Toxic and Timeless (Peter Aramis) -FIN-

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

Lestrade looked genuinely afraid and Peter almost felt bad for him because Baze could be frightening to some people. But then the relief flooded his face and Peter was sure that he would be alright.

"Okay," Lestrade said quietly, looking from the sink, then back at Peter again. “Peter, I really am sorry. And not just to you, you know?"

Peter sighed leaning back against the door. Yeah, he knew exactly what Lestrade meant. He could feel his own features softening, because he knew Lestrade was genuinely sorry. God, he suddenly wondered if this was what his father felt like when he was a kid.

“I know Greg,” Peter assured him. “And like I said, as long as this doesn’t happen again, we will be alright.”

And they would be. Lord knew Peter wasn’t one to judge. So Lestrade drank once. He still spent his day with the kids, even though he was hung over. He kept his promise, which meant a lot more to the kids out there than Peter could articulate. It could have been worse, which is why Peter had gone easy on him.

“But you know why I had to talk about this, right? A little Axe deodorant and some hotdogs may fix things today, but they’re not dumb kids,” Peter explained.

They got the short stick in life. It was Peter’s job to make sure no one else they trusted took advantage of them, even if that person was his superior. He just hoped Lestrade understood that he was important now.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

“I know Greg,” Aramis sighed and leaned against the door of the bathroom. It was like being in school when you forgot your assignment, Christ, the patronising shame was just enough to make him squirm. This was probably worse, actually, because he'd stopped caring what teachers thought by year eight. "And like I said, as long as this doesn’t happen again, we will be alright.”

We'll be alright. Lestrade hadn't even thought about the fact that Aramis might take this too personally and never talk to him again. He'd really only been thinking about himself. Or at least, he hadn't consciously thought about that until he was surprised by the relief that now flooded through him. He was so selfish

“But you know why I had to talk about this, right? A little Axe deodorant and some hotdogs may fix things today, but they’re not dumb kids,” Aramis said sternly.

"I know they're not," Lestrade replied quietly, and didn't any good man know? Children were the smartest of them all. They might not know things, but they felt them. A pure child was the closest thing to God, after all; kids could sense emotions, saw things that weren't there.

He rubbed his face with the running water, rinsed his mouth. The horrible taste of vomit stayed. "I don't think sometimes, you know?" Lestrade admitted, drying his face with paper towels. He still looked disgusting, hateful, he thought at thr mirror. "It's why I used to… do this," he waved a general hand in the air. He didn't know why he was telling Aramis this. The kid didn't really seem like the type to drink all that much, and they were just friends, not overly close. Perhaps Aramis just had one of those faces that made you talk too much about yourself. He'd make a good priest, confessionals and all. Well, no, Aramis was liberal, so never mind.

"All the time," Lestrade elaborated, and then went quiet, because that was enough about his crappy lifestyle. He stood striaghter, managed to look Aramis in the eye again. "Let's go, then?" He voice was slightly hesitant, as if he were afraid Aramis might change his mind.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"I don't think sometimes, you know? It's why I used to… do this...All the time," Lestrade elaborated, stopping there.

Peter watched the other man carefully. He didn’t see Lestrade as the kind who drank a lot, but they all had their youth. But that was in the past. Now, he was an Inspector and Peter had respect for him.

“Let's go, then?" His voice was slightly hesitant, clearly wanting to be done with the conversation.

“Yeah, of course,” Peter replied, moving away from the door so he could pull it open again. “Who knows what the monkeys have gotten up to...”

Peter led the way, not waiting for Lestrade, putting his best smile back on. He was still disappointed with Lestrade, but he wasn’t going to let on to the kids that there was anything going on. They were still playing, Drake and Jamal wrestling for the ball, the rest of the kids laughing and jeering them on. And this was why the monkeys needed supervision. It wasn’t rough, but they really weren’t playing fair.

“Hey, what’s this?” Peter asked, jogging over so he could tower over the group.

“Nothin’. Drake just thinks he can do whatever he wants,” Jamal explained, pulling away.

“I don’t think – I know.” Drake was smirking, causing Jamal to flip him off playfully.

“Well, either play the game the way the Canadian invented it or we’re calling it a day,” Peter suggested.

It had the instant effect of the boys scattering across the court, Drake throwing the ball to Charlie. They knew he was a purist when it came to basketball. His time at NYU as three year captain of the basketball team had made him like that. If they weren’t going to play right, then they weren’t going to play at all. If they got into those habits now, maybe they could be earning the scholarships he had, and for some of them that would make the difference between going to college or not.

“Where’s Greg?” Conroy asked, hanging back so he could tiredly lean against Peter.

“He’s ten seconds behind me, I swear.” Peter carefully ran a hand through the kid’s hair, knowing his parents had been fighting all night if the kid was this quiet and tired. “My door is open if they’re fighting again.”

“I know.” he nodded, pushing off so he could go and play the game.

Peter stayed where he was, just watching for just a moment. They were pretty good. It had taken a lot of work, but he was happy with how they had risen to meet his standards. These kids could do anything they set their minds to. He grinned over at Lestrade, feeling like he needed to share at least that much of his internal musings with someone.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

“Yeah, of course. Who knows what the monkeys have gotten up to...” Aramis thankfully let them out of the damp room and back into sunlight. Sunlight Lestrade pretended did not bother him at all, nope. He quietly snuck away to make do with the Axe spray as Aramis dealt with what seemed like Jamal and Drake having some sort of small falling out. He was glad for the moment he had as he sprayed the disgusting smelling aerosol into his hair, letting the stuff drift into the air and stick to his skin uncomfortably. He really shouldn't have gotten out of bed today.

He came back to see the littlest boy, Conroy, leaning against Aramis. He held back a moment, hearing bits of their conversation.

“My door is open if they’re fighting again.”

“I know.” 

As Conroy pushed off Peter and left to go continue playing with the other boys, Lestrade moved forward to Aramis' side. The guy grinned at him, any traces of previous disappointed and harsh tongues disappeared.

"I do get it. The trust thing," Lestrade said levelly, 
his voice slightly dull as he kept his words vague. He knew about neglect, and fighting parents, and being woken up by those same parents, and having your drunken father come up to wake you when you finally fall asleep to make you swear to god you'll always be good to him and God himself. He knew about trust. Lestrade smiled after a pause (Aramis probably didn't really know what he was talking about anyway). "You're good at this." He gave Aramis a curt nod before joining the rest of the boys in their game.

"Took you long enough!" Jamal shouted cheerfully at him, and Lestrade was reminded of their little mock fight about being old the last time he'd seen the boys.

"I'd think you'd be winning by now, if it was so long," Lestrade shot back, and laughed. Right, he was good. This was right. Aramis was a good man.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"I do get it. The trust thing.”

Peter studied Lestrade for a moment, wondering what he was going on about. Trust between them? The kids? He just nodded, hoping that would reassure the other man. Maybe he wasn’t looking to make sense to Peter, but only to himself.

“You're good at this."

Now Peter was really starting to wonder what was on Lestrade’s mind. He just did his best and the kids didn’t smack down on him too terribly. Before he could reply, Lestrade was heading back into the game. Peter watched him go, still trying to puzzle the conversation out.

"Took you long enough!" Jamal shouted in greeting.

"I'd think you'd be winning by now, if it was so long," Lestrade shot back, and laughed.

Peter shook his head ruefully, thinking Lestrade really was catching on when it came to his kids. He suddenly felt bad for Lestrade’s situation. If he was this good with the boys, he would be just as, if not more, wonderful with his daughter if she weren’t on the other side of the country.

“They have a snowball’s chance,” Sid chuckled, bounce passing the ball to Alan.

“Hey!” Cory grumbled. “We got the adults.”

“Speaking of which, get back in the game, Pete!” Jamal hollered at him, and the rest of the kids yelled for him to do the same.

“You’re on, Jammy,” Peter chuckled back, jogging to get back into the game. “But I have to warn you, I’m on my second wind.”

It wasn’t true, his first wind was starting to wane, but he didn’t want the kids to know that. If Lestrade wanted to keep going and the kids wanted to keep going, then he was going to keep going. He was twenty-four, after all – he was still supposed to have all the energy in the world. Almost as much as these kids, anyways.

And he couldn’t even pretend he wasn’t enjoying himself. Basketball was his life for so long, and now it was the only time he really got to have fun.

One of the boys bounced the ball his way and he happily dribbled down the court, passing it to Lestrade when Drake and Charlie both ganged up on him.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

“You’re on, Jammy. But I have to warn you, I’m on my second wind," Lestrade heard Aramis call as he rejoined the game. He smiled. Aramis was either a really good actor, or he was pretty sure that they were going to be okay. His mouth still tasted of a disgusting combination of alcohol and sick, terribly bitter, but he tried not to care.

Drake and Charlie surrounded Aramis and the younger man quickly passed the ball to Lestrade. Lestrade caught it and dribbled it down the court before passing it to Corey. The boy, though not the tallest, had an impressive jump and smoothly got the ball through the hoop. Lestrade whooped for the effect.

Drake and Jamal got the ball and passed it back and forth during the next play, successfully getting it past both Lestrade and Conroy. Lestrade wondered why the two youngest kids plus the guy who was hungover/sucked at basketball plus one pretty good adult was up against five older, taller boys. It wasn't the fairest pairing off, but he supposed it was just how they did things here. The rest of the game went as more of a gang-up-on-the-kids+Greg and evade Aramis as much as possible, on the older boys' team's part. They needn't have kept store to know who won by a landslide.

Still, Lestrade laughed and cheered with the boys who lost anyway, because, well, good sportsmanship was really the only way not to look like a dick. Corey started to say something snappy at the older boys, but Lestrade gave him a look that he usually reserved for Sherlock when the child-man was being too immature. To Lestrade's surprise, the kid actually shut his mouth. Lestrade's tried not to smile.

"Good game, good game," he grinned, and looked over at Aramis. He said in a quieter tone, in case he might be giving the boys some false hope due to some mishearing on his part, "So we're going out or something now, right?"

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

Peter had to admit that he often forgot his troubles during a good game of basketball. He honestly loved playing with the kids. Some people might have looked at the game and thought it was dumb, and others might have thought the teams were uneven, but the kids picked them and it was often a surprise which team would win every week. This week, Drake and Sid seemed to be out to prove themselves to the new guy, so their team clearly won. Still, everyone was smiling.

Well, almost everyone.

Peter nearly laughed when Lestrade headed off Cory’s rant, which usually led to a foul mood. He was getting the hang of it. He even managed to get the boys’ attention back onto the real important stuff – like food.

"Good game, good game! So we're going out or something now, right?"

All the boys looked at Lestrade like he was missing a couple brain cells.

“Dude, we go out for hotdogs and pops,” Jamal informed Lestrade.

“Yeah. Mr. Fredrickson over at The Red Car Diner always gets a batch going for us on Sundays,” Peter threw in, giving Lestrade all the information he probably needed.

“It’s awesome,” Conroy added, beaming up at Lestrade. “You have to come!”

“Of course he’s coming – he played, so he gets to be part of the celebration,” Peter replied, bouncing the ball.

He walked over to his bag, slinging it over his shoulder, then looked at where the ball pump was still sitting there. Then he remembered the mess in the ball room. He was feeling too tired to deal with it now. Besides, their group wasn’t the only one that made a mess in there.

“I’ll be back – I’ve gotta put the pump away. You all drink some water and then we’ll go.”

That was something he was trying to drill into the kids. Pop was not something you found in a stream, so it wasn’t good for you. Water hydrated and it was so much cheaper. Though, bottled water was trying to change that. What were they going to bottle next? Air?

Peter sighed, thinking they had done just that in hospitals, and kept walking towards the supply room. The quicker he put the pump away, the sooner they could get going.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

The boys all gave Lestrade a look like he was stupid, and Lestrade wondered what it was he was supposed to know. “Dude, we go out for hotdogs and pops,” Jamal said, his voice 100% 'like duh' in subtext. Lestrade wondered if by pop Jamal meant popsicles or fizzy drink.

“Yeah. Mr. Fredrickson over at The Red Car Diner always gets a batch going for us on Sundays,” Peter added.

“It’s awesome, you have to come!” Conroy piped excitedly, grinning. Lestrade grinned back; the kid really was adorable.

"Sure thing," Lestrade replied.

“Of course he’s coming – he played, so he gets to be part of the celebration,” Peter said, “I’ll be back – I’ve gotta put the pump away. You all drink some water and then we’ll go.” 

"Kay," Jamal said, and Lestrade nodded along with the boy. Usually he would have asked Aramis if he wanted some help, but there was a look on Aramis' face that was a little… grumpy? Anyway, whatever it was was most likely Lestrade's fault, so it was probably better to avoid Aramis a little bit right now.

He followed the kids to a fountain where they all eagerly drank out of the tap. Lestrade wasn't exactly a germaphobe, but he was a little grossed out by public facilities. Then again, there wasn't much that could happen, so he drank the water just as much as the other boys. He was sure none of them saw when he splashed the water around his mouth and spat quickly to get the taste out of his mouth.

"So you guys do this every Sunday?" Lestrade asked the obvious.

"Yeah," Jamal replied, looking excited. Lestrade suspected Sundays were the highlight of his week. "Peter's always here. Unless he has to work." The last bit was muttered slightly bitterly, and Lestrade made note to mention to Aramis' boss not to put him on call on Sundays. Being detective inspector did have a lot of perks.

"Well, that's nice," Lestrade said. He looked at Conroy, who looked slightly sleepy again, like he had before, when he was leaning against Aramis. He knew he wouldn't be in line to say anything, but he wondered. He listened to Sid and Drake begin to bicker loudly about some television show he didn't know about. "He's a good guy, Peter, isn't he?"

Conroy didn't reply, and neither did any of the other boys, but Lestrade was sure he knew the answer.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

It only took a few minutes for Peter to straighten out the mess he had made on his own earlier. He set the pump where it belonged, but stashed the good basketball on one of the higher shelves in hopes that someone would have to clean in order to get up there to fetch it down.

By the time he jogged back outside, the kids were all standing around the fountain, looking like they had enough to drink. Lestrade was supervising, while Sid and Drake started in on their TV shows again. Christ, when he was their age, he only knew the TV as the box in the living room that played the news for half an hour every night. He couldn’t imagine keeping track of a whole story line. Even now when he turned on his own TV, he couldn’t follow it. Sports were easier.

“Alright, buck-os. How about we mosey on down to the diner?” Peter called, swinging his backpack over his good shoulder.

That was the downside to a game of basketball – the right shoulder always ached. It didn’t matter how “easy” he took it. The simple truth was that you could not play with one hand, and if you tried, you were crazy. He needed to go home and ice it down if he wanted to be able to work tomorrow, but it would have to wait for after he had hot dogs with the kids and headed home.

“Man, he’s spouting cowboy talk,” Sid groaned.

”That means he’s hungry,” Cory told Lestrade. “C’mon – let’s go and feed the old guy.”

“Old?” Peter snorted. “Oh, you all are going to love growing up. Thirty must mean death in your eyes.”

“Does that mean Greg’s a zombie?” Conroy asked, sounding very puzzled.

Peter held in the chuckle in his throat. Oh, that was not something he was going to touch with a ten foot pole. He shrugged over at Lestrade helplessly. Kids...what could you do?

“Sooo...hot dogs!” Peter chirped, hoping to get the conversation back on track. He clapped his hands and ruffled Conroy’s hair, tossing his good arm around Sid’s shoulders. “I am hungry. I’ll bet Greg’s hungry, too.”

“See, old and hungry,” Sid jibed, causing Peter to tighten his hold so he could mess up the teen’s hair, as well. “Hey! Watch the ‘do, man.”

Peter snorted in amusement. These kids cared more about their hair than anything. “C’mon, then. Greg, you're going to love the diner - they make everything.”

He smiled at Lestrade, hoping that he would be better if he knew he could eat whatever he wanted - hot dogs weren't hangover food, after all.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Peter came back after a few minutes, grinning and said, “Alright, buck-os. How about we mosey on down to the diner?” He didn't seem to be in whatever short-life foul mood he'd been in before, and Lestrade relaxed a bit.

“Man, he’s spouting cowboy talk,” Sid said, sounding annoyed, like he'd heard it many times before. Lestrade had noticed it too, and had been trying not to laugh. Apparently that wasn't possible in this group of kids.

”That means he’s hungry,” Cory told him matter-of-factly, and Lestrade nodded at him, smiling. “C’mon – let’s go and feed the old guy.”

“Old? Oh, you all are going to love growing up. Thirty must mean death in your eyes," Peter replied crossly.

“Does that mean Greg’s a zombie?” Conroy asked, sounding genuinely confused, making Peter give Lestrade an exasperated shrug. Lestrade noted it was only with one shoulder.

"M'not a zombie, just old," Lestrade informed Conroy, managing to keep a straight face.

“Sooo...hot dogs!” Peter suddenly changed and ruffled Conroy's hair. Lestrade wondered if Peter thought he was so fragile that he couldn't take a few pokes from the kids. “I am hungry. I’ll bet Greg’s hungry, too.”

“See, old and hungry - Hey! Watch the ‘do, man!" Sid exclaimed when Peter messed up his hair as well in retaliation; Lestrade wondered if Peter just really liked hair.

"C’mon, then. Greg, you're going to love the diner - they make everything," Peter said, smiling at Lestrade in a way that Lestrade thankfully to to be genuine. And the 'we make everything' happily implied that Lestrade would perhaps be able to weasel his way out of eating a hotdog.

"Okay," he said warmly, and followed Peter as he began to walk around the corner to the place. The boys hopped and shouted and laughed all the way there, and suddenly Lestrade realised he and Peter probably looked a bit more domestic than mates, with all these around. Not that it really bothered him, but he began to randomly contemplate what living with six or seven or eight kids would be like. Gregory has always been a man of few words, probably because he got caught up in the most random thoughts at slightly awkward times.

"Dude, what's with the axe?" Lestrade snapped out of his strange thoughts and looked at Sid in surprise.

"What?" He asked nervously.

Sid rolled his eyes and Lestrade tried not to give Peter too much of a panicked looked. "The axe, man. You smell mad nasty."

"That's bad grammar," Lestrade automatically corrected him, his voice nervous. He bit his lip to keep a neutral expression when he realised Corey was listening in too. "I have a meeting later. Better to smell like too much product than smelly and sweaty, right?" Lestrade covered, his voice coming out thankfully convincingly.

Sid shrugged. "I guess. You still smell weird though," he said before skipping ahead to finish his pre started argument about the television program they both watched. Lestrade bit back a sigh of relief, looking toward Aramis, his eyes nervous.

"We almost there?" Lestrade asked him carefully, trying not to sound to phsyced out. He mostly just wanted Peter to give him some sort of look that meant he hadn't blown his cover, though.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

As they walked along, Peter watched the kids goof off and push and shove at each other. He’d never grown up with a tight knit group of friends, but he was glad that the kids had each other. Greg was quiet as they walked, probably enjoying a few minutes to relax with his hangover.

"Dude, what's with the axe?"

Peter glanced over at where Sid had his nose wrinkled at Lestrade. Lestrade, for his part, looked surprised, then worried, prodding Sid along with a ‘what?’. Sid rolled his eyes and Lestrade glanced over at Peter with a panicked look. Sid was pretty astute, but he was a decent kid, so Peter held back, waiting what would happen.

"The axe, man. You smell mad nasty."

"That's bad grammar."

Peter couldn’t help but snort at that. Oh, he’d been trying for years with that, but Lestrade was welcome to try.

"I have a meeting later. Better to smell like too much product than smelly and sweaty, right?"

"I guess. You still smell weird though."

Peter smirked. Of course when the kids put on half a can at a time, they didn’t bat an eye. But as soon as someone older tried it, it was ‘mad nasty’. But it was good enough for an excuse, and Sid let it go.

Greg glanced back over at him again, nervously. "We almost there?"

“Oh yeah, it’s just around the corner,” Peter replied with a smile. “You know, the red car was established about thirty five years ago, and the same family is still running it.”

Peter had been a customer since he was about Sid’s age and they knew him there. Mr. DiCasso, the owner, was the one who had suggested that they have Sunday hotdogs in the diner because nothing brought in families like a bunch of less fortunate kids with an off duty police officer. It had even made the paper once, which really got the business into the diner.

“They dote on the kids,” Peter added. “Plus, they make one of the best cups of coffee in town.”

And that was the whole point of it – to make the kids feel like they were special for a day.

“And pop with ice cream in it,” Conroy threw in.

“Floats,” Jamal corrected. “I like the cream soda ones.”

“Dude, root beer,” Charlie whispered, throwing Greg a superstitious look, like he was afraid he’d been too loud. The kids were warming up to Greg, even if Charlie was quiet and Alan was hiding on his far side.

“Root beer is definitely my favorite,” Peter threw in, giving Charlie an encouraging smile. “Do you like floats, Greg?”

Conroy was giving him a strange look, and Peter supposed he was trying a bit too hard. But these were his kids. And that was his priority. He wanted these kids to get along with the older man, for Greg to get along with them. It was important to him. But maybe he would have to back off a bit and let things flow.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

“Oh yeah, it’s just around the corner,” Peter told him. He was smiling, and Lestrade took that as a good sign; he smiled back weakly. “You know, the red car was established about thirty five years ago, and the same family is still running it. They dote on the kids. Plus, they make one of the best cups of coffee in town.”

"Really?" Lestrade noted curiously. "Good to know."

“And pop with ice cream in it,” Conroy piped, and Lestrade looked back down at him; the boy seemed quite excited by the notion of soda and ice cream mixed up. What were they called? He couldn't remember. Lena made one for him once. They bubbled up like the brown foam at the ends of waterfalls.

“Floats. I like the cream soda ones," Jamal said, also sounding happy at the promise of ice cream. Oh, right. Floats.

“Dude, root beer,” Charlie hissed, and he looked at Lestrade worriedly. It was the first thing he'd heard Charlie say in front of him all day. The kid looked embarrassed, like Jamal might be shaming the group of boys by not going into specific types of pop. What'd Aramis say, they were abused? A shame they had to let it get to their head.

“Root beer is definitely my favorite. Do you like floats, Greg?” Aramis asked, and Lestrade raised an eyebrow at Aramis' words. They were a bit like Lestrade was the younger of the two. Though, he supposed in the situation they were in today, Aramis was indeed higher up, here.

"They're nice, I guess," Lestrade said lightly, mostly because he couldn't remember how they tasted really. He remembered when he was a kid, when his dad took up a jobs in England sometimes, he'd bring back fancy American candies he said he got from a man whose job was to drive the boat back and forth from England. He remembered sharing (or fighting over) fizzy kola lollies and gummy strawberry chews with his siblings. When he was fourteen and got a job reading the morning paper on Saturdays for the rich Miss Angela down twenty minutes from his street, he remembered she'd give him three shillings and a penny because she was kind and he'd spend the penny on a piece of toffee. He'd give his mother two of the shillings and keep the other one; she never knew his pay was more than he told her.

Still, he rarely had ice cream because for that you needed milk and milk was a waste of precious money when you could have water and the baby could have a bottle with sugar and water mixed up since the baby needed more in his stomach. But once on his fifteenth birthday, Miss Angela asked him, 'Why aren't you celebrating with your family, boy?' and when Lestrade told her that they there was nothing to celebrate she took pity on him and made him a batch of ice cream to share with Elliot. She looked very sad and said that she never had kids of her own, and so it was her duty. It wasn't very good tasting because Miss Angela didn't have enough sugar to make a proper batch but it was the best he'd ever had.

"You guess? Dude, they're awesome!" Corey exclaimed grinning.

"Bubbly," Lestrade said.

"What, do they not have em in England?" Drake asked, sounding both legitimately curious and a bit amused.

"Ireland. And not in my house we didn't," Lestrade said. He realized he was being a bit stingy with words today. Or, well, not stingy, but not exactly as talkative as he could be. So he added, "But I like root beer." They turned a corner, and Lestrade smelled the strong, noticeable scent that he instantly recognized as fast food: french fried and hot dogs and burgers. He tried not to make a face at the way his stomach did a small flip at the smell.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"They're nice, I guess.”

Peter shook his head in amusement at that. He was definitely not from the neighborhood. These kids ate, or well, drank floats like they were going out of style. That was if he would let them. They knew they got one each on Sundays. The only other time was if it was one of their birthdays. Peter would take whoever the birthday boy was out for a meal and a float in some poor attempt to make the day special. The point was that all the boys were giving Lestrade looks like his head had grown another ear.

"You guess? Dude, they're awesome!" Cory grinned.

"Bubbly," Lestrade replied.

Alan huffed, a sound Peter had come to recognise as a laugh. Peter agreed whole heartedly. Bubbly was a good word, but on its own it was kind of out there.

"What, do they not have ‘em in England?" Drake prodded.

"Ireland. And not in my house we didn't. But I like root beer," Lestrade explained and Peter wondered how he hadn’t noticed the man was hung over at first. He was definitely not using any more words than were necessary today.

They rounded the corner and Peter could see the diner now. The boys could, too. They trotted a little faster, clearly picking up on the smells. Peter grinned, figuring the boys had worked up an appetite. Drake was the first through the door, followed closely by Sid and Jamal. Cory waited for Charlie to go through the door first, and Peter held it open for everyone else.

“Welcome to the Red Car.”

And red it was. From the lino to the bathroom doors, everything was red. Peter thought it had charm that way. He ushered Alan, Conroy, and Lestrade in, letting the door close and the bells jingle. Drake, Sid, Jamal, Charlie and Alan all managed to fit into one booth, while Cory and Conroy hopped into the second of the booths they usually occupied. Normally, Alan and Charlie were in the second booth, Cory in the first, but seeing as how Lestrade had to sit somewhere, he was sure the boys had worked this all out to keep the twins as comfortable as possible. They were good kids that way.

“Take a seat, Greg. I’m just going to let Mr. DiCasso know we’re here and get the boys' food going.”

“Come sit with us, Greg,” Cory invited, which Peter found funny, seeing as how Greg wouldn’t fit in the other booth with five boys already squished in.

“Not beside me. Peter sits here,” Conroy was quick to tell him, and Peter shook his head before going over to where Ollie DiCasso was working the counter.

“Hey, Ollie!” he greeted.

“Hey, Detective! I’ll let Pop know the gang’s all here and get started on getting these kids a round of cokes. And a coffee pot with a straw for you.”

“Great, Ollie. Two straws today – we have a guest.”

Ollie craned to look over at Lestrade and nodded. “Two straws comin’ up.”

Peter made his way back over to the booth, slumping down into his usual seat. He could see all the kids from there, and he could also see the door and the entrance to the kitchen partition of the diner. He could even cover the bathrooms from that vantage, which is why he picked it. No one was coming or going without him noticing.

He flicked one of the menus open, Conroy leaning against his arm to see, too. The kids always got hotdogs, and he ate what the kids ate to make it fair, but he figured he could point out the good stuff to Lestrade.

“They make a great Italian meatloaf, Greg. Or if you’re interested, they also do a fine chicken salad.”

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

The boys had rather amused looks on their faces, and Lestrade wondered just how much root bear they would have every day if getting depended on wanting, only. He smiled a little at the thought. What a nice kind of world that would be, in theory. Well, probably not, but it was all well and good to think sunshine-and-rainbows every once and a while, wasn't it?

“Welcome to the Red Car," Peter said as the little place came into view. And it was very, very red; it'd give a ruby a run for its money. The boys ran in looking incredibly excited and shoved themselves into booths like they knew just where to sit without words. In retrospect, they probably did; they did this every week. The older boys all got themselves into one booth and the twins and the two younger boys sat in another. Lestrade wondered where he and Aramis were supposed to fit in.

“Take a seat, Greg. I’m just going to let Mr. DiCasso know we’re here and get the boys' food going," Peter said, and went off to talk to whoever Mr. DiCasso was.

“Come sit with us, Greg,” Cory said.

"Um," Lestrade just stuttered, quite happy Cory wanted to include him, but he wasn't exactly going to fit in the already-three-boys side of the booth.

“Not beside me. Peter sits here,” Conroy told him quickly, and Lestrade nodded seriously, knowing that he was already probably disrupting some small order-protocol the boys had for this sort of thing, and didn't want to ruin it more. It was simply annoying when people came in and ruined order.

He stood slightly awkwardly until Peter came back and slid into the booth naturally, next to Conroy. Lestrade sat next to him, standing his elbow on the table and putting his chin on his hand. It was a rather childish pose, but comfortable, and Lestrade assumed these kids were probably a bit less preoccupied with manners than Mam had been. “They make a great Italian meatloaf, Greg. Or if you’re interested, they also do a fine chicken salad.”

Neither of them sounded particularly appealing at the moment to Lestrade, so he just hummed neutrally into his hand, eyes scanning the pages of the menu Peter held open next to him. He was a little hungry from the fact that there was absolutely nothing in his stomach right now, but the hunger was mixing in with the nausea and he wasn't sure which on was going to win.

"I'll just have fries, I think," Lestrade said, sitting up. Right, he was being a wuss; he could completely eat and be fine and everything, so shut up, Greg. He didn't want to look stupid, getting something completely different from the hot dogs he thought everyone else was getting. And, well, hot dogs were like burgers which went with fries, so it wasn't that big of a leap, was it? He hoped the boys wouldn't mention how he wasn't getting anything that actually constituted as a meal, but if they did, he decided he'd just say he was on a diet or something. They had already decided he was an old man, after all, and old people did that, right?

He sat up a bit and looked at Peter expectantly, because to be truly honest, he had no idea what to do now. Peter usually had an answer. Who was the elder again? It didn't matter. Peter wasn't as pathetically socially awkward as he was, so it was better if he just kept his mouth shut for now. Though, even through the bad-ness of the day... he had actually quite enjoyed himself so far. He gave Peter an unexplained, goofy smile. The kid already thought he was a weirdo anyway, so he supposed a little random happiness wasn't going to put him off any more than he already was.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"I'll just have fries, I think.”

Peter glanced over at Lestrade, wondering if he was feeling hung over still. Fries weren’t his best bet there, but to each their own, he supposed. He just nodded, flipping the menu closed.

“Fries sound fine. They do a good job with them here – fresh cut potato and everything,” Peter added. "And the gravy is to die for."

The happy smile Lestrade sent his way was worth it. So he left it there, nudging Conroy a bit so the kid didn’t fall asleep on his arm. He was tempted to feed him some coffee, but he reminded himself of growing bodies and caffeine. He’d just have to make sure the little guy got a good night sleep.

He himself didn’t expect to sleep well at all with the ache in his shoulder, or from the pot of coffee Ollie set on the table, a coffee cup rattling in front of both he and Lestrade. He didn’t hesitate to pour both cups with his left arm, setting the pot back down.

“So boys, did you have fun today?” Ollie asked, setting sodas down in front of the kids.

“We always do, Mr. DiCassa,” Cory replied, straw in his mouth.

“Good to hear it.” Ollie grinned back, continuing onto the next table with the rest of the drinks.

“See, these are the perks of pretending you’re a kid for an afternoon,” Peter pointed out to Greg, taking a long sip of his coffee.

In reality, he would have done it for the sake of having fun, but he did like taking the kids out. They all seemed to have a good time when he did. He glanced to his left where Conroy was leaning heavily against his arm, sipping his soda with eyes half-lidded. Yeah, the kids wore themselves out having fun.

“So, you planning on joining us again?” Peter asked quietly, fairly certain that the boys were a bit too involved with their sugary drinks to care what the adults were talking about. “Because we do this every Sunday, and you’re more than welcome to come back again.”

In all honestly, aside from the fact Lestrade was hung over, Peter thought things went well. The kids liked him, he seemed to be able to keep up, and anyone who put up with playing basketball with a hangover and still managed to be good to the kids was more than welcome back.

OOC: Sorry it's so short. My brain does NOT want to work, haha.