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Weight and Worry
by Mer
One, two, three, four.
James Wilson counted the cars passing by as he waited for his brother to pick him up from soccer practice. It was a late afternoon in April and the air was crisp, but not yet cold. He didn't even need a jacket, though he draped his Adidas track top over his shoulders to keep the wind from cooling his skin too quickly.
Five, six, seven.
He was surprised at how few cars drove by. The field wasn't on a main road, but it wasn't exactly isolated either. Not that it mattered. He was only waiting for one person.
Eight, nine, ten.
Michael would be by soon. He probably got caught up after school talking with friends. Or maybe he'd been held back for detention. He'd be there soon. Maybe just another ten cars.
He lifted his left arm to look at his watch, forgetting that he'd broken it last week, diving into third base. He was pretty sure at least half an hour had passed since the end of practice, though. Even Mrs. Abrams, who was always late, had picked up Josh ages ago. She had asked if he'd needed a ride, but he told her Michael was on his way. Maybe he should have taken the ride.
But if Michael came by and he wasn't there, he'd be in trouble. And if he went home without Michael, Michael would be in trouble. He wished Michael would hurry up and get there. If he waited any longer, they'd both be in trouble. He kept counting.
After thirty cars passed, James was pretty sure Michael wasn't coming. He decided to wait ten more cars, just in case.
Finally, he stood up. Counting cars wasn't working. He carefully paced along the along the border of the field, one foot directly in front of the other, heel to toe. He concentrated on keeping his balance perfect, the soles of his shoes covering the thick chalk line. When he returned to his starting point, he crossed at the half-line and traced the centre circle. Still no sign of Michael.
James pushed back a sudden surge of anger at his brother. It was his own fault. He should have known his brother would have taken advantage of having the car for the first time since he'd got his full license. He should have known Michael would have gone out cruising with his buddies and forgotten all about his younger brother.
There was no point waiting any longer. He'd wasted enough time. He picked up his backpack and trudged toward the road. It was only a few blocks to the nearest bus stop for a route near his house.
When he reached the shelter, he dug into his pocket and picked out enough change for bus fare. He still had ten dollars left over from his allowance, but he'd used most of his change to get a pop from the machine before practice. He had to use pennies to make up the full fare. He was recounting the amount when the bus pulled up to the stop and he got on without looking at the number or destination.
The bus was nearly empty; two elderly ladies were sitting in the courtesy seats at the front and a trio of high school girls huddled in one corner of the long, back bench-seat. He slid into the seat directly across from the back exit, and pulled a book out of his backpack, trying to appear both cool and intelligent. He heard a shimmer of giggles from the back and knew the girls were laughing at him.
One of the girls whispered something to her friends and then got up, moving to the seat in front of James. She turned around to face him. "You're Mike Wilson's brother, aren't you?" she asked.
James nodded, managing a shy smile that strengthened when she smiled back. "Jimmy," he said, wishing he didn't have a name that made him sound like a baby. "James."
"Jennifer," she replied. "Jenny." She had short dark hair and deep blue eyes that danced with amusement. He knew she was laughing at him, but not in a mean way. She pulled a folded up piece of paper from her book bag and handed it to James. "I'm in Mike's English class. This is a copy of today's assignment. Tell him it's due on Friday."
James wondered if Michael had cut all his classes or just the ones in the afternoon. "Thanks," he murmured, tucking the paper in his book as a page marker. His eyes widened when Jennifer - Jenny - didn't move to return to her friends.
"What are you reading?" she asked, leaning over the seat to look at his book. Her hair smelled like apples. "Nine Stories," she read and looked up at him in surprise. "I guess you've read Catcher in the Rye."
He nodded. His aunt had given it to him for his birthday, saying she thought he was old enough and smart enough to understand it. She also told him not to let Michael read it, not that Michael was interested in reading anything that he wasn't forced to in school. When he finished the book in just two days, his mother had given him her own copies of the rest of Salinger's books.
"How old are you, Jimmy?" Jenny asked, still looking surprised, and a little bit intrigued.
James was used to that. He had always looked young for his age and skipping a grade in elementary school meant he looked even younger than his classmates. "Thirteen. I'm in eighth grade," he added, though she probably didn't care. She had to be a junior, just like Michael.
"You must be pretty smart. Not like your brother."
"Michael's smart," he replied loyally. It was true. Michael was good at anything he set his mind to - he had passed his driver's test the first day he was eligible - but he had stopped setting his mind to school.
"If he cuts any more classes this year he's going to fail English," she said. "Seems pretty stupid to me." One of her friends rang the bell and she stood up. "It was nice to meet you, Jimmy. Tell your brother Jenny says hi."
James waved as she skipped down the steps at the next bus stop, then slid down low in the seat when he heard all three girls start to laugh as soon as they were outside. "That's Mike Wilson's brother?" one of them asked, clearly astounded, and James wasn't sure if it was an insult or a compliment.
He opened the book and concentrated on reading instead of wondering why Jenny was helping his brother. She didn't act as though she liked Michael, but James was beginning to realise that didn't necessarily mean anything. The bus stopped a few blocks further along to let off the two women, leaving James as the only remaining passenger. When the bus stopped again at the park turnaround, he thought at first that the driver was taking a break. But then the driver stood up and glanced back at him.
"Last stop, kid."
James scrambled to his feet. "Isn't this the 17?" he asked.
"Yep. But it only goes as far as the park after six. Didn't you look at the front before you got on?"
James shook his head, trying to remember if any other buses went near his house. "When does the next 23 come by?" he asked.
"Half an hour or so."
He was only about a half hour walk from home. "Okay. Thanks." He was off the bus and halfway down the block before he realised he'd forgotten to get a transfer. There wasn't much point in turning back and trying to catch the bus before it left the turnaround. He'd be home before the next bus passed anyway.
He shifted the backpack onto both shoulders and dug his hands in his pockets. He was going to be even later than he'd thought. Still, it was a nice evening for a walk. He hummed to himself as he cut across the park, skirting around the ravine. He had promised his mother he would never walk through the ravine alone. It made the walk a little longer, but James always tried to do what his mother asked.
He hoped she wouldn't be too upset that he was late. Normally she didn't pay much attention to when he got home, as long as it wasn't dark. Maybe she'd even laugh when he told her that he took the wrong bus. She was always calling him her absent-minded professor. But she'd been on edge lately, and his father was out of town, and not many things made her smile right now. He wished Michael had just done what he was supposed to do, for once, and then he wouldn't have to worry about either of them.
Thinking about his mother and brother made his shoulders ache. Instead he thought about the smell of Jenny's hair and hoped she hadn't been laughing at him with her friends. Maybe he'd ask Michael to say hi to her for him. That made him smile and he whistled as he walked.
The sun was low in the sky by the time he finally walked up to his house and his good mood sank with it. He was going to be in serious trouble.
He walked through the door, wondering if he could just sneak up to his room and pretend that he'd been there all along, but before he'd even made it through the laundry room, his mother swooped down and gathered him into a fierce hug. "Where have you been?" she demanded, turning the hug into shake. "I've been worried sick."
James squirmed free and saw his younger brother Peter and the university student who gave them piano lessons standing in the kitchen. Tuesday. It was Tuesday. He'd forgotten he had piano.
There was no sign of Michael.
"Do you know what time it is?"
James glanced sheepishly at his mother and lifted his left wrist. "My watch broke."
Helen Wilson shook her head and sighed. It was something she'd been doing a lot since her husband had left for a conference in Michigan two days before. "It's nearly 7:30. You were supposed to be home two hours ago. Trevor has been waiting for you for half an hour."
"I'm sorry." He smiled shyly at his teacher, who was a nice guy, even if he actually expected him to practice. "I guess I lost track of time."
His mother wasn't satisfied. "And where's your brother? I gave him the car today on the condition that he drove you home from soccer."
Stupid. He was so stupid. He should have taken the ride from Mrs. Abrams. He could have pretended that Michael had just dropped him off and found a way to warn him later. Now Michael was going to be in trouble. "I, uh, I screwed up. Michael wanted to go to the library after school, so I told him I could get a ride home with Bobby's mom, but I forgot that Bobby had to leave practice early, and nobody else was going this way, so I took the bus."
Helen blinked, trying to catch up to the words tumbling out of her middle son's mouth. "Why did it take you two hours to get the bus home?"
James took a deep breath, relieved that his mother had overlooked the unlikelihood of Michael spending any time in the library. At least he was on solider ground, truth-wise. "The bus took forever to come, and then I wasn't paying attention and I got on the bus that stops at the turnaround, instead of the one that goes all the way to the station. Except I forgot to get a transfer, and I didn't have any more change, so I had to walk the rest of the way. I didn't think it would take that long."
"You got on the wrong bus? And walked half-way home?" She rubbed the back of her neck. "You expect me to believe that?"
It didn't seem fair that she didn't believe the part that was actually true. He supposed parents believed what they wanted to believe. Obviously his mother preferred to think that her oldest son cared about school and her middle son wasn't an idiot.
It wasn't an opinion shared by his piano teacher. "That sounds exactly like something he'd do. Kid's got his head in the clouds."
James glared at him, feeling slightly betrayed, until he realised that Trevor had just helped him cover for Michael. He resolved to practice at least two hours a day all week. "I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry." He'd found things went much better if he just admitted he was wrong and got it over with. Michael had never figured that out.
"Oh well, no harm, no foul," Trevor said cheerily. "We'll just run through your pieces today and then I'll assign you those finger exercises you like so much for penance."
His mother seemed surprised, but relieved, to have the punishment taken out of her hands. "Dinner will be cold if we wait," she said, glancing at the stove.
"It's okay, Mom. I can heat it up. You and Petey go ahead and eat."
For a moment he thought she would ask again about Michael, but then she brushed the hair off his forehead and kissed him. He let her, because it made her feel better and he really was sorry for worrying her. "Don't ever scare me like that again, Jimmy. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you or your brothers."
He nodded, wishing he could tell her that nothing would ever happen to them, but he was afraid something had already happened to Michael. Her breath smelled of sour fruit and smoke, and he saw the open bottle of wine on the table - only one glass gone - and an ashtray full of cigarette butts. He wasn't sure if that meant it had been a good day, or a bad day.
He turned away and trudged down the hall to the family room. He settled on the piano bench and stared down at the keys, waiting until Trevor sat down on the chair beside him.
"So where is your brother?" Trevor asked as James warmed up.
James craned his head around the piano, making sure his mother was out of earshot. "Who knows? Out with his friends, probably."
"I take it he really was supposed to pick you up."
James shrugged. "He forgot, I guess. Like you said, no harm, no foul."
Trevor didn't reply, just listened as James ran through his scales with rote-like efficiency. "You're a nice kid, Jimmy. And it's good that you want to protect your brother, but you're not helping him by covering for him."
"What do you know about it?" James snapped, scowling when his finger slipped off F sharp.
"Nothing. Everything. I have brothers too." He flipped through James's pile of music and pulled out one of his Conservatory pieces. "Why don't we start with something you know?"
James played the piece by rote, listening for the sound of a car instead of the notes. It helped that he had learned the piece off by heart last month. Finally he heard the familiar engine. He slid off the bench and was already through the kitchen when the garage door slammed open and Michael rushed in.
"Did you get the book?" James said quickly, grabbing Michael's arm before he could walk into the kitchen unprepared.
Michael turned, blinked and then smiled. "Hey. Jimmy. You made it home," he whispered. "What book?" he said, loudly enough to carry into the kitchen.
"The book for my history project. You said you'd pick it up for me since you were going to the library anyway." He couldn't smell alcohol on Michael's breath. That was good. He wouldn't have to keep him away from their mother.
Michael nodded his understanding. "Sorry, kid. I forgot. I'll pick it up for you tomorrow." He slung an arm around James's shoulders, dragging him into the kitchen. "Hey, Ma," he said. "What's for dinner?"
Their mother shook her head, but a fond smile played about the corners of her mouth. "Don't 'Hey, Ma' me. I'm glad you were studying, but the next time you're supposed to pick your brother up from soccer, you pick him up. I don't care if he tells you he has another way home."
Michael glanced warily at James, waiting for the next clue. "I forgot Bobby had to leave early," James said sheepishly, trusting Michael to follow his lead. Michael might hate school, but he was the smartest person James knew. "But it was all right, I had bus fare."
"Oh, you and the bus," Helen sighed. "I swear you boys will be the death of me."
"Hey," Peter protested. "I came home right after school. I didn't miss my piano lesson because I was too stupid to get on the right bus and had to walk home. And I would have picked Jimmy up and gone to the library after."
"Yeah, you're perfect in every way," Michael sneered. "Too bad you're too young to drive and too dumb to know where the bus stop is."
"I know where the bus stop is," Peter said, with the calm certainty he had learned from holding his own against two older brothers. "And I don't believe you were studying. I bet you just wanted to hang out with your friends."
James glared at his brother, but again help came from an unexpected source. Trevor cleared his throat from the hallway entrance. "You know, I don't think Beethoven intended the piece to end quite so abruptly. Finish it off and then you're free, but not before." He raised an eyebrow and stared at Peter. "And young Peter, you might want to remember your performance earlier this evening before you get too cocky."
That shut Peter up. James knew that Peter practiced even less than he did. "If you can wait a few minutes," James told Michael, "I'll heat up dinner for both of us."
"Sure," Michael agreed. "Maybe I'll listen to you play while I'm waiting." He followed Trevor and James into the family room, slouching onto the couch while James started at the beginning of the sonata. He listened for a few minutes, all the time watching Trevor. "Why'd you cover for me?" he asked finally.
James missed a chord change when Trevor turned and looked at Michael with undisguised contempt. "I didn't cover for you. I covered for Jimmy. And for your mother's sake. She has enough to deal with trying to look after you three without knowing that you left your brother to make his way home in the dark."
"It wasn't dark," James protested.
"Close enough."
From the corner of his eye, James saw Michael shrug, unconcerned. "Hey, it's not my fault he took the wrong bus. Kid's a space cadet sometimes."
James stared down at his hands, concentrating on the music instead of the shame flooding his cheeks. Trevor nudged his shoulder encouragingly and he slipped smoothly into the final section, letting the familiar notes lead him to the end. James knew he would never be a great musician, but there were moments when his fingers moved in perfect patterns and he almost couldn't believe that the music was coming from him. In those moments, nothing else mattered. He held the final notes an extra beat, his foot pressed on the sustain pedal to let the music linger as his hands dropped onto his lap.
Trevor nudged him again. "The kid's got this piece nailed, I think. Pick out another piece - from the book," he added, when James reached for the sheet music he'd bought with his allowance. "I want to hear left and right hand separately next week." He clapped his hands on both James's shoulders and hefted him to his feet. "That's good enough for tonight. Go and fix your dinner while I talk to your brother."
James knew he should just go into the kitchen and do as he'd been told, but he couldn't resist stopping just around the corner to listen. He didn't know why Trevor thought Michael would listen to him. He barely listened to their father any more. He peeked around in time to see Michael brush past the piano teacher, only to be pushed back towards the couch.
"I don't give a damn what you do when you should be studying," Trevor hissed. "I don't even give a damn if you lie to your parents. But if I find out you put your brother in danger like that again, I'll make sure you're grounded for the rest of the school year."
"What are you talking about? Walking home won't hurt him." But Michael sounded uncertain and a little bit guilty.
"Walking won't hurt him, but there's a lot of other things out there that could. What if he'd decided to cut through the ravine? He could have fallen in the dark, or worse, run into someone who likes to hurt boys that look like Jimmy. You think it's safe out there? I thought you were smarter than that."
James touched his face, running his fingers over high, fine cheekbones and full lips. He kept his hair short, because Michael told him that he looked like a girl when it got long. One of Michael's loser friends had called him jailbait, but he had laughed, because that was a girl in tight clothes and too much makeup. Except maybe it was more than that, because Michael wouldn't let him hang out when that friend was around. He froze when Michael rounded the corner suddenly, but Michael just grabbed him and pulled him out of sight until Trevor had disappeared into the kitchen.
"You heard that, didn't you?" James nodded, afraid to speak. "I think he wanted you to hear that," Michael mused. "Wanted to scare both of us."
"I'm not scared," James protested with a bravado he didn't feel.
"You should be," Michael retorted. "You're a smart kid, Jimmy, but you're too damn nice and too damn pretty for your own good."
James thought he should be insulted by that. "I'm not pretty," he complained. "Girls are pretty."
Michael ruffled his hair. "Whatever you say, kid. And I'm sorry I let you down. You know I'd never do anything to hurt you, don't you?"
James was fairly certain Michael would never do anything on purpose to hurt him. But Michael liked to do as he pleased and he didn't always pay attention to the consequences. "Sure, Mikey," he said, using the affectionate nickname to show that all was forgiven. "I'll get dinner for us." Michael was smiling at him, so he took a chance and pushed a little farther. "Dad's only gone for two more days. Don't do anything to upset Mom, okay?"
Michael's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"
"You know what I'm talking about." There were things they didn't say aloud. That didn't mean they weren't real. "She doesn't need anything else to worry about right now."
Michael turned away, running his hands through his hair. "What do you want me to do?"
It wasn't much of an opening, but James would take it. "If we went to the library for real tomorrow and took Peter with us, that would help Mom out a lot. You know. Give her some time on her own." For a moment he thought Michael would refuse to be saddled with his brothers for an evening, but then he nodded.
"Whatever you say, kid. Except not the library. That's no fun." When Michael grinned, James was willing to forgive him just about anything. "Hey, Ma," Michael shouted, striding into the kitchen, leaving James alone in the hallway. "I need the car again tomorrow. I'm going to take the kids bowling after school. And then we'll pick up fish and chips on the way home. Sound good?"
James listened for the sound of his mother's laughter. Two more days and his father would be home. He could stop worrying about her then. He wondered if he would ever stop worrying about Michael.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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