"Why, Tennyson," she said with a look of concern on her face. "What's wrong?"

As if someone had pulled a cork form a bottle, the tears came gushing out of the boy's eyes.

"My dear, what's the matter?" Miss Fayre asked, leaning in between the bars of the hoverchair's safety cage and wrapping her arms around her nephew. When his sobbing subsided, she pushed the 'forward' button on the control panel in front of him and guided the hoverchair through the door.

She moved him in front of the fireplace, pulled a stool with a threadbare cushion over and sat in front of him. "Now, then--what's happened?"

Tennyson explained haltingly, his aunt's eyes widening, then her face going pale, and finally shutting her eyes. "Oh, Ashton, how could you?"

A pain shot through Tennyson's heart. He shouldn't have told her. He shouldn't have come. He reached out and wiped the tear that was coursing down her cheek with his thumb. His aunt took hold of his hand, and pressed it against her cheek.

"Oh, my sweet boy," she said with a gentle grin. "You truly are one of the greatest blessings I've ever received."

Slowly, Tennyson reached out with his other hand and touched his keyboard. He told his aunt he should probably be going--he didn't want to impose on her any longer.

Miss Fayre drew back, her eyes widening. "What?! Go where, may I ask? On the contrary--you'll stay with me."

Tennyson looked up at her and reached for the keyboard.

"No--" his aunt said, taking hold of both of his hands. "Not another word. The second bedroom is yours."

But, Tennyson asked, what if she had guests?

"Dear boy, there's a couch over there by the wall," Miss Fayre pointed out. "and how often do I ever have guests--particularly those that stay the night--anyhow?"

Tennyson could say no more.

---

"I see. So then you have been living with your aunt for a little over a year?"

Tennyson nodded and yawned.

"How--?" Wiggins asked with a puzzled look on his face.

"He knows Tennyson's fourteen now, silly." Deidre chided playfully. "Our friend here has been living with his aunt since the day after his thirteenth birthday."

Wiggins rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah."

Holmes looked over at Tennyson, who yawned again. "Deidre, Wiggins, do me the favor of taking Tennyson home, won't you?"

"Sure, Mister Holmes." Wiggins said, reaching for the hoverchair's control board. Tennyson's eyes were closed.

"Are you sure we can't help you tidy up?" Deidre asked in almost a whisper, removing the teacup from her dozing friend's hands.

"No, no, dear girl--you get yourself home before it gets too dark." Watson insisted, taking the teacup from her.

"Okay."

Wiggins turned Tennyson around, and Deidre opened the door to the apartment.

"See you later, Mister Holmes." she said.