A/N: Hello, everyone. I'm really, really, super-duper sorry that this isn't a chapter of Thinking. This snippet, and another one, refused to let it be written. I'll get there though, I promise.

This story is just a one-shot about Little! Adam, Bree, and Chase. Chase is five, Bree is six, and Adam is seven. I assumed that, by this point, Douglas has faked his death, Donald is completely running his own company, and he's sort of good at parenting. He, at least, has a slight clue what he's doing. I think that's all you need to know.

Be the reason someone smiles today! :)

Davenport entered the lab quietly, observing his children. B, or Bree as she'd recently started demanding to be called, and A, or Adam, were sitting in a corner, racing toy cars. Adam was loudly accusing Bree of using her super speed to cheat, and demanding a rematch. Donald shook his head fondly at their antics, and turned his attention to his youngest. C, Chase, was sitting was a serious expression on his little face, carefully watching his siblings. The five-year-old had a sketchbook and a set of drawing pencils in his lap, along with a half-finished sketch of his siblings' car race. They'd clearly been forgotten, however, in the face of whatever problem he was wrestling with.

Davenport sat down quietly beside him, and gently touched him on the shoulder. He'd found that Chase's enhanced hearing made him difficult to sneak up on, but at times when he was lost in thought, the boy would automatically lash out if startled. The habit made Donald's heart clench, and wonder exactly how he'd been treated to make is necessary. Chase blinked his way out of his thoughts, and only tightly clutched his pencils in surprise when he found Davenport suddenly next to him.

Donald fiercely loved all three of the children that had become his, but he felt the most connection with Chase. Young, and gifted (or cursed, depending) with an intelligence far beyond usual for his age, it was hard to keep Chase engaged. He liked sketching, but only when Donald wouldn't let him be tinkering and inventing.

Now, the sensitive young genius's face was clouded with confusion, and he stared at his siblings as if trying to bore a hole through them. Still, he said nothing.

"What's wrong, Chase?" Donald asked, gently angling himself towards his son to show he was paying attention. He glanced over at Adam and Bree, and knowing how protective Chase was of them, he asked, "Are Adam and Bree okay?"

Chase nodded, slightly hesitantly. "I think so," he said cautiously. "But I don't know," he said, looking slightly lost.

Davenport raised an eyebrow. "What's up?"

Chase bit his lip. "They're... not like me." He scowled down at his sketchpad. "They don't draw, not really. They don't like making things. Words and numbers don't seem to make sense to them the way they do to me." He turned back to Donald. "I thought people get better at those as they get older, but I know more than they do. Why?"

Davenport looked at the lost look in Chase's eyes, and his heart melted. He held out his arms, and Chase willing clambered into his lap. "There's nothing wrong with you, Chase," he began, first answering the words Chase hadn't said. "And there's nothing wrong with your brother or sister. It's just that you're special, Chase."

"But you say they're special, too!" Chase protested, squirming around to face Donald. "Why can't we all be the same kind of special? Then..." Chase trailed off, looking down at the floor as shutters came down over his eyes. That was another disturbing habit, the easy concealment of emotion that made Chase clam up if he had a thought he didn't think Donald would like.

"Then what?" Donald prodded gently, tightening his arms around Chase protectively. Chase sat silently for a moment, before answering in a very small voice, "Then I wouldn't be alone." He hid his face in Donald's shoulder, as the man froze. Chase felt alone. Donald supposed it was only to be expected, considering Chase was so young, and yet leaps and bounds beyond his siblings mentally. Donald closed his eyes, and prayed that he would get this right. He had to explain everything to Chase without overwhelming him, or sounded patronizing. Why was parenting so much harder than making a fortune out of nothing? It really didn't seem fair.

Donald stroked Chase's hair until the boy felt safe enough to face him again. When Chase shyly detached from his shoulder and sat on Donald's lap, looking straight into his face, Davenport cleared his throat, and began.

"You're right, Chase, you're all special. It's just that you all have your own talents. Bree is fast. Adam is strong. And you're smart, Chase, and more mature than you have any right to be. But think about it, if you all had the same thing that made you special, it wouldn't be as cool, would it?"

Chase slowly shook his head, and Donald went on, still speaking softly. "I know it's hard, being the one with a mental ability instead of a physical one. It must seem like you're alone. But you're not, okay? Even though Adam and Bree have other abilities, they're your family. And even if family members don't completely understand each other, they stick together. Plus, you have me. I went through something similar growing up, with most of my siblings much older than I was, and crazy about sports." Donald paused for a moment. He hadn't thought about his step-siblings in years, not really having been close with any of them. That was why Douglas's betrayal, and then death, had hit him so hard. He shook the thoughts and nostalgia away, and continued. "If you ever need something more interesting than what Adam and Bree are doing, come find me, okay? I'll find something for you. Who knows, maybe we can even invent things together. How does that sound?"

Chase nodded solemnly. "It is acceptable," he said, in the formal way he typically adopted to hide extreme excitement. Donald thinks wryly it's probably at least partly the fault of the old Star Trek videos he'd let the boy watch.

"Good," Donald said, smiling down at his son. "Now, how about you finish that sketch?"

Chase nodded, slid off Donald's lap, and bounced over to his abandoned art supplies. The movement once again carried in it Chase's typical energy and enthusiasm, and Donald was satisfied he's cheered Chase up.

Donald shook his head, standing. That was one of the hardest conversations he'd ever had, and he ran a huge company, that had inevitably pissed off a lot of people and businesses every day.

"Just wait until they're teenagers," a little voice in the back of his mind whispered, and he groaned out loud. He was not looking forward to it.

/fin/

A/N: I like reviews, even if they're just to tell me off for not updating my multi-chapter. :P