A/N: Neal is 5 and Peter is 17.
At First Sight
One of Neal's favorite parts of visiting the Burke's house was playing with their dog.
Second-most favorite was being called Neal. That was Peter's nickname for him. It was nice having a nickname. Everyone else called him Danny, but the name Neal kept memories fresh in his mind that otherwise might have faded. Vague memories of a house someplace else, and of the man who was his father — those came back when Peter called him Neal.
Today he was in the basement of the Burkes' house, in what they called the rec room. There was a movie playing on the TV, but they were both ignoring it. Peter was doing homework, his pencil speeding through math problems. Neal was sprawled on his belly on the floor, crayons strewn around him, drawing a picture of his old house. So far he'd just been imagining it, but he wanted to have it on paper. He'd crumpled up two attempts already, but this latest one was more to his liking. This time the colors were right.
He was so engrossed in his drawing that he didn't hear the grownups walk downstairs until Mr. Burke said, "Boys, we have something you'll want to see."
Then Mr. Burke sat on the floor, and Neal saw that he held a sleeping puppy. It was brown and white, and when Neal reached out tentatively to touch it, the puppy turned its head and yawned. Its floppy ears were the softest thing Neal had ever touched.
Neal was sitting up now, and Mr. Burke lowered the puppy onto his lap. The boy and puppy gazed adoringly into each other's eyes. "You get another dog?" he asked in awe, glancing momentarily away from the puppy to look at Mr. Burke.
Neal's mother chuckled. "No. This one is yours."
He turned wide eyes toward his mom. "It's my dog?"
"That's right. She's all yours."
Ellen listened as Danny and Dahlia and Peter tossed around ideas for naming the puppy. It sounded like Cookie was in the lead, inspired by Danny's favorite character on Sesame Street.
She picked up the paper Danny had been drawing on, before it was crumpled under the feet of an exuberant boy and his equally exuberant dog. Danny was a surprisingly good artist for a five-year-old, and this might be another artwork they should post on the fridge.
Her heart leapt to her throat when she saw the house. It was a three-story row house — a style you didn't see where they lived in Albany, and the color of the bricks was exactly the shade of Danny's old home in D.C.
Quickly she folded the drawing up and stowed it in her pocket. Now she was even more pleased that they'd gotten him a puppy. Cookie would hopefully distract him from dangerous reminders of the past.
A/N: Neal needed a dog! It had to happen!