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Brothers
by Mer
James Wilson was three years, six months and seven days old when he held his brother Peter for the first time. His older brother Michael said James was too little to hold a baby, but his mother reminded him that he had only been three years, four months and ten days old when she first let him hold James. Michael said it was different because he was the oldest, but even he had to admit that James was very careful.
James sat on the couch, back pressed deep into the cushions, his legs sticking straight out in front of him. He held his arms the way his father showed him, curled into a shallow circle.
"Are you ready?" his mother asked and he nodded, frowning with concentration as the bundled baby was placed on his lap.
Peter had fat red cheeks and wispy brown hair. It was the first time James had seen his eyes open and he didn't like what he saw. "His eyes are blue!" he exclaimed, disappointed. "You said he looked like me." James had dark blond hair and darker brown eyes. Michael had eyes and hair the exact same shade of brown. Michael already looked like their mother and father. It wasn't fair that the baby looked more like him.
"All baby's eyes are blue when they're born," his father told him. "Your eyes were blue and so were Michael's. And Michael was blond when he was your age. In a few years, you'll be my three brown bears."
Peter squirmed, one tiny fist flailing against James's cheek. "Baby bear," James said, rubbing noses with Peter. "My baby bear." He slipped his left arm free, carefully keeping Peter's head supported in the crook of his arm, because his mother had said that was very, very important. Peter shifted and scrunched his face up. James thought he was going to start screaming and his heart pounded. Michael would laugh at him if he made the baby cry. But then Peter opened his eyes again and gazed up at James. His hand flailed again and James caught it, brushing against the fist until the tiny fingers uncurled and clenched around his index finger. James pulled gently, but the baby's grip only tightened.
James looked up at his father. "He won't let go," he cried in delight. "He knows I'm his big brother."
"That's right," his father said. "Being a big brother is a very important job. Do you know what that job is?"
James nodded vigorously. "I don't let the big kids pick on him. And I hold his hand when we cross the street. And I read to him." Michael let him look at his books sometimes and he was almost as good at reading as Michael was, even if not all the words made sense. "And I let him play with my toys, even if he's too little and breaks them."
His father snorted and winked at his mother. James wondered why she was pretending not to smile. "You do, indeed. Right, Michael?" she asked, in the voice that meant she was telling, not asking.
James glanced warily at his older brother. Sometimes Michael got mad when people told him what to do. And sometimes when he got mad, he hit James. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough for James to know that he should stay away when Michael was mad. He hunched over Peter, wondering if Michael was one of the big kids he had to protect him from.
But Michael just grinned gap-toothed at him and scrambled onto the couch. He hooked his chin over James's shoulder, looking down at Peter. "I look after you and you look after him." He wrapped his arms around James and hugged him and James was so happy he thought he would die. Still, he wondered who looked after Michael.
"You'll look after each other," his father said, because his father always knew the right thing to say. "That's what brothers do." His voice went very quiet and James knew he was thinking about Uncle Peter, who got sick and went to heaven. James wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but he knew it made his father sad.
He bent down and kissed the baby on one fat cheek, whispering that he would always be his big brother. He smiled when Michael whispered the same words in his ear. And then his father took a picture, and the flash and noise of the instant camera made Peter scream, and Michael laughed when James didn't know how to make him stop crying, and his mother took the baby away.
His father showed them how their faces appeared on the square like magic: Peter, James and Michael. He gave the picture to James and told him it would help him remember the first time he met his little brother. But James knew it wasn't as good as holding and being held.
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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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