Fic: Little Miss Whoops
Title: Little Miss Whoops
Author: lara_aine
Pairing: Keith/Anderson
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Beta: peapods42 who manages to work miracles, as always.
Wordcount: 1590
Summary: A dinosaur is not a proper babysitter but it’ll do in a pinch.
Notes: Hero belongs to a larger series of fics that have yet to be posted. Occasionally, I like to bring her out to play on her own.
She’s not the most agile of creatures. She’ll never make a skater or a gymnast or a circus performer. They figure it out early enough; what with her rocky start with walking.
Hero talks at eight months, finishing off the ends of her nursery rhymes with a toothy grin, far too pleased with herself. She likes Humpty Dumpty best of all, shouting out ‘wall’ and ‘fall’ with much aplomb. They presume it’s because she can relate.
The first time she tries to walk, it’s on the floor of Jen’s kitchen, and she pulls herself up on Keith’s trouser leg. She seems confused when she begins to wobble and thoroughly shocked when she hits the floor with a thud.
Anderson laughs; it’s not his finest moment. Hero looks at him, with an expression so wounded it’s as if she’s been told that the Easter Bunny isn’t real. He’s ignored for fully ten minutes, as she rubs her nose in the material of Keith’s pants.
When she’s three, Hero loses her first tooth. She trips on the stairs at Yankee Stadium and hits the ground, teeth first. She’s more stunned, than upset, and doesn’t start to cry until she tastes the blood on her tongue. When she sits up, her front tooth is hanging on by a thread, and Keith has no recourse but to pull it out. She sniffles and wipes her mouth on Keith’s sleeve as he tries to convince her it won’t hurt at all.
He lies.
Her wail is so loud that it drowns out the noise of the people around them. They look over and Keith has to wave them off, with an embarrassed shrug, as if the torture of his only child is a regular occurrence. Her face is all blotchy and red and she doesn’t stop crying until he fills her with enough ice cream.
Afterwards, she seems content enough to stay and watch the game. She sits on his knee, periodically patting his shirt pocket to make sure the missing tooth is still safe within and counts dollar signs, like sheep, in her head. Aloud, her words come out accompanied by a new lisp as she struggles to navigate the gap in her mouth.
“Will I really get money if I put it under my pillow?”
She’s mercenary like that.
With hindsight, Keith really should’ve known better. Anderson meets them in the entranceway to the kitchen, and stares in horror at Hero’s toothless grin.
“Oh, for cryin’ out loud Anderson, it’s not like it won’t grow back.”
Anderson’s not buying it, lifting Hero onto the counter to get a better look. Two years of photogenic pictures die a sorry death in his head. Hero’s not particularly bothered when he tilts her head back. She sticks out her tongue and ‘Ahhs’ like they make her do at the doctor’s.
“I was very brave, even when Daddy pulled my tooth out. He gave me ice-cream so I wouldn’t cry.”
That’s not exactly the way Keith remembers it going down. He gives her a cross look over Anderson’s shoulder, which she doesn’t buy, not for a second. Instead she’s patting Anderson on the cheek, blue eyes wide, “Don’t be sad. Daddy says the Tooth Fairy will bring me lots of money. You can have some.”
She’s wrapping her legs around Anderson’s middle, and crawling into his arms and Keith knows he’s totally screwed. She peeps up at him through wisps of hair, and sticks her thumb in her mouth, frowning at the way it doesn’t feel quite right. She’s going to milk it for all it’s worth.
Keith should probably quit right there but he’s never been that clever. “At least she didn’t get hit with a baseball?”
“No thanks to you.”
“She can eat through a straw for a couple of years. She’ll be fine.”
Hero giggles, because she likes straws, particularly green ones. She kicks out her legs and catches Anderson in the back with enough force that he winces.
They try not to be too overprotective, missing teeth aside. It would be easy to coddle her and keep her safe but they like her better when she pushes limits, and finds the world all by herself.
Rachel reckons she has a sense of self that may possibly be too extreme for a toddler but mostly they’d just like it if she listened more.
The Christmas she’s two and a half feels like her first proper Christmas. She’s hyper-aware of everything, and with no concept of time, asks each morning if Santa has come yet. Sleep is abandoned by the middle of December and she dances with glee and applauds each time she sees the tree outside Rockefeller Center.
Kathy brings her gift the day before Christmas Eve. The box is almost as big as Hero herself. She runs her palms across the silver paper and cautiously eyes her parents in the hope they’ll let her open it. Keith helps her unstick the tape and she watches, awestruck, as the contents are revealed.
“It’s a Di’saur,” she breathes.
Anderson’s eyes narrow as he looks at Kathy. “It makes noises.”
Her face lights up, innocent as ever, “I know, isn’t it great?”
Keith chuckles as he puts the batteries in and helps Hero make him roar. She squeals in delight and tugs Keith to the floor to help her play. They walk him across the kitchen floor as Anderson rolls his eyes.
“Reliving your childhood there, darling?”
The dinosaur swivels his head and growls.
Kathy leaves shortly after and they see her out, dragging Hero begrudgingly away from her new toy. She kisses Kathy goodbye in the hallway, peering over her shoulder just to be sure that Molly and the dinosaur haven’t gotten into a knock down drag out fight in her absence.
The elevator door closes and Hero turns and flees. And slams the door in their faces.
Anderson will probably grow to blame Keith at some point, when he comes up with a reason and can regale their friends with the story and laugh. But all he can do now is count off hazards in his head as Keith nervously pats down his pockets in the hope of finding keys. He doesn’t.
Anderson bangs on the door and calls her back. She’s slow returning.
“Hero, honey, we’re locked out. Can you open the door?”
Keith looks at him oddly, like it’s a stupid request. Hero is smaller than most children her age.
“Can’t reach Daddy.” Her voice is muffled, both by the door and her thumb as it hits the roof of her mouth.
Keith has already begun to pace nervously, back and forth like a ping-pong ball and about as helpful.
“H, listen to me. I need you to go and get a chair and push it carefully and slowly back to the door.”
“'k.”
They should be better at this. Anderson gets himself locked out with a frequency approaching normal. He has a permanent attachment to his Blackberry, but his wallet and keys are pretty disposable. Keith has taken to secreting spares in his various backpacks and carry-ons, just because he’s sick of crawling out of bed at three in the morning to let him in.
Anderson gets locked out all the time. But she’s not supposed to be on the other side, alone.
There’s a loud thump as Hero pushes the chair against the door. Keith cringes at the thought of her climbing it; she takes tumbles like the world is made of soft landings.
They can hear her fumbling at the lock. Anderson’s breathing gets shorter as he talks and though he’s outwardly calm, Keith can hear real, sharp panic in his voice.
“Baby, tell me what you’re doing.”
“Too hard Daddy. I think I’ll have a ‘yorange.’”
The chair squeaks along the floor as she pulls it away with her and Anderson practically wails, “Keith, the stove’s on.”
She loves oranges. They keep them out of reach because she steals them, and eats them two, three, four at a time until they leave her with sticky hands and long nights of tears and sore tummies.
They keep them out of reach on the kitchen worktop, not ten inches from the gas ring. Bright blue flames that engulf the ends of little girls’ jumper dresses and swallow them whole.
They fall on the door, roaring her name in a blind panic. They can only see the worst possibilities, irrational fear. Keith knows what it’s like to wait for something to be snatched away.
He yells down his cellphone at the super and doesn’t hear anything he says. They needed to be in there three minutes ago, not any second now, not two minutes hence.
Time passes in a blur; there’s a short, middle-aged man with a round face, a plethora of keys, Anderson’s voice cracked and hoarse, the empty reverberations of a silent apartment.
Hero doesn’t come when they call.
Anderson gets to the living room first, and the only thing Keith knows is the broken, choked sound Anderson makes when he turns the corner. He collapses inwards, staggering back against Keith who grabs him with a firm hand on his hip.
Because she’s fine.
The chair has turned over, and there’s a sticky mess of a child balancing on its edge. The floor is strewn with peel and she hardly hears them come in, entranced by the lights of the tree and guarded by her new friend.
They never knew dinosaurs could eat oranges.
Author: lara_aine
Pairing: Keith/Anderson
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Beta: peapods42 who manages to work miracles, as always.
Wordcount: 1590
Summary: A dinosaur is not a proper babysitter but it’ll do in a pinch.
Notes: Hero belongs to a larger series of fics that have yet to be posted. Occasionally, I like to bring her out to play on her own.
She’s not the most agile of creatures. She’ll never make a skater or a gymnast or a circus performer. They figure it out early enough; what with her rocky start with walking.
Hero talks at eight months, finishing off the ends of her nursery rhymes with a toothy grin, far too pleased with herself. She likes Humpty Dumpty best of all, shouting out ‘wall’ and ‘fall’ with much aplomb. They presume it’s because she can relate.
The first time she tries to walk, it’s on the floor of Jen’s kitchen, and she pulls herself up on Keith’s trouser leg. She seems confused when she begins to wobble and thoroughly shocked when she hits the floor with a thud.
Anderson laughs; it’s not his finest moment. Hero looks at him, with an expression so wounded it’s as if she’s been told that the Easter Bunny isn’t real. He’s ignored for fully ten minutes, as she rubs her nose in the material of Keith’s pants.
When she’s three, Hero loses her first tooth. She trips on the stairs at Yankee Stadium and hits the ground, teeth first. She’s more stunned, than upset, and doesn’t start to cry until she tastes the blood on her tongue. When she sits up, her front tooth is hanging on by a thread, and Keith has no recourse but to pull it out. She sniffles and wipes her mouth on Keith’s sleeve as he tries to convince her it won’t hurt at all.
He lies.
Her wail is so loud that it drowns out the noise of the people around them. They look over and Keith has to wave them off, with an embarrassed shrug, as if the torture of his only child is a regular occurrence. Her face is all blotchy and red and she doesn’t stop crying until he fills her with enough ice cream.
Afterwards, she seems content enough to stay and watch the game. She sits on his knee, periodically patting his shirt pocket to make sure the missing tooth is still safe within and counts dollar signs, like sheep, in her head. Aloud, her words come out accompanied by a new lisp as she struggles to navigate the gap in her mouth.
“Will I really get money if I put it under my pillow?”
She’s mercenary like that.
With hindsight, Keith really should’ve known better. Anderson meets them in the entranceway to the kitchen, and stares in horror at Hero’s toothless grin.
“Oh, for cryin’ out loud Anderson, it’s not like it won’t grow back.”
Anderson’s not buying it, lifting Hero onto the counter to get a better look. Two years of photogenic pictures die a sorry death in his head. Hero’s not particularly bothered when he tilts her head back. She sticks out her tongue and ‘Ahhs’ like they make her do at the doctor’s.
“I was very brave, even when Daddy pulled my tooth out. He gave me ice-cream so I wouldn’t cry.”
That’s not exactly the way Keith remembers it going down. He gives her a cross look over Anderson’s shoulder, which she doesn’t buy, not for a second. Instead she’s patting Anderson on the cheek, blue eyes wide, “Don’t be sad. Daddy says the Tooth Fairy will bring me lots of money. You can have some.”
She’s wrapping her legs around Anderson’s middle, and crawling into his arms and Keith knows he’s totally screwed. She peeps up at him through wisps of hair, and sticks her thumb in her mouth, frowning at the way it doesn’t feel quite right. She’s going to milk it for all it’s worth.
Keith should probably quit right there but he’s never been that clever. “At least she didn’t get hit with a baseball?”
“No thanks to you.”
“She can eat through a straw for a couple of years. She’ll be fine.”
Hero giggles, because she likes straws, particularly green ones. She kicks out her legs and catches Anderson in the back with enough force that he winces.
They try not to be too overprotective, missing teeth aside. It would be easy to coddle her and keep her safe but they like her better when she pushes limits, and finds the world all by herself.
Rachel reckons she has a sense of self that may possibly be too extreme for a toddler but mostly they’d just like it if she listened more.
The Christmas she’s two and a half feels like her first proper Christmas. She’s hyper-aware of everything, and with no concept of time, asks each morning if Santa has come yet. Sleep is abandoned by the middle of December and she dances with glee and applauds each time she sees the tree outside Rockefeller Center.
Kathy brings her gift the day before Christmas Eve. The box is almost as big as Hero herself. She runs her palms across the silver paper and cautiously eyes her parents in the hope they’ll let her open it. Keith helps her unstick the tape and she watches, awestruck, as the contents are revealed.
“It’s a Di’saur,” she breathes.
Anderson’s eyes narrow as he looks at Kathy. “It makes noises.”
Her face lights up, innocent as ever, “I know, isn’t it great?”
Keith chuckles as he puts the batteries in and helps Hero make him roar. She squeals in delight and tugs Keith to the floor to help her play. They walk him across the kitchen floor as Anderson rolls his eyes.
“Reliving your childhood there, darling?”
The dinosaur swivels his head and growls.
Kathy leaves shortly after and they see her out, dragging Hero begrudgingly away from her new toy. She kisses Kathy goodbye in the hallway, peering over her shoulder just to be sure that Molly and the dinosaur haven’t gotten into a knock down drag out fight in her absence.
The elevator door closes and Hero turns and flees. And slams the door in their faces.
Anderson will probably grow to blame Keith at some point, when he comes up with a reason and can regale their friends with the story and laugh. But all he can do now is count off hazards in his head as Keith nervously pats down his pockets in the hope of finding keys. He doesn’t.
Anderson bangs on the door and calls her back. She’s slow returning.
“Hero, honey, we’re locked out. Can you open the door?”
Keith looks at him oddly, like it’s a stupid request. Hero is smaller than most children her age.
“Can’t reach Daddy.” Her voice is muffled, both by the door and her thumb as it hits the roof of her mouth.
Keith has already begun to pace nervously, back and forth like a ping-pong ball and about as helpful.
“H, listen to me. I need you to go and get a chair and push it carefully and slowly back to the door.”
“'k.”
They should be better at this. Anderson gets himself locked out with a frequency approaching normal. He has a permanent attachment to his Blackberry, but his wallet and keys are pretty disposable. Keith has taken to secreting spares in his various backpacks and carry-ons, just because he’s sick of crawling out of bed at three in the morning to let him in.
Anderson gets locked out all the time. But she’s not supposed to be on the other side, alone.
There’s a loud thump as Hero pushes the chair against the door. Keith cringes at the thought of her climbing it; she takes tumbles like the world is made of soft landings.
They can hear her fumbling at the lock. Anderson’s breathing gets shorter as he talks and though he’s outwardly calm, Keith can hear real, sharp panic in his voice.
“Baby, tell me what you’re doing.”
“Too hard Daddy. I think I’ll have a ‘yorange.’”
The chair squeaks along the floor as she pulls it away with her and Anderson practically wails, “Keith, the stove’s on.”
She loves oranges. They keep them out of reach because she steals them, and eats them two, three, four at a time until they leave her with sticky hands and long nights of tears and sore tummies.
They keep them out of reach on the kitchen worktop, not ten inches from the gas ring. Bright blue flames that engulf the ends of little girls’ jumper dresses and swallow them whole.
They fall on the door, roaring her name in a blind panic. They can only see the worst possibilities, irrational fear. Keith knows what it’s like to wait for something to be snatched away.
He yells down his cellphone at the super and doesn’t hear anything he says. They needed to be in there three minutes ago, not any second now, not two minutes hence.
Time passes in a blur; there’s a short, middle-aged man with a round face, a plethora of keys, Anderson’s voice cracked and hoarse, the empty reverberations of a silent apartment.
Hero doesn’t come when they call.
Anderson gets to the living room first, and the only thing Keith knows is the broken, choked sound Anderson makes when he turns the corner. He collapses inwards, staggering back against Keith who grabs him with a firm hand on his hip.
Because she’s fine.
The chair has turned over, and there’s a sticky mess of a child balancing on its edge. The floor is strewn with peel and she hardly hears them come in, entranced by the lights of the tree and guarded by her new friend.
They never knew dinosaurs could eat oranges.