(no subject)
Twins. Tim wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with twins when Abby was somewhere other than where he was. Where they were. Well, he'd done this before. Sort of. When his sister had been a kid. Of course, he'd been a lot younger and it had mostly been his mom dealing his sister, but he'd thought he'd remembered a little from when he was...eight. Okay, so maybe he didn't know much. But he'd dealt with older kids. Two year-olds couldn't be that different, right? They weren’t even in the terrible two’s, yet. Just getting close.
Wrong.
Mack, he was pretty sure that was Mack, kept hiding his mouse and Flo was talking at him. And talking. And talking. He could only really understand half of what she was saying, too.
"Okay, Mack," he said finally. "I don't have any crayons, but I have a laptop."
He slid Mack off his lap and took the mouse away from her slowly. The last thing he wanted was a crying fit. "Okay. This is a computer. And this is a mouse." He opened up Paint and made sure Flo was watching, too. "And this is how you make pictures with Paint."
They had to know how to draw. This was just a different medium.
"No, Flo," he said, putting his hand on hers. "You don't start whacking the mouse on the desk." Where was Abby when he really needed her?
Abby. That was a whole different hard drive with its own firewalls and heavy-duty encryption. And questions. Always the questions. It had been almost a year since things had last gone wrong. Since that fatal conversation with Tony that had changed everything. Things had been unbearable for a while.
Grabbing the mouse again, he sketched a very rudimentary picture of a donkey - an ass - and murmured, “Can say you ‘Tony’, girls?”
Wrong.
Mack, he was pretty sure that was Mack, kept hiding his mouse and Flo was talking at him. And talking. And talking. He could only really understand half of what she was saying, too.
"Okay, Mack," he said finally. "I don't have any crayons, but I have a laptop."
He slid Mack off his lap and took the mouse away from her slowly. The last thing he wanted was a crying fit. "Okay. This is a computer. And this is a mouse." He opened up Paint and made sure Flo was watching, too. "And this is how you make pictures with Paint."
They had to know how to draw. This was just a different medium.
"No, Flo," he said, putting his hand on hers. "You don't start whacking the mouse on the desk." Where was Abby when he really needed her?
Abby. That was a whole different hard drive with its own firewalls and heavy-duty encryption. And questions. Always the questions. It had been almost a year since things had last gone wrong. Since that fatal conversation with Tony that had changed everything. Things had been unbearable for a while.
Grabbing the mouse again, he sketched a very rudimentary picture of a donkey - an ass - and murmured, “Can say you ‘Tony’, girls?”