couldn't help to wonder about this person who's soooo sadly mixed up, that even after twelve chapters, they're still reading it! Anyway, we think we've narrowed it down to either A) they've been banned from burning books by the local fire department (too many spot fires) and they've taken to the twenty-first century equivalent or B) they're a closet spanking fan but are so ashamed that they are enjoying it, they drop flames every other chapter to appease their guilt. Either way, you have to feel sorry for them…It's been twelve chapters! :)

And we couldn't let the other anon think they're off the hook, so here's a teeny bit of advice…if you want to 'critique' someone's story, you can't possibly be expected to be taken seriously if you don't even feel strong enough in your conviction to sign off with your name. Dare we suggest you go so far as to leave a username so an actual adult conversation be had on the subject that is bothering you, least it lead everyone to the fact that you've never tried writing anything in your life…on second thoughts, best that you don't :)

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"How much longer?" Eric checked the time on his watch before stuffing more popcorn into his mouth.

"Well, we are now in the fifth innings and the game has nine, so I'm sure you can pretty easily work out the math on that one."

"Can't they just get to a certain number of runs and declare one team the winner?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Cause that's not how baseball is played."

"Seems to me like it'd be a whole lot more efficient."

"People don't play or watch baseball for efficiency. If they wanted efficiency, they'd go on a vacation to Japan."

"Why Mister Seriously Straight," Eric turned in his seat to issue Peter a cheeky grin, "did you just crack a joke?"

"Maybe."

"And here I thought you catching one of those balls that sometimes gets hit into the crowd would be the most impossible thing you could achieve today."

"It still would."

"Nah…You cracking a joke tops that."

"Watch the game," Peter nodded his head towards the field. "Andrews is about to strike this guy out."

"Well, I wouldn't want to miss that," Eric slumped back in his seat and resumed feasting on the small trashcan-sized popcorn bucket on his lap. After a minute of silent munching he announced, "I'm thirsty."

"Me toos," Scottie sat forward and looked up at his dad.

"Well, what a shock. Between the two of you, you have pretty much devoured that entire bucket of salt."

"Here," Elizabeth reached down and began rummaging through her bag. "I have your water bottles."

Eric screwed his nose up, "I'm too thirsty for water. I was thinking more along the lines of a soda?"

Peter scrutinized the youngster before sighing in resignation and reaching into his pocket for his wallet. "Okay, but not the large size - just the regular one. I don't want us having to make a pit stop at every subway station on the way home."

Eric stood up and held out his hand for the cash, "As if that's gonna happen."

"I wants one too," Scottie stood up also.

"Well," Peter directed the smaller boy with his disapproval face, "that's not how you ask."

"Uh, I means, cans I pwease hab a soda toos?"

"Better." Peter handed the older boy the money. "Please get Scottie whatever you're getting."

Eric nodded and began to shimmy his way out of the aisle but the little boy called after him, "Air-wick, waits. I is comings too."

"No, you're not," both Peter and Eric replied in sync.

"Whys not?"

"Because…" Peter squinted back up the row to where the food outlets were. He could see from his seat, the end of where the patrons where lining up. Turning back, he relented, "Okay Scott-Allen. You can go, but you must hold Eric's hand tightly at all times, understand?"

Scottie nodded with a big smile.

"Seriously," Eric groaned. "I've gotta take pip-squeak?"

"If you want a soda you do."

Eric rolled his eyes but held out his hand, "Fine. Come on squirt, before Peter reneges on the soda altogether."

# # #

"Can you believe this line?" Eric whinged to no one in particular as he confirmed how long they'd been waiting by checking the time on his watch. "What'd everyone in the whole friggen stadium just decide all of a sudden that they were thirsty?"

"Maybes theys hab too much popcorns too?"

"Yeah, that'd be right."

"Eri…"

Eric startled, not from the touch of the hand that came to rest on his shoulder, but from the long since heard voice with which his name had been spoken.

He spun around and released the hand he'd been charged with holding so he could leap into the expectant arms of the young woman. "Mom!"

"Hello my dear boy. I've missed you!"

"I've missed you more," Eric cried through tears of joy. "I thought maybe you weren't coming back! Peter and all the others have been looking for you. Where have you been?"

"I know you've got a lot of questions…" she glanced over her son's shoulder at the rows of seats before taking his hand and leading him off to the side. Eric snatched up Scott-Allen's hand and hauled him along too. "We don't have much time. I've been back in the city for two weeks now waiting to get you alone – I even tried to catch your eye last weekend at the beach but it hasn't been easy. I'll explain everything on the way but we need to leave now." She started walking away from the drink kiosk and beckoned for her son to follow.

Eric took a couple of steps but stopped when he remembered he was still holding Scottie's hand. He held it up like it would explain everything. "Mom?"

"He'll be okay. Someone will come and get him and take him back to his parents. We must go now, Eri."

Eric freed the little hand and took another couple of steps before stopping once more. He glanced over his shoulder and couldn't ignore the worried expression on the smaller boy's face.

"Air-wick, wheres use going?"

He stepped back and crouched down, "Look, I've just got to go and do something. I'll be back in a minute. You go back to Peter and tell him I'm still lining up for the drinks."

Scottie looked around, "Which ways is dadda?"

"Eri… We must go."

Eric straightened up, "I need to take Scottie back. He's never gonna find his way otherwise."

"Someone will take him to security. He'll be fine."

"How about I take him to that security officer over there?" Eric pointed.

"There's no time. By the time he questions you, Peter's going to be wondering where you both are."

Eric stood, hopelessly conflicted by what he was supposed to do, what he needed to do. He looked at his mom with her pleading eyes, he looked down at Scottie with fear seeping into his little round orbs. Indecision began flooding his brain. "Uh…"

"Eri…"

"I can't just leave Scottie on his own," he finally decided with some conviction.

"Okay…which entry did you come in?"

"We came in the main gate at the left entrance, and then straight into the Great Hall."

"Listen carefully, there are bathrooms beside the member's club. When you're leaving, tell Peter you need to use the bathroom, and then slip away. Come up the ramp, I'll be waiting for you at the top."

"What time?" Eric asked as he pressed a button on his watch.

"It should be about five thirty, if not before."

"You know Peter will start looking for me if I don't come straight back."

"Good luck to him. There's going to be thirty thousand fans all trying to leave at once. We're going to be able to get a good head start."

"What's plan B, in case I can't get to you?"

"Plan B is I meet you on Kingsbridge Road Station at nineteen hundred."

"Okay," Eric glanced down at the little guy who appeared oblivious to whatever was being planned. "I'd better get back in line for the drinks… You'll be there won't you?"

"Yes, of course I will," Alex leaned down and took her sons cheeks in her hands and kissed him lovingly on his forehead. "I'll see you soon, my handsome Prince Ericien."

# # #

Eric gazed out into the playing field, not actually seeing any of the action that had played out since returning to his seat. All he could visualize was the image of his mom and him together as he contemplated how close he'd come to being able to be with her again. If only he'd been allowed to go get the drink on his own – he wouldn't have hesitated if it weren't for the…

"Air-wick…"

"What now?"

"Air-wick," Scottie leaned across his dad's lap and held out his hand. "Cans I hab morw pops corn pwease?"

Eric stared uncaringly into the near empty bucket sitting on his lap, his mood darkened by the anxiety he felt regarding the escape plan. "No."

"Eric…" Peter warned. "Don't be mean."

"Fine," he shoved the bucket across Peter's lap and into the waiting hands. "But don't go blaming me when the squirt chucks up yellow popcorn vomit all over the subway passengers on the way home."

Scottie took the bucket but also remembered his manners, "Tank oo…Pwince Air-ee-see-an."

Peter and Elizabeth exchanged puzzled glances, which Eric didn't miss. He attempted a fast redirect, "Uh, so Peter, what did you say the name of this pitcher was again? I think he's the best they've got. The coaches should have been using him earlier."

"His name is Tommy Andrews," Peter replied distractedly. "He's only just been traded from Detroit so they probably wanted to see how well he settles in before giving him too much mound time."

"Well, looks like they made themselves a good deal."

"Yeah," Peter leaned down closer to the younger boy and lowered his voice, "Scott-Allen, what did you call Eric before?"

"I calls him Pwince Air-ee-see-an." Even though the answer was spoken around several kernels of popcorn, it was easy enough to make out what the little boy was saying.

Eric leaned around Peter and tried to explain, "I've been telling Scottie stories some nights when he can't get to sleep and one of them has Kings and Queens…"

"But nots Pwince Air-"

"Yes, Prince Ericien. You've just forgotten squirt. I tell you lots of things that you forget."

"Nose I don'ts."

"Yes, you do!"

"Boys!" Peter held up his hand and twisted his back more as to block the older boy off from the younger one. "Scott-Allen…where did you hear that name, Prince Ericien?"

"Fwoms the lady."

"What lady?" Peter was reaching for his phone even as he asked.

Scottie looked back up in the direction of the food outlets. "Da lady up dare whens we gots the sodas… Air-wick's momma."

Peter was on his feet looking around as he punched in a number. "Yeah, it's Burke. I've got a positive ID on Alex Hunter at Yankee Stadium. Put all units on full alert." He clicked off the phone and stared down at the older boy, who in turn returned an equal, if not more threatening glare of his own. Thinking better of it, Peter reached down and snatched up his hand. "Come on…let's go."

"Where we going?"

"Home."

"Why? Can't we stay till the end," Eric pleaded while checking his watch. It was way too soon. He anchored onto the seat with his free hand. "There's still three more innings."

"Not for you there's not…" Peter plucked the boy's hand easily off the seat and started to haul him along the aisle… "It's game over."