Daniel's POV

"Where are you taking me?" I asked her for the umpteenth time.

"You wanted to see what I do in my leisure time? I'm taking you there. So drive carefully," she chirped.

I could see how excited she was.

"Fine," I grumbled. She had pulled me from my bed early on a Sunday morning.

I was still trying to find my sense of humour. But she looked so happy, sitting in my car.

Once or twice I'd seen her touch the glass, gazing out at the streets as if everything was brand new.

"You travel this way every day, right?" I asked her.

"Most days, but every time it's so different; there's so much to see, the little things change so much, don't you think?"

She was smiling and those tiny crinkles were back at the corners of those doe-like eyes. I could look into those for hours.

The truth of it is half of the things she says go straight over the top of my head. So again I just nodded, pretending I understood the intricacy of her thoughts, that weird philosophy of hers.

Everything about her is so different, her looks, mannerisms. It was a sure thing I'd never met anyone like her.

I pulled my eyes back to the road — again. It was impossible to concentrate properly with her sitting beside me.

She was wearing a patchwork round neck, long-sleeved, grey T-shirt with a pair of black baggy trousers. The bandages on her hands were peeking out from behind the long sleeves.

The part of her fingers I could see looked red and swollen, not that I'd heard her complain. On her feet she wore the cutest pink cotton shoes — sweet.

The more I looked, the more her out of the ordinary beauty began to attract me. The more I got to know her the more I liked.

She has these large hazel eyes, one with this patch of ebony brown covering half the iris and I couldn't even tell you the colour of my mother's eyes.

I could remember every single time I'd touch her. Despite the blisters and the old scars, her skin has this translucency, it glows.

There's a thin red line of a scar that's almost healed, which runs across her left cheek, it wrinkles when she smiles at me.

There's worse, of course, hidden under the soft socks and sleeves.

She'd let me in; let me watch her Mom dress her wounds. I'd seen the damage for myself and felt sick to my stomach but not repelled — more determined, more attracted than ever.

Who was the sick one I wondered, her or me?

I drove as smoothly as I could, taking random turns when she told me, with no idea where I was. If nothing else she'd made a better driver of me.

After half an hour driving through the busy New York traffic, we finally stopped in front of a simple whitewashed building with a porch.

Before I could do my 'knight in shining armour' deed and help her out, she was on the driveway, grinning back at me.

"It's back here," she called and pushed through a rusted iron gate.

I followed, brushing past hedges of blooming camellias and lilacs wondering what exactly I'd let myself in for.

A noisy bell rang out and almost immediately I heard the wild and excited chatter of children.

The back door flew open and a young boy ran out and jumped. She caught him mid-leap and kissed him solidly on his nose.

The boy was barefoot and in shorts and tee-shirt. What bits of his body I could see were covered in bandages. His feet might have been bare but he had no toenails, which made him look strangely naked.

Another girl followed and gently latched onto Phoebe's neck. They hugged each other but with such care, it was obvious they knew her and her condition well.

"Are they...?" I began suddenly not sure what to say.

"Yes, they're my childhood, my reflection," she smiled, hugging the little girl to her.

"Daniel," she introduced, "This is Ava and Jacob, although he likes to be called Jake."

"Nice to meet you, young man," I held out my hand to shake, but Jacob regarded me with a weird look.

Acceptance was not going to be that easy, I realised.

A hoot of laughter from the house was followed by an explosion of running feet. I was suddenly surrounded by children of all ages; the morning was filled with their chatter and laughter.

It was like I'd been transported to Peter Pan's Never-Land or to a land of eternal spring...surreal.

I felt a tug on my sleeve and looked down. Jacob was standing there with all the dignity of a gentleman, studying me very seriously.

"Are you her boyfriend? " he demanded. The slight lisp did nothing to detract from the determined look on the boy's face.

What was I supposed to say? I looked across at Phoebe.

Her smile had disappeared but she was studying me in a way that gave me the jitters.

"Yes," she said. "He's a boy and my friend, so he's definitely my boyfriend."

"Nice concept," I mumbled. Her smile was back, only this time I was pretty sure she was laughing at me.

I watched her walk away to join another group of children and felt another tug on my arm.

Jacob was still there and looking deadly serious.

"If you ever try to hurt her, I will hunt you down."

Baffled I watched him run off to join his friends.

Was he really eight years old? What eight-year-old kid talks like that?"

A/N Edited by lindajonesAuthor

What do you think about the kids? Are they spoiled? How much do they mean for Phoebe?

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