Tuesday morning. January 4, 2005.

When Peter got the text that Neal was up and about Tuesday morning, he and El stopped by the suite to check on him. Neal was seated in the suite's living room with his grandparents, watching TV. They'd found one of Irene's old movies, and she was telling stories about playing practical jokes on the other actors in the film. Neal's smile was particularly loopy.

Henry had opened the door and as they entered Peter asked in an undertone, "How is he?"

"Veeerrry happy," Henry said. "We had Disney's Fantasia on the TV earlier. He started humming the song from 'The Sorcerer's Apprentice' and wouldn't stop. Said he couldn't find the end. Oh, and apparently he's addicted to banana smoothies."

"We can bring him a pineapple one later for variety," El suggested. "And I saw something on the room service kid's menu called a coconut fizz. That's probably easy on the throat."

"Good idea." Henry followed them inside.

"Peter!" Neal's voice was enthusiastic, if hoarse. "It's my favorite movie."

Peter sat down next to El. "Yeah? How long has this been your favorite?"

Neal closed his eyes and scrunched his face in deep thought. "Nineteen years." He opened his eyes. "Yep. Nineteen."

"What happened nineteen years ago?" El asked.

"Flu. Bored. Wouldn't stay in my room. Mom put this movie in the VCR. I played it over and over."

It was a family-friendly movie called The Playboy and the Bobby-Soxer, one where Irene had played a teenager with a crush on her older sister's love interest. "You must have really liked it," El said.

"Mm-hmm. Mom asked why I kept replaying it. Said I liked her voice." He nodded toward Irene. "Comforting." He sank more deeply into the sofa cushions. "Mom said..." He looked at Irene. "Called you my babysitter."

"Truer words," said his grandmother.

Neal reached for his smoothie, and grumbled when he saw it was nearly empty.

Irene smiled fondly. "Ah now, there's my Baby Bear. We'll get you another one in a bit. Have some water. We want to keep you hydrated."

The grumbling growl lessened slightly, and finally ended as he drank the water. But his frown indicated he did not think water was an acceptable substitute.

"Angela and Rosalind and Viola are stopping by later," Henry said. "They said they'd bring lunch from one of the restaurants nearby, to give us a break from room service. It's going to be like dinner theater. Angela's teaching them lines from some of Dressa's old movies to act out scenes with her."

"Oh, that sounds like fun," El said.

"I've heard you're an actress yourself now," Irene mentioned. "I hope you'll join us."

"It's only community theater," El demurred.

"How do you think I started out? Please say you'll take part. Everyone else is."

"Everyone?" asked Henry.

"Well, you can't expect Edmund to be the leading man all the time. He needs support. You'll be very dashing once we get you in costume."

Costumes? "I should really stop by the Bureau soon and catch up on the case," Peter said before anyone tried to volunteer him.

"You won't stay and play Agent Baker?" Irene asked, referring to a classic character supposedly inspired by Sherlock Holmes. He always wore suits in the movies. That wouldn't be too bad.

"I guess I could postpone the trip until the afternoon," Peter conceded.

Neal grumbled.

Irene smoothed back his hair. "I know you'd like to play Baker, but he has more lines than you could speak today." She named another part, a character infamous for his dramatic flair and over-the-top death scene. "He doesn't say as much, but he's very memorable."

It wasn't long before Neal fell asleep, leaning on his grandfather's shoulder. While Irene described a part she envisioned for El, Peter took the opportunity to ask Henry, "Do you really think Neal's up to this?"

"We'll take it in small increments. The girls already know they're supposed to call for frequent breaks for snacks or costume changes. Anyway, this is what you wanted Sunday evening, remember? You said Neal needed a cure for emotional frostbite."

"I thought you'd decided the virus was making him act out of character."

"It contributed. Now that we've got the physical fever and chills under control, I'm trying to warm up his soul. He's going to be barraged with the caring and love of family. There may be a temporary side effect of being exhausted sometimes, but this is the best cure I know."

Wednesday morning. January 5, 2005.

Neal had been eager to get outside, and Angela was happy to have him back on his feet again. It was their last full day in Hawaii, and he'd insisted on returning from sick mode to vacation mode. He was still tired, and Henry seemed equally worn out from watching over him. Currently they both dozed on beach towels on the sand. Angela, Rosalind, and Viola sat on the sand trying to guess Henry's nickname, while Irene, Julia, and Betty sat on beach chairs watching their grandchildren with fond indulgence.

"Did Billy Feng mention what was in that tea he brought for Neal yesterday?" Julia asked.

"No. He simply described it as an old family remedy for sore throats, and said it was sweetened with honey," Irene said.

"Honey is soothing," Betty said. "I remember giving my boys a teaspoon of honey for a sore throat."

"Don't tell Henry that. He has such a sweet tooth, he might pretend his throat hurts if he thinks you'll give him honey." Irene winked at Angela and then said, "I remember the way Henry giggled as a baby. At first I thought he was happy, and that was true, but he was also very ticklish. The slightest touch set him off."

"Oh, I remember that too," said Julia Winslow. "Such an infectious laugh. You couldn't pick him up without setting it off. Noelle finally managed it. She was able to pick him up without waking him, but the rest of us learned that leaving a restaurant or church or even a concert hall meant hearing him shriek with laughter."

"Neal had more of a chuckle," Irene added. "And I noticed that if you made either of them laugh, if the other was in hearing distance he'd start to laugh, too. Heaven forgive me but once out of curiosity I tickled Henry while Neal was napping, and Neal started laughing in his sleep."

"I suppose they've both outgrown that now," Betty said. "Or so they would claim."

"These are certainly ideal circumstances for an experiment," Julia added. "If we wanted to find out."

Something in the women's smiles warned Angela and she realized her companions were creeping up on her cousins. Rosalind had a handful of sand and was slowly pouring it on Henry's bare chest. He started to smile, and then was giggling.

Beside him, Neal chuckled.

It went on a little too long, and perhaps Angela should have warned Rosalind and Viola when she noticed that their victims weren't asleep anymore. Before she could decide where her loyalties belonged in this situation, Henry surged to his feet, pulling Rosalind with him. He swept her over his shoulder in a fireman's hold and ran into the ocean, dumping her in the water.

Neal and Viola stood up, with Viola laughing until the moment Neal grabbed her hand and followed Henry into the ocean.

Betty smiled. "Tickle bugs can be a tempting target, but they do learn to defend themselves."

Angela ran over to where her four friends were emerging from the surf. She slapped Henry on the arm as if they were playing tag and yelled, "Tickle Bug!"

He froze only an instant before chasing her down and dumping her in the ocean, too. She yelled, "Tickle Bug!" the entire time.

All five of them played tag in the ocean for a while, calling "tickle bug" instead of "you're it" when tagging each other. Eventually they returned to their grandmothers, plopping down on beach towels. Irene gave them her most innocent look and said, "Now that you mention it, we did call little Henry our Tickle Bug. Such a lucky guess."