I wrote this novelette after watching Tiresias. In the episode we find out, by way of the psychic Scarborough, that Hobbes had been a sickly child with a younger sister who beat him and made him wear a dress. This is my take on it and one way it might be resolved. Adelheide, Hobbes Honey #10, did the editing. She is wonderful! Thank you very much Adelheide!

Hobbes' Sister

By Lisa aka Smartypants

Years flashed by in reverse and he was seven years old again. Sandy was only a year younger, but she grew so much faster. People would ask who was oldest, most of them thought she was older of the two. The mistakes made him feel all that much smaller, so that most of the time he wished he could just disappear.

Asthma, what a curse it had been on his childhood. Today there are treatments for it, but back then, he was doomed to trying to catch his breath, while mom was practically helpless. She would boil some tea and make him breathe in the steam while holding a towel over his head. It would form a tent so the vapors would aid his breathing. This process helped sometimes, sometimes not at all. Eating was out of the question during those times, hard to eat when you can’t breathe, much less go out and play with the other guys. Mom doted on him to try to make up for missing out, but it just wasn‘t the same.

Mom had to work and didn't get home till two hours later, sometimes longer than that. Since no one else was home, he was forbidden to play outside. Watching the guys play tag football, and sometimes baseball, seemed to make it all that much worse. It looked like so much fun.

“What if you have an asthma attack playing outside while I’m not home, Bobby?” His mother’s worried look was always there during this conversation. That look wore him down more than her words ever could.

"I wish I could make things different, Bobby, but we are doing the best that we can." Bobby nodded slowly at his mom, then went back to his room to toss the football in the air and wish his curse were lifted.

Mom never knew how mean Sandy was to him when she wasn‘t there and he couldn't bring himself to tell her. When he tried to talk to Dad he got the "you never hit a girl" speech. Dad told Sandy not to hit him anymore, but she wouldn't stop. If he did hit her back, Dad promised he’d give him worse than she ever did, but he never hit her back. Maybe he deserved the abuse from Sandy, for receiving so much attention from mom.

"Nobody's here and you have to do what I say" Sandy threatened. Bobby followed her to their mother's closet wondering what she was up to. "Let’s play dress up!" Sandy pulled one dress out of the closet after another, then scooped them up. She didn’t see the horrified look on his face.

Bobby's mind flew trying to think of a place to hide. Some place he had never hid before, so she would never find him. He watched her go down the hallway. His heart beat as if it would pound right out of his chest. The closet in the spare room. She would never think of there. No one but a guest was ever allowed in there. Safe and sound in the closet.

"Bobby! Where are you?" Sandy screamed at the top of her lungs. The more she looked, the madder she got. "When I find you, I’m going to make you sorry!" she bellowed.

Cool darkness surrounded Bobby in the closet. It smelled funny, kind of medicine-like. Moth balls, every closet had moth balls. The dark made it hard to keep his eyes open. Soothing sleep overcame him.

Fists punched his face and head, and the light blinded him. Bobby started to kick and hit back at the attacker. "Oh now your gonna get it!" Sandy screamed hoarsely, dragging him out of the closet. The blows landed harder and harder till he couldn't take it anymore. He began to cry and beg her to stop.

"Please stop, please. I 'll do anything. Just stop." To his surprise she stopped. When he opened his eyes, Sandy was smiling.

"Ok" she piped, "Dress up!" She took his hand and led him down the hall to her room. She took one of mother's dresses and helped him put it on. She zipped up the dress and ran back to Mom's room to get a hat. Returning with one on her head and another in hand, she placed the hat carefully on his head.

"Look how pretty you are!" Sandy held up Mom's small vanity mirror. How clearly he remembered that image, seeing his red blotched face and swollen eyes. Please God, just don’t let anyone ever find out., Bobby prayed silently.

Every day after school, she wanted to play dress up. Sandy seemed to enjoy how uncomfortable he was, making him play tea party and market place. He was always careful about not getting too close to the window. If any boy in the neighborhood found out, he would never live it down.

When she got older, she blackmailed him with it. It's like she could read his mind and know how it made his stomach churn with the idea that anyone might find out. Mom and Dad thought we got along great. I was the obedient son and she the sweet little girl. Bobby pushed that resentment and hate down to the darkest corner of his mind. He kept thoughts and feelings to himself, never trusting anyone. If anyone ever knew, he would never hear the end of it. The tough guy image worked well as he got older, so if she ever thought to try to use it against him, he could deny it, and maybe, no one would believe her. He found silence and a poker face his best weapons. Some girls actually liked that tough guy image, but they never knew the real Bobby Hobbes. No one did. Returning home always seemed to make him feel like that small boy again.

"Bobby!" His mother called, bringing him back to the present. "How long you been standing there?" Startled, he automatically reached toward his gun in its holster. Stopping himself, he ambled toward his mother reaching for a hug.

"It’s so good to see you, Bobby. You've been away too long." She sighed.

"I know, Mom. I know, but I've been busy working. Going here and there, you know." Bobby rambled trying to make light of rarely coming home.

His mother's face was older but still as pretty as he remembered. "You look great, Mom. How have you been?" he asked, glancing at the guest room door.

"Oh, after your Dad passed, it was hard, but now your sister's sick, and I don’t know what to do." Tears formed in her eyes, but she held back from letting them flow. She always tried to be strong.

Looking at his mother, Bobby was afraid to ask. His mouth wouldn't form the words. His eyes once again drawn to the door. The door to the guest bedroom. Where his dad had been when he was sick. A hospital bed had been placed in there along with other things for terminally ill patients staying at home. The same room with the closet his sister had dragged him out of as a young boy and beat him so badly. Now his sister was sick, just like Dad had been. Cancer of the lymph nodes had metastasized. It was too late by the time they found out.

"Go on in there" His mother pushing him towards the door. "Sandy was so happy to hear you were coming. She's been wanting to talk to you." Half a smile and a nod, he walked towards the door, forcing his hand to turn the handle and push the door open.

Stepping inside, he slowly, quietly closed the door behind him. No one else was to hear this conversation. Taking in a deep breath, he looked across the room, to find his sister sitting up in the bed. Much smaller and weaker than he ever remembered. The faint smell of moth balls lingering in the air from the half-open closet door.

Sandy's pale lips formed a small smile. "Hey big brother. Long time no see." She raised her hand towards him motioning to come closer.

Bobby shuffled closer to her bedside but stopped short. "Come on silly, I won't bite...this time." She grinned weakly. Returning a small smile, he edged closer till she took his hand in hers.

"Really, Bobby, I've missed you." she said quietly. Bobby's eyes narrowed, looking at her face. It was hard to believe she actually seemed to mean it. "I know you've been away working and all, but you could have called once in a blue moon." Her eyes searched his face to find no response at all. "Bobby? You ok? What’s wrong? Your not ..sick.. too... are you?" her voice trailing off.

"No“ He shook his head, “not sick. I’m ok." Bobby mind swirled with so many thoughts. His goal, his aim was to put this to rest, before it was too late. "I know your sick ..this isn’t the best time to talk about this." he stammered. He started to turn away. It began so long ago, why couldn’t he let it rest? He loved his sister, but the distrust was always there. The uneasiness just seemed to grow instead of diminish. It followed him into so many relationships.

"Bobby, what is it?" her voice urging him to stay. "Please tell me. You’re my brother, and I love you very much."

He looked to her face once more searching to see if that was true. Could it be true? Could the person who tormented him, made his life miserable, the one who made him the distrusting person he was, also love him?

Bobby hesitated, "I just wanted to say..to tell you..that..I've been doing a lot of thinking and sorting things out." A lump formed in his throat, pressing, making it hard for him to talk. Glancing around, finding a picture of them from long ago to fix his eyes on. A thin layer of dust cut the glare on the glass. "I came here to tell you that... when we were growing up...you made my life..." he stopped, taking a deep breath, feeling tears sting his eyes. The lump in his throat seemed to grow larger still that he felt unable to breathe.

"Hell?" Sandy questioned. He brought his gaze up to meet hers. "Yeah." He nodded. "I know I shouldn't do this now. It’s not a good time, but if I didn’t do this now. I needed...." Bobby stopped, watching a tear flow down Sandy's cheek.

"You knew?" Bobby asked wiping the tear gently from her face, trying to keep his own tears at bay.

"No, not then." Sandy reached for a tissue." Getting sick gives you a lot of time to think about what you've done with your life and what you did to others. Seems like God is getting me back for being such a brat." she chuckled.

"No, you weren’t that bad" he started, looking up to see Sandy nodding her head. "Yeah" they both said. Bobby smiled, for the first time in a long time from the heart. "Yeah, you were pretty bad."

The words tumbling out of his mouth felt good, it felt right. The lump in his throat was gone and the weight on his shoulders was lighter. They spent the whole day talking, recounting the past. Soon, Bobby realized he had concentrated so hard on the bad things, that he had forgotten the good things. There actually were some good times in his life, small and infrequent but nonetheless, there. Bobby went home several more times in the short months Sandy had left. The memories of a small sickly boy and his mean younger sister were being replaced by fresher ones of a more loving Sandy and a stronger older brother.

The day of Sandy’s funeral was a beautiful day. The sun shone as bright as her smile. She would have loved it. Bobby gazed at the marble headstone. He missed her already, but the peace he felt was like she was right there with him. That peace felt warm and safe, a feeling he hadn't felt since he couldn't remember when.

Being back at work quickly, was exactly what Bobby Hobbes needed. Darien caught him in the hall.

"Hey, back so soon, Hobbes?" Darien had that concerned look on his face.

"It’s ok, Fawkes, Bobby Hobbes is back and ready for action. Anyway, the fat man wants to see us." He noticed the book Fawkes was carrying. "What ya got there, big guy?" He took the book in hand.

"Just some quotes and stuff. Light reading." Darien strolled along side Hobbes.

"Light reading? Mr. Smarty pants." Bobby quipped, skimming through the pages, stopping at one. Scanning the page his eyes came to rest on a passage:

Write your injuries in dust, your benefits in marble.
-- Benjamin Franklin