A/N: Hello everyone! This is my first fic/post so I'm excited! This is where it all starts in my re-write of Being Human. My goal is to keep as close to the original characters as possible while leaving out the swearing, and changing the theology of the characters. Here's were YOU come in! If you feel that someone's done something way out of their personality, let me know what it was, and how I could do better. I crave constructive criticism! And not just for that, but for my writing in general. So if you have a suggestion, critique, comment, or electronic high-five, give it to me! And one last thing, ENJOY THE FIC!

"Hello Dad!" said the happy 12-year-old as she bounded through the front door, almost forgetting to wipe her shoes on the new doormat. Her curls bouncing with every energetic step she took.

"Well, well. You're sure in fine spirits lass. Did something happen?" Max, her father, asked as she hummed a tune and ran to her room, not stopping to respond. He heard the scrape of books being tossed on her desk and the thud of her pastel backpack landing on the floor.

What could be exciting her so? he perplexed. What day is it? He meandered over to the wall calendar in the living room and sat on the sofa beside it. Feeling relief from being on his feet, he leisurely sighed and turned to search the calendar for his answer.

It's picture was that of a runway model, but he couldn't see her dress. Well, her real dress. It had been covered up by the outfit his daughter had drawn out and glued on it. He smiled to himself as he ran his fingers across the paper representing a deep brown dress, gold gloves that came past her elbows, black tights, a teal fashion scarf tied up in a bow, and a pearl necklace with a pink crystal flower in the middle, matching her loose earrings.

He remembered when she'd drawn that at the beginning of the month; he'd stuck his head into her room to wake her up for her first day of sixth grade, but she was already up. She was sitting in her red padded chair at her oak desk, drawing, and swinging her feet in glee. He asked her what she was drawing and she'd said she was drawing an outfit for a fashion model.

Not a stretch at all. Ever since she was six, she had told her mom, Carmen, and he that she wanted to design fashion; or dress people up, as she called it back then.

The funny thing was, Max didn't realize that she had meant the model from the family calendar. At least not until her little sister, Amandla, (who was too young for school) had started drawing on the calendar, thinking she was acting like her big sister. He'd punished her, asking her why she'd drawn on something that wasn't hers. His youngest only blabbered that somebody else had too. He took a second look at the calendar to see his middle child's cutouts.

He would have told her not to do it and to take it down, but he wouldn't bother now; it was already done. Though his step-son, Robin, had complained about it: only to be slapped by the designer herself.

Max shook his head from up the memory and read the calendar: May, 1997, Thursday the first, Friday the second. He then skipped down to today, the 23rd, to find it was a Friday. Is that why she's excited? The weekend being here? he pondered as he waited for her return.

Or, maybe she found a boy she likes. She had been a little boy crazy ever since she realized that it was appropriate and normal. Her current mother figure, step-mum Amy, had told her all boys could be as mean as they were pretty and not to give herself to a... Well, she didn't use a nice word.

Max believed swearing showed poor language skills, even in-superiority. But that seemed to be the last thing his wife believed. Some days you'd think her a sailor the way she'd run her mouth.

To say the least, his middle child had given her a disturbed look, and then forgot to care. She thought herself too smart for that to happen anyway.

She was a tough young lady. This was her second step-mother after all, and that wasn't easy on her. She had been very brave and strong, for that's who she was. But never doubt her sarcastic and spontaneous nature, in any mood. She'll be the first to surprise you with an earful of sass or by reading your private journal aloud.

But that's, as she says, when she trying to get something done. Today she was happy, for some reason.

"I'm waiting for you to tell me what excited you today," he called out with some impatience.

"Sorry Father! I didn't mean to keep you waiting." She ran into the living room and stood before her dad. She was dressed in a black caprees, a purple tank top, and a black shawl with a gold design. She inhaled and smiled, probably smelling the lilac candles Amy had lit an hour earlier.

"I'm excited because today was collage fair day. I got to meet a manager from a fashion school and he said I had potential and to contact him when I'm ready to go to college!" She was beaming with excitement. She looked as if she'd just as soon jump around and scream for joy. Or do a one of her random dances which she performs whenever she feels the urge.

That's great. She'll have a sound future. I just hope she keeps it that way.

"Excellent. That's good for you to be thinking ahead. Have you started to think about the money you'll need for schooling? You're going to pay for it just as much as I am."

Max knew his brunette had never been good at everything. He was very respectable and handled most of what he needed by himself. She was dependent on others for what she needs, and that could be a good sized burden. He wanted to let her know that they alone weren't paying for her college.

She gave him a look of consternation as her body slightly hunched over. As if he had rained on her parade. Why wasn't she grateful that he let on to them helping her pay? Why would she want "them" to pay for it? He became quiet. Then her remembered.

When she was younger, her mum had always supported her, and made sure she felt secure. Encouraged her dreams, taught her how to sew, talked to her when she was down. Carmen felt as if it she was responsible for the happiness of their daughter. One day, Max had brought it up to Carmen alone. She had retorted that she wasn't babying her at all, she was bringing her child comfort and love.

Speaking of which, whenever her daughter was stressed, Carmen would make a cup of tea for her. In fact, it became a mother-daughter activity that they shared with pleasured faces and warm bellies. When her mum had felt her ready, she taught her how to make tea so they could do more then drink it together. After her ray of sunshine learned how to make it, she made it for her mother when she was down, or fallen ill.

Especially when she fell ill. When her mum became bedridden, everyday (occasionally multiple times a day) she would make tea for the two of them. They would sit and talk for hours. The only one to spend much time with her during those days was her little tea maker. They became very close.

The funny thing was no one knew that month would be the last one shared with their mum and wife. It wasn't until the curly haired brunette knocked on the guest room door one overcast morning to deliver her tea and didn't get the usual response. She knocked again, trying not to flip her tray of two cups of hot tea and a fresh batch of scones. The house was silent. She had opened the door to mother lying in bed. Thinking she was asleep, she set her load down on the side table and tried to wake her. When she couldn't wake her mum, the nine-year-old had started to cry in nonplussed disbelief and shock. She screamed for her father who came running straight from his bed to his wife's side.

Carmen had fallen into a coma. Max didn't tell his children any more then that. He'd had her moved to the hospital where she laid until the very last day the hospital would keep her.

That was the day she woke. Though she'd woken so sick that Max thought she would never recover. He put her in a nursing home and left her there.

He didn't know what happened to her after that. Max didn't want to know. Carmen could no longer fulfill her duty to him as his wife, so he gave the home enough money for her to live off of, and told them not to contact him about her again. He privately divorced her within the week and hadn't seen her since.

It took his children a while to smile again. And everyday, their sweet lass would make tea for the whole family. It seemed to make her feel as if her mother was still with her; that brought her some peace in their time of heartache. Even now, she still made tea everyday.

"Dad? Is everything alright?" She had sat down beside him on the couch and was searching his face for answers. She was so close that he could smell her soft perfume.

Max regained his attention: "Yes, it is. I'm fine." I just let my thoughts take me too far, he muttered in his mind.

"Should I go make some tea?" It appeared she didn't believe him. Oh well for her.

"No, I just wanted to let you know that getting a head start on college is good; but, getting a job and saving money is better. Think about getting a job. Now, go do your homework. You should be getting all A's if you want to get into any college." He stood up and walked out of the room, leaving her forlorn figure alone on the couch.

"Yes, Father." He heard her say as the couch squeaked from the movement of her rising. He saw her walk past his door with a bland face.

He normally didn't have the sensitive heart his first wife did, but in that moment, he felt as if his sweet daughter had been a bit neglected lately. It seemed that she almost needed someone to be with. Someone to listen and be happy for her.

I am happy for her, Max corrected. I just need her to be smart, that's all. When she's a grown women with a good head she can thank me for it. She shouldn't to be needy.

But was that what was bothering him? He didn't know. He did want to help her, just not do it for her. Why can't she see that?

"Papa! Papa! Come see!" called Amandla with an mirthful voice.

"No, Amandla! Shh! He can't come because..." his tea maker's voice lowered below audibility, as if she knew his intention was to listen.

He trotted down the hall and up the red wood stairs as they spiraled. He had always admired their elegance and grace. Once he reached the top, he took a left and felt warm. Had they turned the heat on? Continuing towards the playroom, as the children called it, he took off his gloves, letting his hands hit the warmth of the house without the extra heat.

Max sighed as the thought crossed his mind that it could've been because he's getting older. He really wasn't too old, though coming upstairs might have made him warm.

He heard the scuffling of quick feet across the carpet and low words being spat at Amandla. Getting more curious by the second, he pussyfooted to the white painted door with the golden nob and stopped outside it. He held his ear to the door. Little voices started to reach him.

"I don't understand. Why, he's been more and more secluded and is trying to make us the same way! He makes me want to-" the low but course masculine voice was cut off by the snap of a sharp feminine one.

"Hush! He could be right outside!"

"Is that my fault?" Amandla inquired loud and clear.

"Hush!" that same sharp voice repeated. "And yes. Yes, it is your fault!"

"Why?"

His oldest daughter, Lenora, broke in: "Honestly, if we're going to have these meetings we ought to gag Amandla and shove her in the closet."

The kids all chuckled except for Amandla, who shouted, "That is not funny! I will tell!"

"Hush!" was now echoed by formerly giggling children.

He assumed the only boy scooped the three-year-old up and slapped a hand over her struggling lips. "Amy," he sweet talked his little sister with her nickname. "You won't have to tell if we don't gag you, and we won't gag you if you keep quiet. By staying quiet, you can save yourself the trouble, the hassle, even the problem itself. You'd be like a genius, stopping it before it happens."

There was silence, and possibly a confused child. "What does that mean?"

"It means you would be very, very smart to play the quiet game in the closet," Robin explained.

"By my self?!" her voice was raising a against the silly idea.

Lenora covered: "No, no. Of course not. You're playing against the closet."

"Really?"

"Yep. Whoever makes the first noise, loses. You don't want to lose, do you?" Max could just see Lenora hamming up her baby sister like that; and Amandla believing it.

"No!" then he heard the closet door swing shut and giggles all around.

"Oh, I love you Lea! I love you too Robin." he heard his fashionable daughter's admiration and pleasure.

"Yeah, thanks," Robin clearly didn't believe it.

"No. Really, I do," she earnestly spoke.

"I think that's why she really brought us up here," Lenora quietly spoke. "To be together. I know how much this means to you," she paused; no doubt to give her little sister a caring smile.

The brunette confided with a sigh: "Partly. Though I do want to talk about Dad. I just want him to care. To, love us and want us! He makes us seem, like we're in the way of things sometimes. And you're all I really have; you're great friends and siblings, but I want a parent too," the voice he knew so well held such a woeful tone that the seemingly stoic man physically bent forward in shock.

Before he could think of what to do, his head touched the shut door, making a low 'bump' as it hit the doorframe.

Three small gasps sounded from the other side and he sighed, lifting his head off the wooden door and straightening his back. It wasn't time for him to show his feelings. He just needed to handle it.

But how? What was he going to do about it? Walk in and tell them that he was sorry for how he was teaching them to grow up? Sorry for not seeming like a loving parent? No. That would show weakness. It would mean that he was wrong: he wasn't. They just had the wrong point of view. That's it. That's all it is. So what now? They knew he was there. He better show himself or they'll think him a coward.

He opened the door to see his children sitting in a circle with looks of shock and worry written on their faces. Were they afraid of him?

Before they could say anything, he spoke, "I heard you children talking. And I never thought I'd hear it said that I'm not a parent! What does that make me?! A rich Bon Bon in a suit? A business man with an attachment disorder? Or maybe clueless.

"But a parent I am and a father I am. Your father at that. Don't talk about me in such ways that aren't true! I provide and care for you; isn't that what a parent does?" he paused from his long-winded rant to take in what was around him.

Amandla stuck her head out of the closet; her eyes catching on the tall, broad, and heated figure who stood erect in the room. "Daddy? Are we in trouble?"

Before he could respond, Anna Sawyer's solid voice spoke up: "We meant no disrespect, sir. We were only trying to have a sibling conversation. We need each other; I need them. And we were talking about-"

"Stop sounding like your mother," he said firmly. Sorrow passed over his face, but only for a second; it quickly resumed it's normally collected composure.

"Fine. Just fine. But do not say anything like that again."

Without hesitation, all four of his children said 'yes sir'. He nodded and walked out of the room and closed the door behind him, albeit he didn't leave.

Staying behind the door (though not as close this time), he heard them sigh in relief and start again.

"I'm glad that went like it did," Robin stated.

"Me too. We could have been cooked," Lenora agreed.

There was a pause. "Is it better now?" Amandla timidly asked.

"Yes, it is. And don't let him get you down. As long as we're together, we'll be okay, happy even. In fact, I think I'll go make some tea, because today's a good day. Even if Dad's steamed, I have to pay my way to college, Robin's girlfriend broke up with him, Lenora failed her English paper, and so on, it's not so bad. It's as good as any day can get. Today we're alive and well, with great things a ahead of us," his bold Anna Clare Sawyer affirmed to her younger sister.

"Annie?" The voice was soft and concerned.

Anna didn't loose her positive spirit, "Lenora?"

"Do you really believe that? And that there are great things ahead of us?"

"Yeah, I do. Just look outside: there's a nice breeze, the birds are singing, and we have people who are glad to know us. To me, we have everything."

He silently cracked the door open and peered in to see Lenora hugging her sister.

Max closed the door and let a small smile dance on his lips. At least she'll never be lonely. Annie will always find someone and something to be happy about.

A/N: That was Annie's first of her three prequels. Up next is one of the boys' childhoods.

Thank so much for reading it! Please review! I hope you enjoyed it. And even if you didn't, have a fantastic life anyway! God bless you.

I love throwing little references or nods into my writings, so see if you can spot them. I've listed this chapter's nods down below.

Trivia: Annie's TV actress' name is Lenora and her sister's name is Amandla; hints, were I got Annie's sisters' names from. ;)