This story is dedicated to Alice I, because it's mostly her fault. The rest of the blame belongs to Suisan, to whom it is also dedicated.

Warning: This was written in 78 Minutes and, while spell checked, was not betaed.

Charlie was frustrated.

He was at the apex of his academic career. He had a full ride scholarships to THE best university in America, Princeton.

He'd had a paper on fluid dynamics published in the Journal of American Mathematics. His physics professor, Larry Fleinhardt, had asked for help running equations with his eleven dimensional gravity theory.

And now he was stuck. Charlie scowled at his chalkboard. He didn't realize that his mother had walked into the garage until she spoke... for the third time.

And then poked him in the side.

"MOM!" Charlie protested. "I'm trying to work here!"

"Charles Edward Eppes!" Margaret scolded. "You are supposed to be on vacation!"

Charlie blinked at her. "I am," he said. "That's why we're in California and not New Jersey."

Margaret put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot.

"What?" Charlie demanded.

"Why are you out here in the garage?" Margaret demanded.

Charlie gestured to his chalkboard. "Do you know what that is?"

Margaret studied the chalkboard for so long that Charlie just knew that a sarcastic comment would be forthcoming.

He was proven correct a few moments later when Margaret looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "It looks like a chalkboard that is half filled with equations."

Charlie sighed. "And do you know why it's only half filled? Because I'm too damn short to reach the top of the board!"

"And here I thought it was because your inconsiderate mother is interrupting her baby genius' train of thought," Margaret said wryly.

"MOM! Don't call me that. I am NOT a baby!"

"I'll keep a civil tongue in my mouth if you stop swearing," Margaret said.

There was a laugh from behind them.

Charlie clapped his left hand over his eyes. (He used his left hand because his right hand was filled with chalk.) The bane of his young life had just re-entered it.

"You don't want to be treated like a baby, then stop acting like a crybaby," his older brother Don advised.

Charlie gave him a dirty look. "Shouldn't you be out catching fly balls or something?" he asked snidely.

"I need somebody to throw the ball for me," Don said.

Charlie rolled his eyes. "You're a little late to ask me to play ball with you, Don," he said.

"I meant Mom," Don replied straight faced.

"DONNIE!" Margaret scolded. "Be nice to your brother."

"And ruin my reputation?" Don asked incredulously.

This time Charlie laughed.

Margaret sighed. "Honestly. You two never change!"

The boys looked at each other and shrugged.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Don said.

"It is," Margaret said firmly. "And speaking of not changing, I'm still your mother."

The boys exchanged looks of dismay.

"Yes, that's right," Margaret said. "You will be forced out of your comfort zone, my boys." She gave Don a stern look. "Donnie, you will play with your brother."

She gave Charlie an equally stern gaze. "Charlie, you WILL get out of the garage and engage in an outdoor activity with your brother. You will spend a minimum of one hour at it."

The stern gaze returned to Don. "And said outdoor activity will be enjoyable for both, young man. I do not consider slam dunking your brother into the koi pond as an acceptable option."

Don gave an exaggerated sigh. "Well, dam.. dang. What am I supposed to do with him?"

"Think of something... and make it socially acceptable!" Margaret warned. She went into the house, and crossed her fingers. It was all she could do at this point.

Don and Charlie soon got bored with glaring at each other.

"So, what are you working on?" Don asked.

"I'm trying to work on a physics problem," Charlie sighed.

"But you can't reach the top of the board."

Charlie sighed again.

"So, why don't you stand on the stepladder, genius boy?"

Charlie gaped for a few minutes.

Don smirked.

"Okay," Charlie admitted. "I should have realized that my brother couldn't really be a moron."

Don flashed the grin that had turned all the girls' heads in high school. The same one that Charlie had lived for when he was a little kid.

"Your turn," Don said. "We have to do something fun, together, outside."

Charlie ran his hand through his mass of dark curls. "Well, Mom mentioned not dunking me... so... Dunking basketballs?"

Don reached out and ruffled Charlie's curls. Charlie smacked his hand away.

"Well, I knew that my brother couldn't be totally useless," he looked around the garage. "Do you know where the basketball is?"

"Yes," Charlie said. He dug the ball out from under some boxes and they went out to play. Both refused to admit that they had enjoyed it, but they played for far longer than the one hour that Margaret had specified.

***

The stepladder that Don had suggested made life much easier for Charlie. He was able to reach every last section of his board, and that made him very happy.

His work was going so well that he had time left over to play basketball... ah... harass his brother.

Don for the most part was enjoying getting reacquainted with his friends, his neighborhood hang outs and yes, even his bratty little brother.

He didn't even complain when his father conscripted him into helping stain the trim of the house.

Charlie complained, however, because that cost him the use of his stepladder.

"Think of something else, genius boy," Don ordered him.

Charlie wandered disconsolately back into his sanctum sanctorum. He looked up. There was a tiny section near the top of the board that was taunting him. He'd been fretting about that expression for two days now and he'd finally had a breakthrough.

And now he couldn't reach the damn thing.

He winced. Then he realized that his mother couldn't read his mind, or even hear him.

"DAMN! DAMN! DAMN!" he said. He looked around the garage as if expecting another ladder to mysteriously appear.

That didn't happen.

He wandered inside to drown his sorrow in Ovaltine. He perched himself on a stool at the kitchen counter, drinking his chocolate milk when he realized that the stool was actually quite tall. It was just right for sitting at the counter.

Or fixing that annoying expression.

A little later, Margaret Eppes walked into the kitchen and sighed. Charlie had left his glass sitting on the counter, again.

Don walked in, hoping for a soda and expecting iced tea. He laughed. "Well, what do you expect from an absent-minded genius," he said.

Margaret shot him an annoyed look and marched herself out to the garage.

Don abandoned thoughts of drinking in hopes of seeing his angelic little brother get a tongue lashing.

Margaret stormed into the garage and stopped dead in horror. "Charlie! Get off that stool right this instant!"

Don rushed into the garage, this was even better than he'd expected.

Charlie looked over his shoulder. "What?" he demanded. "The stool is perfectly stable, Mom. It's a classic tripod..."

"I. Don't. Care!" Margaret insisted. "Down! Now!"

Charlie sighed and turned around. Which is when he lost his balance.

Margaret shrieked.

Charlie fell.

Don made a spectacular diving catch.

When Alan got to the garage, he found his boys in a tangled, moaning heap on the floor.

He managed to disentangle them and pack them up into the family station wagon for a quick trip to the emergency ward.

Don got the worst of it, as he had smacked his head against the concrete floor, plus he'd taken a solid hit to the ribs.

Charlie hadn't broken any bones. However, he had sprained his right wrist.

When they got home, Margaret fussed mightly over 'her heroic son'. Alan also fussed and fetched Don's favorite foods and allowed Don to watch a horror movie that both his parents thoroughly disapproved of.

Don pretended not to enjoy the attention, but he fooled no one. He even got his favorite breakfast for dinner.

"Pancakes?" Charlie said in dismay.

"And you're doing the dishes," Margaret said firmly.

"But, MOM! I only have one hand!"

"I can count," Margaret said tartly. "Oh, and one more thing, young man?"

Charlie cringed.

"You are to stay off all stools and ladders for the duration of this vacation!"

"Aw, MOM!" Charlie wailed.

"Don't 'Aw, Mom' me," Margaret said firmly. "As of right now.. You. Are. Grounded!"