A/N: First and foremost, I have to say oh-my-freakin'-God to the amount of people that reviewed. Thank you so much. We had no idea how people would react to this extremely AU spin-off of NT, but apparently you all like it. Good. We like it to. Keep reviewing, pretty please, just to let us know if we're on the right track.

"Beer is living proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy." Ben Franklin (it made me smile)

Benjamin Gates had always wanted to be a father.

He had sworn, when he was a kid himself, that when he became a dad, he wouldn't be nearly as mean or limiting as his own father had seemed to him. He had everything all planned out --- he'd go to every one of his kid's parent nights, be there for all the concerts, events, plays. He'd get his child into history fast, and read them tales of Ben Franklin and Paul Revere while other kids were still into Grimm's Fairy Tales.

It's funny how things don't go according to plan.

No one could ever say exactly why Abigail couldn't seem to have a child. She was the right age, though a little small in stature. Still, child-bearing should have been easy. It wasn't. Three years of unsuccessful attempts and miscarriages later, Abigail suggested they adopt. Through a series of bizarre circumstances, they'd ended up in training to be foster parents.

Now, to set the record straight, Benjamin Franklin Gates had always wanted to be a father. He had never in his wildest dreams imagined he'd be a…babysitter.

Sitting in the car, Ben snuck his fifth look at the kid in as many minutes. He seemed harmless enough, short and thin, long fingers and short hair and a jumping, twitchy quality that would have made Ben smile in other circumstances. He'd made it clear to Abigail that he did not want an older child, especially not a teenager and preferably not a boy. So of course he got a fourteen-year-old boy.

Abigail was chattering on about the house and the school Riley would be attending. Her talk was too chipper, too fast to be real, and Ben placed a hand on her leg, a signal to slow down. Glancing in the rear-view mirror again, he decided to satisfy his curiosity. "Who is known as the Father of the Constitution?"

Abigail sighed and shook her head, though Ben could see the barest smile on her face. Riley's head popped up, his face stricken with such a look that Ben wished he could take the question back, comfort the boy, tell him everything was alright. But he wasn't going to coddle a fourteen-year-old. "Err…wasn't it….James Madison?" The correct answer came out uncertainly, though Riley's eyes were large and pleading. Like me. They said. Even Ben could read that.

"Which president dropped the atom bomb?"

The answer came quicker this time, though the tone was still quiet, unsure, "Truman?" A question for a question.

Well, Ben had to admit grudgingly, at least the kid wasn't completely hopeless. "How many presidents are only children?"

Riley actually smiled, just a slight twitch of the lips, but a smile nonetheless. Ben couldn't figure out exactly what he hated about that action. "None. They all had siblings."

Ben pursed his lips and remained silent for the rest of the ride home. He kept looking back at the child, trying to figure out what was off about him. Ben was often called in to teach a seminar at colleges and occasionally high schools. Every teenager he'd come in contact with had all been basically the same; loud, uninterested, in perpetual motion, flirting and waving to each other.

He's not moving. It was odd for someone to be still for so long, yet the only part of Riley that moved was his hands, his long fingers tapping quietly against his bag, and his head, which kept glancing from the door to Ben then Abby then the window, around and around.

Scarred. Uncertain. Frightened and lonely. Those were all words that could describe Riley, so why didn't Ben want to listen to them?

Riley would not be his child. They'd already put in for adoption, and though the process was slow (not to mention costly), Ben had high hopes that they would have a child of their own by the time the year was over. Then they wouldn't need Riley any more.

That thought brought Ben up to the house. He got out of the car, leaving Abigail to escort Riley up the stairs. Still, curiosity made him turn around to get a glimpse of the kid's face as he looked at the house. A wide O of surprise, eyebrows lost in matted hair, eyes disbelieving. Untrusting. "Wow. You…you have a really nice house Mrs. Gates." He glanced at Abigail, shook himself, corrected, "Sorry, I'm sorry, Abigail. Mr. Gates." He looked up sheepishly at Ben, instinctively knowing to address Ben by his title. And Ben didn't correct him.

Temporary, fleeting, a compromise. Riley would be gone when the new baby came. He would have outlived his usefulness of appeasing Abigail, who was still getting over her second miscarriage. She had been in her second trimester. The death of the fetus had been a hard blow.

Abigail had put a roast in the oven and the house smelled wonderful. Ben instinctively waited to see Riley's reaction to the interior of the house. He watched as the boy's eyes slid over the large plasma-screen television and settle on the stacks of untidy books. Saw the boy's eyes lit up at the stacks of papers scattered across the desk and floor. Watched as his mouth literally dropped open at the sight of two computers, one large and new the other smaller, slightly used but still in perfectly good working order.

With a small push, Abigail whispered in Ben's ear, "Show him his computer. I'll get dinner set up." She left them then. To bond? Riley, who had been looking at the computers and books and paperwork with wide eyes suddenly jumped and cowered as the door to the kitchen closed with a slight thud.

Ben didn't know his voice could be gruff, but that's how it came out as. "C'mon, kid," he walked forward impatiently as Riley scrambled to pick up his small pack and follow Ben, staring at the ground. Ben paused in front of the small computer, "This is yours, if you can make it work."

From Riley's expression, Ben had just given him a car or the keys to Buckingham Palace. He ran his hand reverently over the keyboard, glanced furtively at Ben, then quickly jabbed a few keys making the ancient monitor come to life.

Ben turned away from boy and computer. He wouldn't tell Riley that that computer had been his ten years ago, that he'd gotten two others since then, that he was about to throw it out. He watched with a mixture of incredulity and awe as the boy accessed the computer's central mainframe and booted it up properly.

"Boys, dinner!" The call shattered the tenuous peace between the two and Riley looked up at Ben, down at the computer and his small bag of things, biting his lip. "Th-thank you, sir. Very much. I didn't expect….well, I didn't expect anything like this. Your house is beautiful…the books…the computer…" he searched for words and couldn't find any, ending with a simple, "Thank you, sir."

The "sir" was too proper for Ben's taste, but once again he didn't correct the boy. Better to be too proper than too loose. The boy would be gone in a few months. With a terse, acknowledging nod, Ben started off for the kitchen, Riley hurrying in his wake.

"Who was the second president of the United States?" Ben asked quickly, pausing before opening the door to the kitchen.

No hesitation, no question, "John Adams." Riley looked him in the eye, showed the barest hint of a smile. Maybe he sensed Ben's animosity because he quickly looked down again.

Ben stared at the boy for a second longer before disappearing into the kitchen, trying to convince himself he didn't care about this boy with the unaccountable knack for history. What did he care? Riley wasn't his child.

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