Author's Notes: This story is quite a departure for me. A weird sort of side-journey away from my usual humor stories that I hope I don't feel the urge to take again. This one's kind of dark and creepy, I'm afraid.

Summary: A scene from young David Lash's childhood.

Category: Episode Related

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, but would have certainly given Homer a better home.

Warnings: Spoilers for "Cypher." If you're familiar with that episode, the title should be warning enough.

POOR HOMER

by Red Soprano

The redheaded lady was gone. Davey knew this even before he rounded the north end of the duck pond that divided their properties and skidded to a halt by the rickety back gate of her cottage. He stood, panting, and stared up at the shuttered windows. It was the middle of a blistering July day, but to him the empty summer cottage looked as cold and desolate as it would in the middle of winter.

"It's not fair. She was supposed to take me with her." Davey swiped angrily at his cheeks, smearing his hot tears with the grime on his face. "It's not fair!"

Naomi had been the one bright spot in an otherwise dismal summer. Besides being kind and pretty and smart, she was nicer to him than any grownup had ever been. She was great fun and had neat books that she would read to him sometimes. She didn't laugh at his stutter when he'd get flustered around her. He had decided soon after he'd met her that she was the perfect mom.

He was a little disappointed that she didn't make cookies like moms were supposed to, but since he wasn't used to that kind of thing anyway, it didn't really matter. She made really good sandwiches though, and always had ice cold lemonade on hand. Naomi had even called his house a couple of times and asked if he and Homer could come over for a picnic. That had really shocked his old lady. It was like she couldn't imagine anyone wanting to invite her kid over for a picnic. She'd just snorted and said, "Yeah, sure. Whatever. Get him out of my hair for a while."

Naomi hadn't even made a big deal out of it when she found out that his real name was Davey, not Jimmy like he'd told her when he came over that first day and offered to mow her lawn. She'd just smiled sadly and said, "Your dad told me about your little brother. I guess you just want to keep his memory alive, huh?" It was too hard to explain to her that Jimmy was gone and he was Jimmy now, so he didn't even try. Besides, he was almost through being Jimmy. Soon he'd ask her to call him Blair. He was sure she wouldn't mind.

She'd loved Homer. Personally, Davey figured the only reason his old man had given him such a dorky pet was because he knew the other kids would laugh at him. Naomi didn't laugh. She'd made the biggest fuss over that dumb duck and thought it was the coolest thing, the way it followed after him like a pet dog.

As if on cue, the little mallard waddled up the path behind him and squawked indignantly. "Either keep up or learn to fly, you stupid duck," Davey muttered.

Seemingly unruffled by this rebuke, Homer sauntered up and calmly set one webbed foot atop the toe of Davey's worn sneaker. Taking a shoelace in his bill, he began worrying it loose.

"She's gone, Homer." Davey leaned over and stroked the iridescent green feathers on the duck's head with one finger. "She was going to be my new mom. We were going to go with her when she left in August, and now she's gone." He straightened up and scowled across the tidy back yard to the empty driveway on the side of the deserted house. "I thought she liked us."

Homer continued his industrious work on the shoelace.

"Stop that." Davey pushed the duck aside with an irritated swipe of his foot. He pushed at the gate to open it, but the rusty latch was jammed and wouldn't release. "It's not fair," Davey hissed. He grabbed the top of the gate in both hands and rattled it furiously against its loose hinges. "IT'S NOT FAIR!" he shouted. He stepped back and, with all his might, kicked his heel against the dilapidated old gate. With a frightened squawk, Homer flapped his wings and scrambled away.

Davey stood for a moment, breathing heavily, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides. The rusty latch remained jammed, but the top hinge on the other side had pulled easily from the rotted wood when he kicked it, leaving the top of the gate sagging dejectedly away from the post.

"It's all that stupid kid's fault," he muttered. "Everything would have worked out fine if he hadn't cried for his mommy."

His eye caught something shiny in the grass on the other side of the fence. He squeezed through the opening at the top of the gate, stepped over to where the shiny object lay and picked it up. It was one of those pinwheels on a stick that twirled around when you blew on it. Davey had given it to the kid…. No, wait, that wasn't right. Jimmy. He had been Jimmy when he gave it to Blair, explaining that it was a little kid's toy and he didn't need it any more. Blair had really liked that toy. Davey remembered his squeals of delight whenever he--no.... It was Jimmy. Whenever Jimmy would blow on the toy and make it twirl.

Davey shook his head as if to clear it. It was all so confusing. He wasn't Jimmy any more. He was supposed to be Blair now. Naomi was supposed to be his mom now but everything was ruined. He squeezed his eyes shut and saw an image of Naomi as he had last seen her, her eyes accusing, her face white with fear as she snatched her sobbing child out of his arms and clutched the little boy to her.

Davey had tried to tell her, tried to make her understand that he hadn't meant to hurt Blair. Blair was his friend! In fact, he had rushed to explain, Blair must have gotten out of the house without her knowing and the gate must have been open because he was there on the edge of the pond when he came over to visit and if it hadn't been for him, Blair would have drowned.

She hadn't believed him. Her voice had shook when she said, "Go home, Davey. I need to call your parents." Then she ran back into the house with Blair and slammed the door. He'd stayed where he was, hoping that she would come back out and everything would be all right but she never did. After a while, his old man came and got him and hauled him home. His mother did what she always did when he was bad. She ran a hot bath. Way too hot. She made him sit in it while she scrubbed him raw, saying over and over, "Maybe this will teach you. Maybe now you'll learn to be a good little boy like Jimmy was."

He'd spent the next week locked in his room. They hadn't even let him out to use the bathroom. Finally, his old man had drunk up enough courage to let him out while his mother was gone. "Sorry, kid," he'd mumbled, "But ya gotta learn to quit pissin' off yer mom." Davey had pushed past him and run to the summer cottage where cold lemonade and bologna sandwiches waited.

The redheaded lady who was going to be his real mom was gone.

Angrily, Davey hurled the pinwheel toy across the yard. Behind him, Homer was pecking and scratching against the gate in a frustrated attempt to join him on the other side. "Go home, Homer," Davey ordered.

It had been so perfect. As if it was meant to be. He'd come over to visit and the back door was wide open as if she'd been expecting him. She'd fallen asleep while reading in the front room. Blair was awake and playing quietly in his playpen and he hadn't minded at all when Davey picked him up. He'd just grinned and gurgled, "Dimmy!"

Davey frowned. Not Jimmy. Blair. I'm Blair. He glanced back at the gate, where Homer was becoming more and more frantic with his attempts to get into the yard with him. Homer seemed to be muttering to himself in annoyed little duck squawks as he butted his head insistently against the bottom of the gate.

"Shut up, Homer!"

Blair had been quiet right up until they'd reached the pond. Then he'd blinked in confusion and cried, "Where Mommy? Want Mommy!" He had struggled a little, but Davey didn't have much trouble holding him under the surface of the pond. Davey remembered the funny look of surprise on the kid's face as he stared up at him through the water with wide blue eyes.

It was so perfect. It had almost worked.

He was startled out of his memories by Homer's loud honk of frustration.

"SHUT UP!"

Davey stomped over to the gate, bent down and thrust his arm through the slats to grab his pet by the neck. Homer emitted a frightened whistle and flapped his wings to get away.

Davey kept his fingers wrapped firmly around the duck's neck and shouted, "Shut up! It's all your fault, you stupid duck! I bet she heard you out here honking and squawking and if it hadn't been for you, I'd be Blair now! She'd be my mom and we'd be gone from here!"

Davey held on as Homer's struggles became weaker and weaker. Finally, the little animal became still.

Davey let go and stood up. He looked regretfully back at the empty cottage. The redheaded lady had gone and left him behind. He might as well accept that she was never coming back. With a sigh, he squeezed back through the broken gate, being careful to step over Homer. He turned, bent down, and gently stroked his pet's head. After a few minutes, he gathered the limp animal in his arms and set off down the path away from the cottage.

"You're my only friend now, Homer, " he whispered sadly. "But don't worry. We can make lots more friends."
 

THE END