Fragile

Chapter 7 - Internship

By the time we got to the apartment, Riggs was done.

The flight, the excitement, the airport chaos—it had all finally caught up to him. He trudged inside, dragging his Spider-Man suitcase behind him with all the energy of someone carrying the weight of the world.

The apartment was small but comfortable, already mostly furnished thanks to the hospital's arrangements. A dark gray couch sat in the middle of the living room, a simple dining table near the open kitchen, and the bedrooms were down a short hallway. It wasn't home, not yet, but it would do for the next six months.

Riggs, however, wasn't impressed.

"Where's my stuff?" he grumbled, kicking off his sneakers.

I sighed, setting my bag down. "It's coming in a few days, bud. We couldn't bring everything on the plane."

He crossed his arms, his lower lip sticking out. "I don't like it."

I ruffled his hair, ignoring the way he tried to duck away from my hand. "You're just tired."

"I'm not tired," he snapped, even as he rubbed at his eyes.

I bit back a laugh. "Really? Because you look like you're about two minutes away from collapsing."

"I am not," he insisted, but his voice had that telltale whiny edge.

I exhaled, glancing at the clock. It was barely the afternoon here, but to Riggs, it probably felt like the middle of the night. I needed to keep him awake for at least a few more hours, or we'd never get his sleep schedule adjusted.

That was easier said than done when dealing with a very grumpy six-year-old.

"Alright," I said, clapping my hands together. "We're going for a walk."

Riggs groaned. "Noooo."

"Yep." I grabbed his jacket and held it out. "Come on. Fresh air will help."

"I don't want fresh air," he huffed, crossing his arms.

"Well, I do, and you can't stay here alone, so put your jacket on."

He glared at me like I was the worst person alive, but he took the jacket anyway, yanking it on aggressively.

The streets of London were bustling, full of people moving with purpose, but Riggs was not having it.

He dragged his feet down the sidewalk, huffing dramatically every few minutes. "My legs hurt."

I smirked. "You walked for, like, five minutes."

"It feels like forever."

I chuckled, adjusting my own jacket against the cool air. "You'll survive."

We walked past coffee shops, bakeries, little stores that I made mental notes to come back to. Riggs, however, wasn't interested in any of it.

"Mom," he groaned. "I'm so tired."

"I know, bud," I said patiently. "But if you sleep now, you'll be up at two in the morning, and I will suffer."

He threw his head back dramatically. "I'm already suffering."

I laughed, grabbing his hand before he could flop down onto a bench in protest. "Come on. Let's find something cool to see."

"Like what?" he grumbled, dragging his feet.