Summary: "McDonald Boys" verse, post-"Sky's Gonna Open." Lindsey's trying to work, but de-aged Eliot just doesn't seem to get it.
Yet another PM conversation-inspired drabble.
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Ice Cream
Lindsey rubs his head and works on thinking of a way to modify the algorithm of a slight technical glitch in one of the magical markers he has set up to make sure he stays off the grid.
Correction: Tries to think of a way to solve the problem.
"Are you done yet?"
"No," he replies shortly to the annoying seven-year-old jogging his elbow.
God, he'd like to give his brother - his twin brother - a good sock in the face. No, he'd love to punch his brother out. But he can't. Because somebody adopted a family of frankly, very scary conmen (and -women) who would do anything to keep their age-regressed hitter safe. Including from his own brother.
"How about now?" Eliot asks, ducking under Lindsey's arm to stare at the computer screen.
"Nope."
Eliot heaves a sigh bigger than he is. "Can we go get ice cream?" he asks next, wriggling around so that he's practically sitting on Lindsey's lap.
Lindsey growls. "No."
"I like ice cream," Eliot says conversationally, examining the computer keyboard.
Lindsey swats his curious finger away before he pokes at anything and undoes hours of careful magical handiwork. "No."
"Yes I do," Eliot insists, "I like ice cream. Why don't you- "
"Eliot! Shut. Up!"
The smile slides right off of the boy's face and his blue eyes get impossibly large. His lower lip starts trembling, and…
Shit. "Uh, don't cry. Eliot? Crap. I'm just tryin' ta work, bud. Okay?" Lindsey says carefully, putting his arms around the boy. He is only seven after all. Sometimes.
When that doesn't work, he adds, "Ice cream?"
Eliot's pout turns upside down in a millisecond. "Yay!" he shouts into Lindsey's ear and gives him a quick squeeze around the neck before sliding off of his lap.
He's standing eagerly by the door by the time Lindsey hurriedly finishes the last few taps on his program.
"Can we go now?"
Lindsey catches the tail end of the smug look on Eliot's soon-to-be ice cream-smeared face and doesn't feel that angry about being pushed around. Okay, a little angry, but he does admit that ice cream sounds damn good right about now. It is the middle of summer, and it's a nice day out.
"Sure," he says, not bothering to hide his own smile, and grabs his wallet. "Let's go."
Side note: This is my 100th fic on this site! Whoohoo! Wheee!