"You getting out?"

"No."

Peter huffed while twisting his body around so he was facing the back seat, "Damn it, Eric! Can't we just this once do it without a performance? Why do you think that every time we go through this, you need to put up a resistance? One time I'd like to arrive here, get out of the car, go in – no fuss, no whinging, no complaints."

"I'm not going in."

"Yes, you are! And we need to go now or we're going to be late…again."

"It's not counted as late if we don't go in at all."

"For some crazy reason," Peter grumbled mostly to himself as he rubbed the temples at the side of head, "I'd mistakenly believed that when we eliminated all the commotion relating to visiting your dad, this would be covered too… I really don't need this today, Eric." In light of what he'd been through in the past twenty-four hours, he really needed to cut a break.

"Neither do I, so can we please just go home."

"No." Peter paused to consider his next course of action – he didn't want to resort to dragging the kid out of the car if he could avoid it. "I'm going to give you to the count of five to get your butt out of this car or-"

"I've got a cramp in my stomach," the boy cut in with a pathetic moan. "I really don't feel all that well. I think maybe I'm going to be sick."

Peter eyed his young charge doubtfully, "What, this…stomach cramp just came about all of a sudden?"

"Yeah, it happens." Eric doubled forward and held his stomach, "It's hurting even worse now."

Peter pursed his lips and pierced the kid with a threatening glare. It really was an abysmal performance, if he'd ever seen one. "If you don't get your butt out of this car right now, mister, you and I are going to have a very long conversation when we get home about your blatant lying and having to cause a scene, every time we need to do something."

"Fine, I don't have a cramp," the boy gave up on the sickness strategy and tried an uncharted approach – honesty. "I just don't want to go. Please don't make me."

Peter was quite taken back by the boy's unguarded frankness, so much so, that he actually began to entertain the idea of considering his request. "You want me to see if we can change the appointment to later in the week?"

"No," Eric gazed out the window at the all-too-familiar building. "I don't want another appointment. I don't want to come here anymore."

"Why? You don't like Doctor Patrick? Would you rather we found you a different doctor?"

"I'd rather you didn't make me go to a doctor at all. I'm not sick."

Peter reached back and rested his hand on Eric's knee, but predicably the kid pulled it away and began playing with the buttons on his watch.

"We know you're not sick, Eric but you're still having the nightmares. El and I hear you calling out some nights."

"Lots of kids have nightmares and yet their parents don't force them along to see a shrink every week."

"It's not just the nightmares…" Peter paused to consider his words. "You've been through a lot this year, more than you should have to deal with by yourself. Doctor Patrick is someone you can talk to, he can help you work through any worries you may have and give you strategies for dealing with them."

"It's just…" Eric lowered his voice to barely above a whisper, "when I come here to sit with the doctor, it's one more thing in my life that makes me feel like..."

"Like what," Peter prompted when it became obvious the boy wasn't going to say anymore.

"Like there's something wrong with me. Like I'm not just like every other kid. I mean, I know I'm not already…my father is in prison and my mom is supposed to be, I've spent my life travelling from place to place cause we couldn't stay anywhere for too long, and now I'm being looked after by the FBI agent who is making it his mission to be the one to arrest my mom… you don't need to pay someone to tell me that life sucks. I'm not clueless, Peter. I know that my situation is unusual, but when I come here, I feel that my dysfunctional existence is something I shouldn't be coping with." Eric looked up so he could meet Peter's eyes, "I understand that you and Elizabeth think it's going to help me, but in actual fact…it's having the opposite effect."

It was Peter's turn to gaze out the window as he mulled over the boy's words. He knew enough to recognise that children weren't emotionally or mentally mature enough to make decisions regarding their psychological wellbeing, but the kid did put forth a strong argument for his case. "Okay," he tried what he considered to be a suitable compromise, "you don't have to come and see Doctor Patrick anymore, but I'm not comfortable with… you need to have access to someone to talk to. Perhaps there's a G.O. at your school-"

"Arrgh!" Eric groaned in painful frustration. "You don't get it, do you? I don't need anyone."

"That's not how I see it, but…all right then, how about this… I won't bring you to a therapist if you agree that you'll be more open with Elizabeth and me, talk to us if you're worried about something, and if we ask you a question, you'll give us an honest response - none of the usual nonsense you go on with." It was highly unlikely to happen but Peter was willing to try anything that meant avoiding the weekly torture of the doctor's car park battle of wills. "Do you think you can do that?"

"Yeah," Eric answered without hesitation. "Of course I can."

"We'll, that remains to be seen, so this is what I'm going to do – I'm going to cancel the appointment with Doctor Patrick for just this week. We'll trial how it goes and if I feel nothing has changed, that you're still bottling up your emotions and instead of discussing how you really feel you keep giving us knee-jerk BS answers, then we'll come back here for your scheduled appointment next week."

"I'll accept your counteroffer," Eric said it in a way that made it sounds as if he was the one being accommodating, "if you agree to let me keep the money you'd otherwise have to pay Doctor Patrick."

Peter glared at the boy, "I'm yet to cancel the appointment. We can still go in if you like?"

"No," Eric shook his head. "No, I don't like. You keep the money. You and Elizabeth probably need it more than me anyways."

"How very generous of you," Peter responded in kind. "Now remember, you and I made a deal." He twisted his body more so he could reach back his right hand.

Eric screwed his nose up, "You want me to shake on it?"

"Yes, I do. Shaking on it means that you promise to at least try and keep up your end of the deal."

"Oh, unreal," Eric lifted his hand with exaggerated effort but then quickly withdrew it up to his lips and spat into his palm. Then with a sparkle in his eye, he presented his hand.

Peter momentarily considered withdrawing but ultimately decided he was man enough to brave a smear of saliva. Taking the kid by surprise, he spat into his own palm and quickly snatched up the pro-offered hand, which he shook firmly before spinning back around and starting the engine. As he reversed out of his park, he glanced over his shoulder and took great delight in seeing the brat staring at his wet palm with palpable revulsion. The image was enough to bolster his resolve and instead of taking the first right at the lights, he turned left.

It took a little while for his passenger to notice, but after several blocks Eric called out, "Dare I ask…why aren't we heading home?"

Peter waited until he had pulled up at the next red before looking in his rear view mirror to answer, "Elizabeth's not expecting us home for at least another hour, we may as well go and do something."

Eric moaned, "Why? What does it matter if we get home early for a change?"

"It doesn't, but we should take advantage of the opportunity."

"Or we could just go home."

"We could, but we're not." When the lights changed green, Peter turned the car off the main road and entered a service road leading to a large shopping complex.

"Oh, man," Eric frowned unhappily at what he could see looming ahead. "Please tell me you're not going to make me follow you around the supermarket while you do grocery shopping."

Peter laughed loudly, "You don't know me very well do you, kiddo? I get an hour off so I make a beeline for a supermarket? You think that's the best I could come up with? That's pretty sad."

"You're telling me…So what are we really doing here?"

"You'll see," Peter continued driving past the main entrance and circled around to the back. He pulled into a free car park and turned to his back-seat passenger, "Out you get."

Eric stared miserably out the window at the bright neon sign before declaring, "I'd rather go grocery shopping with Elizabeth and Scottie every day after school for a whole week."

Peter laughed some more while climbing out of the car. When the kid didn't follow suit, he opened the back door, "Out."

"Do I haffta?"

"Yes, you 'haffta.'"

"But I can't skate," Eric whined as he manoeuvred hesitantly out of the car. "I've never been on skates in my life."

"We'll it's high time you did." Peter put his hand on the back of the kid's neck and guided him over towards the entrance to IceWorld ProRink.

"But I don't have a warm jacket…"

"We can hire one with the skates…Any more excuses?"

"Yeah, did I mention that I can't skate?"

"I'm going to teach you."

"Oh, man," Eric drug his heals in and looked around for something to anchor onto but Peter took his upper arm and effortlessly pulled him along. "Is this some kind of cruel and unusual punishment for the crap I put you through outside the doctor's office?"

"No, it's not. But if it makes you feel better about coming in, it can be."

"Peeetteer!" Eric pleaded as they entered into the foyer, "It's too cold in here!"

"If you think this is cold, wait till you get on the rink."

"And people do this because…"

"Because it's fun."

"Well, you'll let me know when we're having fun won't you because it's going to be hard to know while my brain is an icicle."