Hey! I'm still alive. *cough* I know, I know, what happened, right? I've been dealing with real life stuff, or better put, recovering from real life stuff. Sorry, if you were concerned (I got a few PMs during my little 'vacation' wondering how I am – I'm okay, thanks! Just feeling a bit antisocial). I know that skipping my annual birthday fic-a-thon was also worrying for some people (this year was supposed to be "Twenty-Four Hours" and I had 24 one-shot ideas, but I didn't get around to it). So again, sorry, and thank you for dealing with my moody, antisocial butt.

Now on to the story (if anyone is still interested in reading my de-aged Eliot verse)…

Summary: Lindsey vs. Roper. "McDonald Boys" verse, after "Sky's Gonna Open" and "School of Hard Knocks."

This story refers to Chapter 6 of "Three Times Eliot Showed up at Lindsey's Place," which takes place directly after "The Carnival Job." You probably want to read that one first, if you haven't yet. Part of this came from a review reply I sent to Jesco123 from way back when I wrote that story.

Hitting it off at a Hitter's Convention

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Now

Lindsey's thinking that the job has gone much too easily (he hasn't had the chance to punch anybody for the last couple of jobs, and he's found that he actually likes punching people, although talking circles around them is also quite fun) when he hears a smug voice from behind him.

"Eliot Spencer. We meet again."

Lindsey turns, sees who the other guy is, and laughs.

"What are you laughing at?" Roper says, looking taken aback and angry.

Well, Lindsey thinks, he would be a bit miffed, since the last time Eliot and the hitter had met, his brother had knocked him unconscious. The man's ego has to be a little bruised; Eliot had been sporting a concussion and a fractured hip, among other injuries, at the time, from having been hit in the face with a carnival ride. Eliot should not have won. But he did, and according to Eliot's testimony (made to Lindsey over dinner) later that night, he had won because Roper had been too busy mocking him to just finish the job. That has to sting.

Lindsey smirks. "Look closer, Roper."

Roper flicks his glare down Lindsey's body, then back up to meet his eyes. "I don't- You're not Eliot."

Confusion. Roper is very confused.

Lindsey comes to the conclusion that Roper must have been too busy working out or perming his hair the day God handed out brains.

"No, I'm not," Lindsey says, not bothering to explain why he looks like Eliot even though he is not Eliot, "But I am gonna kick your ass."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

July 2011

"So what happened?" Lindsey asks, strumming gently on Eliot's guitar. He'd come to see how Eliot is doing after being beat up so badly that he had to go see Nurse Gail, a healer who Lindsey knows always does good work.

Eliot grunts and shrugs, stretching out against the back of the couch. He's tired; Nurse Gail had taken the worst of the aches and pains out of his body, but he's exhausted. He doesn't quite want to go to bed yet, though. Lindsey's here, and it's always nice to be near him – but you won't ever hear Eliot say that, especially not to Lindsey's face.

"Was it a Ferris wheel? It had to be one of those, right?" Lindsey teases, but also genuinely curious about how Eliot had sustained such extensive injuries, "You were fighting on the seats, and then you fell out? Or jumped out?"

"No," Eliot says gruffly.

Lindsey tilts his head. Interesting. If it had been something neutral, then Eliot would probably not be so reluctant to tell him, but if it was something embarrassing…

"Was it a carousel?" he asks next, smirk firmly plastered onto his face this time, "Did you have a Catcher in the Rye moment?

"No."

"Was it- "

"If you don't shut up in five seconds, Linny, you're gonna have a Catcher in the Rye moment," Eliot growls, and bares his teeth at him, glaring daggers.

Lindsey sits back and puts on his "thinking face," which he knows would annoy Eliot to no end, "That doesn't even make sense."

Eliot struggles with an answer, but he's too tired to think of one, especially against Lindsey, with his stupid debate-honed brain. So he settles for an old favorite: "Shut it."

Then he yawns.

Lindsey chuckles, but it's not a triumphant "I won" kind of chuckle, but a fond "I love my brother but I'd never tell him that" one.

"Go to bed, El."

Eliot continues to lean back against the couch with his arms crossed and grunts.

"I'll still be here in the mornin'. Might even try my hand at makin' breakfast."

That gets Eliot's attention in a hurry. "Don't you even joke about that," he snaps at him, sitting up. "Don't even, Linny."

Lindsey grins and nudges Eliot's foot with his own. "Bed. Now. Go."

Eliot grumbles, but he goes. As he does so, he hears Lindsey strumming gently on the guitar. Normally, sounds like that would disturb his sleep, but this is familiar; Lindsey is familiar and safe. He'll sleep well tonight.

And that, he thinks – knows – is why his brother is here.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Now

"What the hell happened to you?" Eliot demands when he gets home from school. He'd been worried when Lindsey hadn't been in the van because he usually is, but the others had assured him that Lindsey is just a little bruised up.

This looks like a bit more than "bruised up," though.

Lindsey's lying on the couch with a wet washcloth across his eyes. He groans and twitches a red-knuckled hand at him in reply. "Y' shoul' see th' other guy."

Eliot stomps up to him and pulls the washcloth off, revealing two black eyes that immediately squint in the bright light.

"What're you doin'? Put that back," Lindsey groans and whines.

Eliot huffs in annoyance and obliges, spreading the cool cloth gently across the bruised cheekbones. "What happened?" he asks more softly, fully aware that loud sounds might not be the best thing for his brother right now.

Lindsey sighs. "Ran into Roper."

Eliot frowns. Roper? Dammit. "And?"

"And he had a Catcher in the Rye moment," Lindsey replies, the barest hint of a smirk twitching on his split lip.

"You won?"

"You don't have to sound so incredulous, y'know," Lindsey grumbles, moving the washcloth out of his eyes so that he can glare properly at Eliot.

"I wasn't," Eliot backtracks, "Just, you look a little beat up. You want me to call Nurse Gail?"

"Nah, I'm fine," Lindsey sighs and closes his eyes, leaving the cloth on his forehead. Then he asks, "Does it really look that bad?"

"Yeah, kinda," Eliot replies.

"I'm fine."

Yeah, sure.

"Catcher in the Rye?" Eliot prompts, wanting to know. He sits on the edge of the couch, but not close enough that he's sitting on Lindsey's bruised ribs (he can hear the hitch in his brother's breathing that indicates that they are bruised, but not broken).

"The guy must have a thing for carnivals because that's where we ended up today. And we had a bit of a tiff about who should beat up whom. He ended up getting into a bit of a tangle with the carousel," Lindsey finishes with feigned nonchalance. "Parker helped with the knots."

"No. No way," Eliot giggles delightedly.

"Way," Lindsey tells him, amused at Eliot's glee. He sighs, carefully, so as not to jar his ribs.

Eliot gets up and pulls two ice packs from the freezer, one in each hand. He places them in strategic places on his brother's supine body and sits back down next to him, this time on the floor.

"Thanks, El."

"Mm-hm," Eliot hums and tugs his backpack over so he can take his homework out. "Want mashed p'tatoes tonight?" Soft foods are nice when you have an injured mouth, and plain foods for the headache.

"Hm."

"Smoothie?"

"Mm-hrm."

"What flavor?"

"Hrrrmee?"

"'Kay," Eliot says, copying his spelling list out onto the blue-dotted extra-wide-ruled paper, "Go to sleep. I'll wake you up later."

The bruised hand drops down onto the curly head. "Hrmrruhmm."

"Yeah." The pencil pauses for a moment. "Me too."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

AN: Translation of Lindsey's grunts? Don't look at me. I don't speak Lindsey-ese like Eliot does. But that last one sounds awfully like "I love you, man"…Although he would never, ever say that out loud. Because he's a guy, you know. Guys don't do that kind of flowery crap. Nope.

Catcher in the Rye – It's a book about this guy who has a lot of issues, and there's this "gold ring" (*gasp* as in "golden ring"? *song allusion*) on a carousel, and watching kids (and his little sister) grab for it makes him happy. *shrug*