A/N:

Another random chapter to explain just a bit on what their mother does. And to show how unruly Nii-chan and Pepper Ann get.

Nigaito stared intently at the screen, saddled closely by his father as he read over the words. They read at the same pace, leisurely yet attentive to every detail, until an error was found. Nigaito responded instantly, saying the word before his dad could, "Typo."

Ōkuno chuckled, fixing the word as he said with quiet humor, "Yeah, I doubt she wanted to say 'She ate fat.'"

Nigaito murmured a reply but it was unintelligible, his eyes already focused on the next line. Ōkuno easily fell back into sync with him.

The room was quiet save for the occasional mutter of an error, and the faint click of a keyboard as said errors were corrected. They were lost in the work and, admittedly, the story, as they proofread each line with careful consideration.

If they'd not been dead to the world, they might have heard the vague sound of sneakers against wooden floorboards, warning them of danger. They may have heard the subtle creak, or the scuffle against a rug. They may have even heard the slosh of water. But as it were, they didn't become aware of anything until the loud voice came directly behind them, "Wha'cha doing?"

Ōkuno jolted into reality, startled, but Nigaito all but lost it. He jumped on instinct and clung to his father's neck, all but choking him as he took in heaving, panicked breaths. For someone so calm ordinarily, he was remarkably jumpy.

Ōkuno choked out, patting Nigiato's still trembling arm, "Akaito, don't frighten your brother."

Akaito chuckled, leaning his arms against the back of the chair as he looked over to see what was on the screen, one hand tight around a cup of what could only be assumed as water. "Sorry for being curious. But it's not all my fault, Nigaito would be terrified of butterflies if they snuck up on him unannounced. Even if I wasn't trying, he'd have been clinging to the ceiling fan."

Ōkuno felt Nigaito's grip recede then, and craned his head back just enough to raise his eyebrow at his second eldest. "So you admit you did that on purpose."

Akaito's only response was to smirk. Ōkuno sighed.

Nigaito grumbled, laying with his head in his arms on the desk, pointedly keeping his eyes on the mouse, "I'm not afraid of butterflies."

Akaito heard him, though, and smirked all the more wolfishly.

"To answer your question," Ōkuno began swiftly, putting an end to the possibility of any fights breaking out, "we were just proofreading your mother's new book."

"Mom's book?" Akaito asked, an eyebrow already raised. "But Mom writes romance novels. . ." He bit his lip, eyes sparkling. "And you guys call yourselves men. . ."

"Don't start. . ." Nigaito warned, giving him a scathing look.

Akaito put his free hand to his mouth to try to hold back his laughter, but his eyes said all that needed to be said. Nigaito glared at him heatedly, enough so that Ōkuno feared the room would catch fire.

"Nigaito's being paid," Ōkuno explained.

"Plus it helps," Nigaito went on to add, his glare softening a bit, but barely, "I'm going to be a writer one day, and Mom's been on the bestseller list a few times. It's good to study."

"Ambitious," Akaito teased, hooking his foot over his other leg as he took a sip from his drink. "I look forward to the eye-twitching that will no doubt ensue for the next forty-eight hours. Oh, and," he held up his cup to Nigaito, a smirk dancing at the corners of his lips, "all that lovely romantic fiction you'll be writing years from now."

"How dare—" Nigiato began, looking ready to start screaming as he gripped the arm of Ōkuno's chair with a whitening hand.

Ōkuno grabbed Nigaito into a quick hug, catching him off guard as he went stiff as a board. He let his grip go a little looser, giving him the option of pulling out of it if he wished, and patted him gently on the back. "Nigaito, relax, no killing your brother. And Akaito," Ōkuno sighed, snapping his eyes to Akaito's laughing ones with a stern look, "if you don't stop. . ." Nigaito pushed away from him then, interrupting him, his tongue stuck out.

"Yeah, yeah," Akaito waved him off, smirking purposely at Nigaito, "he'll call in the fighter pilots, King Kong will go on a rampage, the Earth will collide with the sun in a fiery explosion and all humanity will be doomed. I know the drill. Nigaito doesn't do romance." He smirked then, all sharp teeth and mischief. "He just reads up on it all the time and obsesses over Casablanca."

Nigaito's face went blank.

Ōkuno sent him a disapproving look. "Akai—"

"Up, up," Akaito interrupted, holding up his cup as he took a step back, "I speak only the truth. You scold me all the time for lying, you can't scold me for honesty too. It's only fair. All I did was agree Nigaito won't be writing any girly chick flicks in his future. But if not that, then I know just what he can put in one of his movies." He grinned then, crookedly, and grabbed hold of the back of his dad's chair. With a bit of strain, he managed to pull it back away from the table with the laptop sitting upon it, as well as away from Nigaito, and then, simply, sat his cup of water on top of his dad's head. He gestured grandly to it. "Ta-da!"

Nigaito stared at him, his eyes very slowly switching between his beaming face and the cup sitting effortlessly on their father's head. Ōkuno's face was tight, his lips pursed ever so slightly, as he carefully moved his hands up to retrieve the cup from his head. "Akaito. . ." Ōkuno said very slowly, quietly, "what are you talking about?"

"Your head." Akaito grinned all the more bright. "It's gigantic. And flat. It makes an excellent table. How's that for comedy? Wouldn't that make a great comedy skit? You could, like. . ." he shuffled his hands, as if searching for words in the air, "use it for the table on Thanksgiving or something. A table cloth, some flowers, it'd be hilarious."

Ōkuno and Nigaito shared a look, unmoving.

"Can I kill him now?" Nigaito asked calmly after a moment, tone a bit lower than usual.

Ōkuno blinked at him, eyes still half-lidded and blank, before he shrugged very slightly and sat the cup of water on the table. "Be my guest."

"Hey now, you guys," he heard Akaito say with that smooth, slippery tone of his, "I'm a lover, not a—Oof!" Ōkuno heard a loud clatter behind him, followed by a cackle, but he was already busy reading over the next line of the novel.

She ate fast, shoving the eggs down her gullet in six seconds flat before flying out the front door. Being the first Japanese-American president of the United States wasn't an easy job, after all, and she had much more pressing matters at hand than breakfast.

There was always something calling for her attention, something that had to be done quickly in order to keep the delicate balance of her country even and secure, or her kids safe and happy, for that matter, but this was even more important than that. More important than famine, or the education of their youth, or even the jobless and homeless people fraught across the country.

Her husband was missing, and without him, the household and her entire world would surely be thrown into chaos.

Or at least, more so than it usually was. . .