A/N: I'm working on the actual prom night chapter on Guidance, and I have a feeling that it will be about twenty to twenty-five pages. I'm already 4,459 words into it, and decided to write this so I could take a break because frankly I am tired. Writing that chapter is just draining, y'know? Anyway, I was watching Jon & Kate Plus 8 and this idea popped into my mind. I was debating to make this Misa or Quogan. And my Quogan side came out, and basically choked this out of me. I want to apologize for being slower than ever, but an explosion did rock my city – specifically, the area I went to high school in. I live like twenty from there. So, there's my explanation. I hope you all understand. Your patience is amazing.

I've decided to dedicate this to one of my good friends/readers. I owe her, because she dedicated a oneshot to me. So, this is for Taylor (secrets710). Hope you like.

Disclaimer: Marry me, Chris Massey?

The Reese Bunch

Amberleigh Nichole Reese; aged sixteen

Amberleigh is their first-born child, and quite mature for someone who just got their driver's license a mere month ago.

On the outside she's a teenager, but her parents swear she's got "an inner thirty year old".

While she thinks she's responsible, her siblings think she's too power-hungry, and uptight.

"Okay, fine. You're the golden child, but seriously, can you at least do the rest of us a favour and get the metal pole out of your ass?" Thirteen-year-old Taylor says, and stomps off aggravated.

Amberleigh knows what happens next – combat boots stomp in an upstairs motion, door will be slammed followed by angry screamo rock music.

She can't stand having things rearranged a certain way, believing that things are happy the way they are.

Amberleigh intends for there to be another Dr. Reese in the family, well, the third one.

She means herself.

On this morning, she's feeling incredibly crummy, with her head pounding, her nose being stuffed up. Amberleigh hates the feeling of not breathing, even though she can. Today, she'll pass one of the biggest tests in school, and won't let a cough, and a sore throat stop her.

Did she forget to mention that she's driven?

"It's okay, Amberleigh," she chides herself, looking into her reflection. Her voice is hushed and nasally, and she looks flushed with colour, even though the dark bags around her eyes are hidden with make-up. "It's just a stupid cold. Chicken pox didn't stop you."

But apparently her younger, and quite irritating brother can.

"Dad, Amberleigh's sick, and talking to herself again!" he hollers down the hall, actually sounding sympathetic, before he smirks proudly. "Hope you feel better, sis. Sorry, but I can't have you mucking up my latest plan. I just got off last week because of that bungee-jumping thing. I'd rather I keep the 'rents in the dark. You'll need lots of bed rest."

"I hate you," she replies, with narrowed eyes, and then sneezes. "How did you know I was sick anyway?"

"Ah, naïve Amberleigh. I know everything that happens in this house. Far more than Mom and Dad probably know. See, you're biting off more than you can chew. It was just a matter of time before you burned out. And oh my God, that pre-Calculus test is today!" Jason points out in mock-surprise.

"Get. Out. NOW!"

"I love you, Amberleigh. Feel better."

"Two words, Jay. Biological warfare," she threatens, and throws her pillow at the space where her brother is supposed to be standing. Damn, she misses.

Amberleigh likes to take matters in her own hands, but hates being immobile.

So in the time that passes, Logan and Quinn make the conclusion that she can't go to school.

"At least for three days, honey," the surgeon tells her daughter, brushing the bangs from her tired eyes. "The hospital doesn't need me today, so I'll stay with you."

"But I have debate team, cheerleading, and a pre-Cal test today! I was even elected head of prom committee last week. You have to let me go. If you do, I'll, uhm, well, I don't know yet, but I'll come up something, I can handle it. When I was eight, I took a test when I was covered in chicken pox vesicles."

"That's because you weren't under quarantine."

"Well, I don't have chicken pox now," Amberleigh tries to reason, turning pleading eyes on her father. "It's just a mere cold, and probably the flu."

She sneezed, and coughed slightly.

"We know you're pumped for all those things, but I'm going to be parental, and say no. Even if you tried, I hid the car keys, so I'm afraid you're trapped, kid."

"This is warped parenting," the teenager pouts, now clad in warm pajamas, and sinks deeper into her bed. "But I'll live." And this is accompanied by another sneeze. "Fine, I'll stay. That doesn't mean I have to like it."

As much as she loves her parents – maybe not at the moment – Amberleigh just wishes they'd leave so she could start phase one of biological warfare.

Covering up Jason's stuff with all of her germs before they're killed with antibiotics.

Jason Nathaniel Reese; aged fifteen

He's not as complicated, and evil, as people make him out to be.

He just sees the world in a way than the rest of the world. At home, he's merely second-born and as a family, he likes his dysfunctional unit – or family if technicalities are in play – but he just likes getting his way and knows how to charm out of things.

Outside his house's walls, he's like King Midas.

Manipulation is a dirty word. Jason likes to think of it as forceful persuasion.

"I don't have anything to hide, Mom, and even if I did mess with Mr. Tomlin's car so that his wipers sprayed a messy combination of ketchup and mustard all over his windshield, why would I come forward straight away? That isn't my trademark prank anyway."

"Okay, I'm aware of the mind games you're trying to play here, Jason."

"Yeah, you can't use what I invented years ago against the inventor, bud," Logan says, with a knowing smirk. "I invented that mind control stuff. How do you think I got Chase to man up and actually go after Zoey?"

"And I applaud you for that, but I didn't do it. It couldn't have been me. Someone out there is trying to frame me, or emulate me," he concludes, his face taking on a thoughtful look.

Although Jason is flattered, he hates that someone conspires to throw him off his pedestal.

"I know I didn't do it, but I know who did?"

"Who?" Quinn asks, curiously.

"I'll tell you guys much later, but I have a rat to tend to. Excuse me…"

Now, he knows why he implanted that shock chip implanted in one of his "people", so to speak.

Watching his second child leave and turn a corner, Logan turns to his wife looking like they forgot to do something crucial, "Uh, we forget to ground him."

Quinn waves a dismissive hand, resting her cheek in other hand, "Whatever, he's off doing can't be any better. And clearly, he's doing something that lacks judgment."

"So, what? We just go for the standard month grounding, and double it or something?"

Quinn smiles and pecks his lips, "Precisely."

Taylor Samantha Reese; aged thirteen

Every family has a black sheep.

And not only is she is the middle child, Taylor has come to believe that she is in fact said sheep.

She's thirteen, and very territorial of her space. Her room is her space, and she'll usually hole herself up in there, with the shades drawn. Despite the dark demeanor, Taylor is a deep thinker with intricate thoughts and feelings one can't even begin to comprehend.

Taylor likes to think of herself as the anti-Amberleigh.

Taylor can't stand colour, choosing to look at the world in shades of gray.

Although Quinn is a tad concerned about the amount of black her daughter wears, at least she can borrow a dress or two in the event of a funeral.

Logan can't complain…much.

Well, she's still trying to decode her own thought processes, but she finds that she slowly deciphering them during the quiet times. Taylor's a dreamer. A visionary. One who has her head up in the clouds, but not so deep in that she's too far gone in what reality has to offer.

Brushing her dark raven bangs out of her heavily lined but shut eyes, a pair of dark brown eyes are boring into Jason's, her older brother by two years.

But Jason runs in dog years. That's her truth.

If Amberleigh and Taylor die with this sisterly rivalry, at least they have one mutual annoyance.

Jason.

"You know, I could leave you in your lair, but you know, someone dented Dad's car and he's furious. He called a Reese Family meeting, and everyone with said last name has to be there," Jason explains, leaning against the doorway.

Taylor lets out an aggravated sigh, and sits up, quirking an eyebrow in inquisition.

"Why would I come to a meeting knowing that you or the twins, probably collaborated in mangling his car?"

"Ouch, that wounded me…" Jason places a hand on chest, faking a wounded look. "You know? If you don't have a heart big enough to vouch for own brother, at least buy yourself one."

"Nope," she says, with a smile. "I prefer to be hollow, and empty. But I'm not going!"

And Taylor counts down in her mind, because at least she knows where her thin patience originates.

Taylor can't tolerate the retarded, or the idiotic either.

"In three, two, one," Jason counts, and leaves before Taylor hears Logan's yell reach her double pierced ears, quite loud and crystal clear.

"Taylor, get down here! NOW!"

"Coming!" she screams back, through a false smile. Taylor concludes that her father is mere seconds from a nervous breakdown. If this is over a dent on his 'sixth child', then she wonders what'll happen when his car is reduced to a pile of rubble.

She'll comply to another meeting.

But Taylor is so getting a tattoo on her sixteenth birthday just to spite her father.

Matthew Lawrence Reese & Erin Charlotte Reese; twins, aged eleven

"You're an idiot," Erin Reese, a fraternal twin older by five minutes, stage-whispers to her brother as they crawl through the mansion's many ventilation systems. This one leads to the kitchen. Her brown hair is tied back, and wavy like her mother's in her teenage years.

Erin is a spitting image of Quinn, except her eyes. Those are inherited from Logan.

She's affectionately nicknamed "Shortie" because she's so small, but quite athletic. Erin is actually triple-jointed, and possesses the flexibility of a pretzel.

Matthew, nicknamed "Mattie" by his mother (he's coming to believe that Quinn has issues letting go – but he loves her), and "Monster" or "The Kid With A Thousand Voices" by everyone else, because he's probably the craziest person, one will ever encounter, and he has the ability to mimic anybody.

He loves to art of espionage and practices often. Talk and he'll probably go all James Bond, and respond with something like, "Reese, Matthew Reese."

Until then, he's has a sweet tooth, and will satisfy it. He just likes dragging Erin along for the thrill.

"Well, that may be so, but I'm hungry and I want ice-cream. Besides, it's no fun just getting it."

"So, you felt the need to wake me this late. Nice," she yawns, the coldness of the metal on her elbows settling in for her. She squints through a removable grate that they are in the middle of the kitchen, the island counter just under them, so it could serve as a platform. "Stop crawling. We're in the kitchen. I'm not opening this vent, until we come to an agreement."

"What agreement?"

"Share the wealth," is Erin's simple request. She sees her brother's confusion as his eyebrows draw together, so she continues, making Matthew's mouth close before it even has the chance to open. The eleven-year-old's eyes are fixing her brother with a hard stare so he gets her intention. "I'm neither your sidekick, nor your accomplice. I'm just hungry too, but if you go down in your sticky, ice-creamy mess, you're not pulling me down with you."

"Okay, just crack the vent open. There's a carton of triple chocolate crunch calling me…"

"Are you sure it's not the nice men in white with giant nets?" Erin quietly questions, laughing at her brother's antics.

She jumps expertly, landing on the counter before her brother does, sealing the vent expertly, with one of his mother's many lasers. It's the green one, and it's amusing.

Ah, the story of a cool dude and his favourite colour. But now, it's all about the ice-cream.

"Erin, go be my look-out…"

"You're joking, right?"

"Uh, no. Not really," Matthew snaps, impatiently. He hates that he has this monster sweet teeth, and the sugar is so sweet, and feels natural, dousing his taste buds in ecstasy.

He will have his ice-cream.

"You're lucky, President Jonas awarded Mom with a medal for finding a cure for diabetes or you'll be heading up there."

"You just hate that I have a quick burning metabolism…"

"Yes," she nods, and says in a deadpanned and sarcastic tone. "Matt, I envy you for your intact metabolism. I'm a horrible person."

Matthew cracks open the freezer, the cold air feeling sharp on his face. His hunt is over.

He takes the carton of said ice-cream, and suddenly Erin wonders why which human being carries a silver spoon in the sleepwear.

Erin worries about his addiction to the sweet white stuff.

He almost literally bounces himself off the walls. And she's thinking all of this while trying to get his attention because if their parents catch him sneaking into the fridge again for the fifth time in the span of two weeks, then it won't be pretty.

"MATT!" he hears a voice yell, but it's not from his sister, but from his parents.

He can't decipher which.

Erin tries, and turns apologetic eyes, apologizing for selling her own twin out.

He's like a deer in the headlights, as one arm cradles the carton and with the brown substance smeared all over his face, and the silver that holds the last remnants of ice-cream is in his mouth.

"Mattie, what are you doing?" Quinn questions, cautiously, but Matt scrambles for an explanation.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Erin made me do it, Mommy! She made us crawl into the vents, and she opened, therefore giving access to the kitchen," Matt says, pointing an accusatory finger at his twin. "She wanted some of this too."

Well, there goes her appetite.

"Oh, shut up!" she barks, in by do so, she probably wakes the older siblings up, but she doesn't care. Logan is silent, with his hair sticking up at odd angles. "Seriously, who are you going to believe? Me, or the one with the ice-cream smeared all over himself?! He looked like he tried to inhale the whole carton with his face!"

"Okay, you calm down," Quinn instructs, rubbing her temples. "Erin, just try not to talk for a bit."

"Dude, we're not mad. We're going to talk…"

Actually, he's furious. It's just the Anger Management kicking in.

"Just talk?" Matt questions, his confusion clearly and his skepticism hitting an all time high. "That's it?"

"Yeah, that's it?"

Logan turns to his daughter, "Yes." And then he turns to his son, "All you need to do is hand over the carton, and say, 'Dad, I have a problem' and it'll be cool. The ball's in your court."

Matt's sorry, but he's not stupid.

He can't admit something that simply isn't there, and judging by the eerily calm voice Logan is speaking in isn't a calm one at all. Usually, it means he's a dead kid walking.

"Matthew," Quinn says, sternly, crossing her arms over her chest as assurance that she's proud of Logan and she completely backs him up. "The first step to getting a solution is admittance of the problem."

Well, he can't think straight.

Or at all for that matter. So the only sane thing Matt does is run.

He runs past a confused Amberleigh, a sleepy but amused Jason and a sleepy and dazed Taylor, who mutters something about adoption and drags herself up to bed, resuming what is interrupted.

She'll hear about it in the morning, or on the news. Either or.

Logan turns to Quinn, loosing all patience now, "Babe, now you have proof that I tried the calm parenting approach. Time for my way."

"Forceful submission into admittance?"

"Yeah," he pecks her cheek, and then takes off running, after the boy with the carton of ice-cream. Lucky for him, the doors are locked from the outside, so Matt can't get out. "Get ready for tough love, son!"

"Mom, what's going on?" Amberleigh asks, totally and completely lost for once.

"You know, I'm not even going to bother explaining," Erin answers her older sister. "It's a Reese Moment. We're a dysfunctional family. Not a surprising fact."

"That's true," the older daughter agrees, and then shudders. Nobody is in Matt's shoes right now, because they're too big to walk in. "Let's leave before Daddy starts administering 'fatherly love'."

Which is more psychological than physical, but still damaging.

"Repeat after me: I. HAVE. A. PROBLEM! We can do this all night! And I hope you enjoy the stomach ache and brain freeze that's coming. You're gonna get Hangover Lite!"

"Hope the little dude can take it," Jason ponders, and then shrugs, yawning. "Eh, bed time."

Erin rubs her eyes, going after her brother, and leaves Quinn, who is the crazy glue that holds the crazy family together.

After being the wife and support system tonight, especially, Quinn makes a mental note to prepare to get her tubes tied.

There's no way in Einstein, she's bringing in a sixth.

A/N: Ah, well. There's your future Quogan oneshot. Nearly four am here, so excuse any errors you may find. Lol. I made Nick Jonas, future president based on his nickname, which is "The President". Joe is "Danger" and Kevin is "K2", so that's where my reasoning came from. I'm planning more and more stuff for Guidance and will plan the last chapter of Letters To You before I write it. So hang tight. I have a Dustin moment brewing in my head for The Little Moments In Between. Check it out. It's new, so I'd like to know your thoughts on that.

yawns Reviews would be a nice morning gift. Let me know how I did.

-Erika