Note: This is the first in a series of one-shots revolving around Auggie's family. None of the chapters are really connected. Think of it more as a collection.

A/N: As promised, the sequel to "Up to Now". You don't technically have to read it for these one-shots to make sense, but you might find it a little less confusing. This one-shot focuses on Auggie's relationship with his son, Tom. Also, I owe Emaelin a public apology. I said "Up to Now" was the first Auggie/Annie parent-fic when in fact, her story, "Some Sunny Day" is the first to have them as parents. I meant to say that "Up to Now" is the first to have him actually be a dad (you know, play with them). Because of my mistake, this one-shot is dedicated to her. On a similar note, while a lot of you wonderful people correctly guessed the origins of the kids' names, Artemis Rayne was the first to find the pattern. Congratulations to her. I also want to thank everyone who reviewed "Up to Now". There were so many, I forgot who I thanked, but I won't forget how warm and fuzzy they made me feel, especially after bombing my first major test of the school year. Thank you all for keeping my spirits up and helping my ego recover.

Make Me Proud

"Get up."

I shrink back and swipe her arm away. I feel around for a second, my eyes closed in a vain attempt to capture the last moments of REM, recognize that she is no longer kneeling on the bed, grab a squishy pillow, and curl around it.

"Oh no you don't!"

Damn! I thought she'd gone. I groan pathetically and hug the pillow closer. "I don't think I can go."

The bed dips by my left. "Why not?"

"Sick," I mumble, my head stuffed into the pillow to avoid her reaching my forehead and feeling my temperature before I have time to heat up the thermometer.

"Where?" Her voice is soft. I grin to myself; she's falling for it!

I school my features into a pained expression and lift my head out of the cushion. "Head, mostly."

"Really?"

I nod meekly and groan again, collapsing back into the covers.

She sits next to me for a long second, so long I almost forget she's there and roll over to relish in my success. She sighs and the bed gives a small creak as she stands. I wait until her footsteps fade behind the closed door before grinning and snuggling further into my oh-so-comfortable pillows, preparing to go back to sleep.

I'm fading in and out, almost into stage two, when—

"Here." She's tapping my shoulder.

"What?" I sit up and she grabs my hand and drops two aspirin into my palm.

"Nice try, but no cigar."

So much for CIA training.

~OOOO~

Everything used to be so much bigger. Or I was a hellafa lot shorter. My legs are starting to cramp from being pressed against my chest for so long.

I remember elementary school being dark and cold and full of primary colors. Only two of those memories apply today. It's still dark (ha ha, I made a joke) and I'm still cold.

"Timmy the tooth doesn't like to feel bad…"

I block out the tooth lecture from the man presenting while stifling my third yawn in as many minutes. One of the other fathers leans over to whisper in my ear. "Glad I'm not the only one."

I crack a smile. "To do what?"

"Be bored stiff by the troubles of Timmy the Tooth." The man shifts around in his seat for a second and I assume he's holding out his hand. I reciprocate the gesture and my hand is immediately enveloped in a buff, stubbier one with workingmen's calluses. "Kevin Pason. Father of Emily Pason."

"August Anderson, here by order of my son, Thomas."

"Tom Anderson? Emily told me about him. Isn't he the wiz-kid?"

I feel a rush of pride at the nickname, even though it brings back memories that aren't all necessarily good. "Yeah, he's a smart kid. Takes after his mother." I'm being a bit modest; Tom has my math skills.

"Don't they all?" Kevin is silent for a long moment, and I let my focus wonder. "Which one is he?"

I rein my thoughts back in and return to Kevin's voice. "Tom? He's the six year-old with dirty blond hair."

"Six, huh?" I hear Kevin look around for my boy. "Ah. Scrawny, ain't he?"

I grin. "That he gets from me."

There's a short pause in Dr. Haley's Timmy lecture, and I instinctively look to a tapping somewhere to my far right. It takes a few seconds and another couple of taps before I recognize it. Someone's tapping Morse code with his rickety chair.

It isn't difficult to figure out who it is. I listen and count the dots and dashes. R-E-D-B-I-K-E-G-E-R-M-A-N-D-I-C-T-I-O-N-A-R-Y…

Tom is tapping Nora's birthday wish list, the very same list I tapped to Annie over the phone last week.

When the children first grew old enough to understand secrets and had become curious enough to eavesdrop, Annie and I had switched to saying the important things, like birthday presents and doctor's appointments, in code. First it was spelling the words out, but then Nora got a strong grip on spelling and would tell the others, so we'd switched to Portuguese, but we had to stop that when I mistranslated (I'd told Annie my Portuguese was weak) and took the twins to the pediatrician instead of the pharmacy. After that embarrassing event, we'd started using Morse code, but it looks like it is time to think up something else.

Of course, there is always a chance Tom had just memorized the sounds (sometimes it was a pain to have a child with a memory for patterns that surpasses most agents'). Better not risk it. I'll have to remember to tell Annie.

Tom squirms in his chair, I hear the pattern stop as the chair rocks with his movements, and I guess he's looking my way. I smile broadly in his direction as I feel his eyes on me.

"Thank you, Dr. Haley. Class, what do we say?"

A single, drawled voice answers in a monotone, "Thank you Dr. Haley."

"You're very welcome, kids. Just remember: keep Timmy happy!"

"I'm sure we will," Tom's teacher, Ms. McFerg, replies. I get the impression she's just as happy to see Timmy the Tooth (a giant plastic tooth, I gather from the huff Haley makes as he lifts something) leave as Kevin and I.

"Now class," Ms. McFerg adds after Haley has left the front of the room, toting the oversized tooth with him. "I'd like you to meet Tom's daddy, Mr. Anderson."

I'm on. I stand up at her introduction and pull out my cane. I'm passing the last group of desks when I hear it. In the back of the room, a boy (obviously the alpha of the class) snort and stage whisper to his friend, "The geek's father's a cripple."

I don't know if it's my boiling blood or the sudden flash of my own schoolyard experiences, but something makes me freeze just before I spout my cover.

"Hello everyone. As Ms. McFerg said, I'm Tom's father, August Anderson." I fold my cane and do my best to look my child in the eye. "I am the head of the technical department of a security firm, but my specialty is in encryptions."

I hear Tom's muffled intake of breath from my position at the front and I can't help but flash him a quick smile. He'd been expecting me to say a computer technician, my cover. I don't need to see to know that he's asking me what I'm doing, but I wouldn't know what to tell him even if I could.

I know I shouldn't have done it. I haven't technically broken any laws (as long as I don't say which security firm I work at), but I doubt the higher-ups would take kindly to my outburst. Then again, they're not here.

"What happened to you?"

"Jonathon Henries!"

I flap my hand toward Ms. McFerg's voice to show her it's all right, but inside my frustration is a burning mass of serotonin. The momentary elation I felt at being able to make my son proud is gone, replaced by a surge of, well, I don't know how to describe it. It's been what, almost sixteen years? I'd thought I'd gotten passed these emotions years ago. What's more, I don't usually mind being asked questions about my blindness; it comes with the cane, I'd decided somewhere along the line. So why am I suddenly so angry?

I knew going in today that some kid was going to bring it up, and I'd thought I was ready for it. Hell, after breakfast this morning, I'd made a joke about it to Annie, but standing here, center-stage, it's not so funny any more.

I groom my features. No way is my son seeing how much the boy's words sting. I go for the light answer. "What? Did I get syrup on my tie again?"

A few laugh, but not many. They're all waiting.

The kid, Jonathon, speaks again. I recognize his voice as the same one that called my son a geek. My anger spikes again. I've always hated the jerky-alphas. "You're blind, aren't you?"

My faux smile fades from my face, and I answer truthfully. "Yes."

"So, what's the story?"

I consider getting him to clarify, to run him in circles until he finds his manners, but I'd like to think I'm better than that. "What makes you think there is a story?"

There's a long pause. At least I can make Tom proud by besting the class bully. "I don't know."

I grin at the overcompensating attitude. I turn to face the back wall again, effectively saying screw-you politely. "I always tell my children never to leave a question you can answer unanswered," it almost physically pains me to answer the prick, but I not a hypocrite in front of my kids. "I lost my sight in Iraq."

"What division?" It's Kevin's voice. I turn to look at him best I can.

"Army. Special forces."

"Marine. Sergeant. Twelve years."

I nod in respect. Marines did some good stuff there. They were the last ones out, too.

"What did you do there?" I don't recognize the girl's voice, but she sounds genuinely curious.

"I'm afraid that falls under the category of questions that cannot be answered." I lean conspiratorially towards the voice and half-whisper, "It's classified."

Now people shift in their seats in excitement. I turn back to the class as a whole. "I can, however, talk about what I do as a technical encrypter."

"What's that?" a girl somewhere in the middle of the room asks.

I turn toward her general direction and keep my voice airy as I say, "I'm about to explain." I pause to decide on a game plan. "How many of you have younger brothers or sisters?"

I hear hands being raised all around the classroom. "One of you with your hands up, tell me, what's the most annoying thing your kid brother or sister does?"

"Jason," Ms. McFerg calls. A loud voice issues from the second group by the door.

"Follows me around."

I laugh. "Yeah, my baby brother used to do that a lot. Something else?"

"Messes with my stuff," someone else shouts from the back of the room.

"Yes!" I try not to sound too excited, but I've been standing up here like an idiot for longer than I feel strictly comfortable with. "The little pipsqueaks sneak into your room, help themselves to your stuff, and then act all innocent, right?"

I have to wait for the class to settle down again (everyone had started agreeing and whispering to each other). "I'm going to let you into a little secret: grown ups do the same thing."

"Billy?" Ms. McFerg calls, ruining my theatrical pause.

"What does that have to do with in-crip-ton?" he sounds out. His voice is high-pitched, even for an eight year old, and contains a distinctly snooty undertone. I am surprisingly relieved that Tom isn't the class brown-noser.

"Encryption?" I correct. "Everything. How do you think grown ups keep their stuff safe?" I smile broadly and hold open my arms. "They call on me."

"Why?" Billy's tone has gained other layer of snoot in the last twenty seconds.

"Well," I'm not sure how to play this, "I am one of the best." When in doubt, go for the impressing as I always say.

"Why don't you tell us more about what your job entails?" Ms. McFerg must have noticed I'm floundering. I can't talk much about my duties as that would be breaking a few nondisclosure agreements, but I can still grasp her lifeline.

"Okay, great. Well, let's see, quick vocab lesson. Can anyone tell me what 'encrypt' means?" I hear squirming, but Ms. McFerg isn't calling on anyone.

I'm probably going to regret doing this later, but I have to keep them involved. "Tom, I know you know this. Do you want to tell the class what encrypt means?"

Tom whispers, "To hide something," so softly, I have to lean in closer and get him to repeat it. He does, but barely louder. I let him go, though.

"That's right, thanks Tom. I'll set the table tonight. Now, before one of you ask me what that has to do with anything, let me explain. I hide messages – or as we grown ups call it, information – by changing it into a code or burying it in data and—" I stop suddenly.

Someone is yawning. I'm boring them! I might as well be presenting Timmy the Tooth.

"You know what, let's make this more interesting." I start again. "Will someone do me a favor and pass down my bag? It's next to the chair I was sitting in. Thank you very much." I take the bag and pull out my laptop, mentally praising myself for thinking that I might be able to get some paperwork done while others presented. "How about an example?"

I turn to Ms. McFerg. "May I borrow your desk?"

Ms. McFerg stands up immediately. "Of course. It is to your left."

I find it easily and place my computer on a relatively organized desk. I plug in my favorite headset and hang them around my neck before pausing. "Mr. Henries, why don't you give me a sentence?" I'm not asking.

"Like what?" The boy sounds surprised. He was probably the one whispering in the back. Payback's a bitch.

"Anything, just a sentence or two."

"Your job is boring."

"Great, thanks." I type his insult into my computer. "Now," I spin the laptop so the screen faces the class. "Everyone agree this is what he said?"

A lot of rustling and murmuring before Billy says loudly, "Yeah."

I spin the laptop back. The headphones are already over my ears before I have another idea. I pull them down again. "Ms. McFerg, do you have a projector?"

"Yes?" Ms. McFerg is surprised. Good.

"Connector?"

"In my bottom drawer. Right side."

I love these "new" (the agency's been using them for years) wireless pad connectors. They went public about two years ago and now all the schools in the state have them. It takes me less than a minute to set everything up so that now my screen is projected on the far wall.

"Can you all see it?" No one complains, so I go on. I pull up my headphones, being sure to keep one ear uncovered. "While I encrypt Mr. Henries' statement, I can answer some questions."

Almost at once, Billy asks, "How are you doing that so fast?"

I pause my typing. "Was I going too fast? I've been doing this for a very long time." I continue, this time making an effort to slow down so that everyone can see the multiple steps.

"How long?" I don't recognize the voice, but it's a shy girl.

I have to think about her question. "A bit longer than fifteen years."

"That's a long time!" The girl exclaims, suddenly not so shy.

I laugh and pull off my headphones just as Ms. McFerg asks, "What kind of background in computers do you have?"

"Besides fifteen years doing it? Masters in computer technology and applied mathematics from MIT." I stand up and hit the space bar emphatically. I carefully walk around the desk to stand (hopefully) next to the projection of my computer screen.

"Someone tell me what's on the screen."

"A spinning cube," the girl right in front of me whispers timidly.

"A spinning cube made of numbers, right?" It's a pretty good description. I always thought it looked like the Matrix. "Where's Mr. Henries' statement?"

"Gone?" the girl whispers just as someone else cries, "In the cube."

"Exactly. In the cube."

"How'd it get in there?"

I open my mouth to reply, but Billy beats me to it. "Weren't you watching? He built it around it."

"Huh?"

I smile and nod thanks in Billy's direction. "Very good, but not completely. The cube isn't hollow. You wouldn't be able to take away a wall and find the sentence." I feel the class' confusion. I take a breath and try again. "Think of it like a mote around a sandcastle. The bad guys have to get passed the mote to get to the castle, so the mote protects the people inside, but is a mote really a mote without a castle? No, it's just a mound of dirt. On a certain level, Mr. Henries' statement is like the castle, protected by the mote and at the same time, making the mote."

I don't know how else to explain it without getting into codes and ciphers, even though I can almost see a few of the third-graders (and even a couple fathers) scratching their heads. "I know that's a bit confusing, so for today's sake, let's just say the cube – or as we grown-ups call it, the firewall – protects Mr. Henries' statement. Anyone care to try to get to it?" I gesture toward my computer, inviting someone to crack my simple algorithm. No one moves.

I wait two beats before clapping my hands together. "No takers?" I feel my watch. "Well, looks like I've gone over my fifteen minutes, so I'll say goodbye and turn your attention back to your lovely teacher. Ms. McFerg?"

~OOOOOO~

"I'm sorry I didn't get a big wow factor," I say five minutes later as Tom's leading me out of the school.

"You convinced me," he replies. His tone is flat, but that's no surprise. He inherited my father's curious predisposition to hide even the most mundane emotions. It's a skill that took me forever to learn, and sometimes I envy his innate ability, but not today. I really want to know how badly I screwed up.

"Was that a tough sell?" I'm only half joking. Annie's always telling me not to push my career onto our kids, but I have to admit, some part of me expects Tom to go into technical security.

"Depends."

"On what?"

"If I say no, will you still teach me geometric sequencing tomorrow?"

I laugh and pull my son close to my chest. He's getting tall. Soon he'll be among the tallest in his grade, despite being two years younger than most of the other kids. That's the Anderson gene coming out.

"That's my little Neo!" I reply using the nickname I gave him when he hacked his first program.

Tom squirms and returns my embrace.

I pull him out of my jacket and put my hand on his shoulder, both for guidance and moral support. "No really," I say, seriously now. "How bad was it?"

Tom shrugs. "Jonathon's always going to be mean."

I sigh and nod. "Yeah, I know. But now I know how bad he can be, I'll help you hide an – uhm –" I cough subtly, "accident from your mother. If say, he happened to be in the way while you might be, I don't know, practicing a move your mother or I taught you…"

I feel my son look up at me and I wink. I can almost see his gratitude and surprise. A kind of warmth spreads down my back as I remember the satisfaction of punching my own schoolyard bully. Every smart kid deserves a little retribution. "Just remember, violence is doesn't solve anything, so don't tell your mother, okay?"

"Yeah!" Tom's usually stoic exterior falters for a moment and I suddenly get an entirely different warm-fuzzy feeling in my gut. It's easy to forget what it's like to be a dad.

I hear the cab I called pull up, and I step out on the curb to meet it. I kiss Tom on the top of his head before pushing him gently back toward the doors. "Go have fun hearing about the slaughterhouse."

I'm almost in the cab when Tom calls my name. "Daddy?"

I turn back to face him. "Yeah, Tom?"

"I could have broken the code."

I smile. "I know." I close the door, and as the cab pulls out of the parking lot, I realize that I couldn't be prouder of my Neo if he graduated top of his class at MIT and married the love of his life.

A/N: I have two more snippets planned out, one for Nora and one for the twins, but I might consider writing more. It depends on the responses to this and the others and whether my muse sees fit to drive me insane. Again.