The Sitter
By: Brenna "Snakelady" Dawkins
~The Lone Gunmen belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Studios. This story is a work of fiction and was no way endorsed or acknowledged by C.C. Rated Pg. ~
"Can I have a glass of water?" Came the whining voice over the intercom Frohike now had second doubts about setting up for the kid.
"Can't you get it yourself? I'm in the middle of something. And besides, this is your fourth glass of water and I don't want to find out you peed all over my bed in the morning." Frohike irritably punched the call back button on his intercom that was an easy arms length from his computer station.
"I'm thirsty and it's hot."
Frohike ground his teeth. "It's okay to be thirsty and hot." It was something his dad had always said to him when he had been little. It had been a practical and useful countermove that he had never appreciated until now. Would he get much in return from the South American trade market for this kid? He doubted it. "Anyway, I bugged the door. It can't be opened until morning, if it is, it will trigger a laser that will blast you into ash if you so much as jiggle the handle. Go to bed. It can wait until morning."
There was awed silence on the other end. It was a boldfaced lie, but he hoped it worked. The kid was young enough to believe it, he hoped anyway. Ah, peace. The intercom went quiet at long last and he continued with his latest storyline. So he jumped and almost fell out of his chair when someone tapped him on the shoulder from behind.
"Laser didn't work. You must have hooked it up wrong." A small voice trying to sound grown up spoke softly from behind him.
"Kid.... what are you doing out of bed? What did I tell you?" Frohike half spun his chair about to face the doe eyed seven year old boy.
"But, I got lonely. Can't I just stay here with you?" Was the youth's reply.
"No. Your mom said bedtime was eight o'clock. It's almost ten thirty. Besides, this isn't a game I'm playing with and I don't want to explain to your mother why you're so tired in the morning." Frohike sighed. If he had any idea what he had let himself get talked into before this, he'd never had done it.
Byers had made a date with some girl he met online and she had a female friend and she didn't want to go out on a date with Byers unless her friend could go. But her friend had this kid. Langly gallantly agreed to partner the other woman and she agreed as long as she had a sitter for the kid. And that's how he got stuck at home watching a seven year old that had a million and one useless questions for him and a knack for annoying the now very frazzled aging computer nerd.
"But, it's a big bed. And it smells funny." The kid whimpered almost pathetically.
"That's my bed. It smells like me." Frohike frowned. He did NOT smell funny.
"When's Mommy going to come and get me?" The kid asked.
"In the morning. Six a.m. sharp." Frohike hoped and put a little alarm reminder on his computer to announce that joyous time. At least, that's what they had told him.
But that seemed like a lifetime away now.
"What are you doing?" The kid asked.
"I'm working, if you can call typing two words between a barrage of stupid questions working." Frohike said with his usual crypticness.
"What are you typing?"
He wanted to scream. Would the kid always counter his answers with another question?
"Go to bed."
The kid tried to forcibly crawl into his lap and Frohike just didn't have the energy to combat it so the kid happily slithered up onto his new perch.
"Spin!" The kid sat in his lap and bounced up and down painfully on his legs. "Spin!"
Frohike scowled. He'd never get this done before they had to take it to the printer's tomorrow.
"Spin!" The kid chanted.
If only to keep the kid from pounding that tailbone into his own leg, Frohike thought and obliged the kid by making the computer chair spin in place. He was really glad no one could see him do that. The kid squealed in delight and urged Frohike to go faster. It didn't last long. He was getting dizzy and the kid was shrieking with glee at the top of his lungs.
"Okay. That's enough. Now, get to bed." He commanded and tried to shove the kid off of his lap.
"Don't wanna go back upstairs. It's scary to go by myself." The kid did his best to remain on his perch and squirmed and then latched onto Frohike's arm and by clamping his legs around an intensely annoyed Lone Gunmen.
"You came down here with no problem."
The kid wouldn't hear any of it and wriggled until he was able to see the computer screen and grabbed onto the keyboard.
"HEY!" Frohike made to grab the precious commodity from the kid.
"You get Diablo II on this?" The kid proceeded to punch some keys.
"No. And I doubt you are allowed to play such a game anyway. Besides, that'd be on Langly's computer." Frohike yanked the keyboard out of the kid's hands. "Come on."
He led the kid to his bedroom and pointed to his bed but the kid shuffled his bare feet reluctantly. Frohike placed a hand on the kids back and ushered the kid to the bed.
"Mom always tucks me in." The kid whined as he slipped under the covers.
Frohike growled. "I'm not your mom." He sighed and then proceeded to tuck the kid in. "Now, go to sleep."
"No story?"
God help him!
"Fine. This is the tale of The Little Kid and the Three Hackers."
"Not heard of that one."
"Great. So shut up and let me tell it." Frohike sat on the bed. "Now, once upon a time, there was a little bra-er, kid who thought it would be neat to hang out with three of the coolest guys in town. Now, unfortunately, the really cool guys were not home, but the kid decided to break in and sift through all of their highly classified secrets."
"Is the kid called Goldilocks?"
"The kid doesn't have a name." Frohike said.
"Why not?"
"Doesn't need one."
"Everyone needs a name."
"No. It doesn't matter. It's just a story. Now shut up and let me tell it."
The phone rang. "At this hour?" Frohike picked it up. "Lone Gunmen." A pause. "What? You're kidding. You guys owe me BIG time for this." He slammed the phone back into the receiver.
"What's wrong?" The kid asked his hundredth thousandth question.
"Time for a road trip, kid." Frohike sighed.
"I get to stay up?" The kid asked excitedly.
"Not MY idea. Come on, get some shoes on."
The kid scrambled out of the bed and Frohike had to help him tie up his laces.
"Where are we going?"
"No where." Frohike grabbed his vest. "Move it or lose it!"
The kid hurried after Frohike who, after securing the warehouse, hopped into the van with the kid right behind. He sped out of the drive and onto the street grumbling to himself. It wasn't how he had planned to spend the night. He pulled up to the police station and dragged the kid with him and asked the officer at the front desk where booking was.
They were led into a room where he found the four of them, sitting at a table in a room with a holding cell and guarded by two officers.
"Okay, you guys. What happened?" Frohike glowered at Byers and Langly. The kid ran up to his mother who took him in her arms.
"It was his fault." Langly pointed his finger at Byers.
"They swore it was legit." Byers insisted.
"What are you talking about?"
"The tickets." Langly replied.
"What tickets?" Frohike said wearily.
"The All-Star tickets. We stumbled upon a rather large fencing operation." Byers said.
Langly was unhappy. "We didn't know it at first. And they had been under surveillance by the cops and we happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Wait, you mean you guys bought bogus tickets and were picked up for it while I'm stuck with the kid? Brilliant. I've of a mind to leave you guys here overnight to teach you a lesson."
"You wouldn't!" Langly sat up in his chair indignantly.
"Watch me, hippy."
"Frohike. What are your intentions?" Byers asked seriously.
"I'll get you guys out... but not tonight. Come on, kid. I'll get you some ice cream." He held his gloved hand out and the kid said bye to his mom who was glaring daggers at Frohike.
"Chocolate chip?" The kid grabbed onto Frohike's hand and looked up adoringly at the older man.
"Hey, whatever you want. Ta ta, guys and gals. See you in the morning."
Frohike felt justified in his form of punishment and left to the sound of outraged protests. Fine with him. He and a happy seven year old strolled out of the station to see if there were any ice cream parlors still open so late. The kid really wasn't so bad. He was willing to drop his mother with the promise of ice cream and his company. What the Hell? Kid's got taste. And the rest of the night went much more smoothly.
End
By: Brenna "Snakelady" Dawkins
~The Lone Gunmen belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Studios. This story is a work of fiction and was no way endorsed or acknowledged by C.C. Rated Pg. ~
"Can I have a glass of water?" Came the whining voice over the intercom Frohike now had second doubts about setting up for the kid.
"Can't you get it yourself? I'm in the middle of something. And besides, this is your fourth glass of water and I don't want to find out you peed all over my bed in the morning." Frohike irritably punched the call back button on his intercom that was an easy arms length from his computer station.
"I'm thirsty and it's hot."
Frohike ground his teeth. "It's okay to be thirsty and hot." It was something his dad had always said to him when he had been little. It had been a practical and useful countermove that he had never appreciated until now. Would he get much in return from the South American trade market for this kid? He doubted it. "Anyway, I bugged the door. It can't be opened until morning, if it is, it will trigger a laser that will blast you into ash if you so much as jiggle the handle. Go to bed. It can wait until morning."
There was awed silence on the other end. It was a boldfaced lie, but he hoped it worked. The kid was young enough to believe it, he hoped anyway. Ah, peace. The intercom went quiet at long last and he continued with his latest storyline. So he jumped and almost fell out of his chair when someone tapped him on the shoulder from behind.
"Laser didn't work. You must have hooked it up wrong." A small voice trying to sound grown up spoke softly from behind him.
"Kid.... what are you doing out of bed? What did I tell you?" Frohike half spun his chair about to face the doe eyed seven year old boy.
"But, I got lonely. Can't I just stay here with you?" Was the youth's reply.
"No. Your mom said bedtime was eight o'clock. It's almost ten thirty. Besides, this isn't a game I'm playing with and I don't want to explain to your mother why you're so tired in the morning." Frohike sighed. If he had any idea what he had let himself get talked into before this, he'd never had done it.
Byers had made a date with some girl he met online and she had a female friend and she didn't want to go out on a date with Byers unless her friend could go. But her friend had this kid. Langly gallantly agreed to partner the other woman and she agreed as long as she had a sitter for the kid. And that's how he got stuck at home watching a seven year old that had a million and one useless questions for him and a knack for annoying the now very frazzled aging computer nerd.
"But, it's a big bed. And it smells funny." The kid whimpered almost pathetically.
"That's my bed. It smells like me." Frohike frowned. He did NOT smell funny.
"When's Mommy going to come and get me?" The kid asked.
"In the morning. Six a.m. sharp." Frohike hoped and put a little alarm reminder on his computer to announce that joyous time. At least, that's what they had told him.
But that seemed like a lifetime away now.
"What are you doing?" The kid asked.
"I'm working, if you can call typing two words between a barrage of stupid questions working." Frohike said with his usual crypticness.
"What are you typing?"
He wanted to scream. Would the kid always counter his answers with another question?
"Go to bed."
The kid tried to forcibly crawl into his lap and Frohike just didn't have the energy to combat it so the kid happily slithered up onto his new perch.
"Spin!" The kid sat in his lap and bounced up and down painfully on his legs. "Spin!"
Frohike scowled. He'd never get this done before they had to take it to the printer's tomorrow.
"Spin!" The kid chanted.
If only to keep the kid from pounding that tailbone into his own leg, Frohike thought and obliged the kid by making the computer chair spin in place. He was really glad no one could see him do that. The kid squealed in delight and urged Frohike to go faster. It didn't last long. He was getting dizzy and the kid was shrieking with glee at the top of his lungs.
"Okay. That's enough. Now, get to bed." He commanded and tried to shove the kid off of his lap.
"Don't wanna go back upstairs. It's scary to go by myself." The kid did his best to remain on his perch and squirmed and then latched onto Frohike's arm and by clamping his legs around an intensely annoyed Lone Gunmen.
"You came down here with no problem."
The kid wouldn't hear any of it and wriggled until he was able to see the computer screen and grabbed onto the keyboard.
"HEY!" Frohike made to grab the precious commodity from the kid.
"You get Diablo II on this?" The kid proceeded to punch some keys.
"No. And I doubt you are allowed to play such a game anyway. Besides, that'd be on Langly's computer." Frohike yanked the keyboard out of the kid's hands. "Come on."
He led the kid to his bedroom and pointed to his bed but the kid shuffled his bare feet reluctantly. Frohike placed a hand on the kids back and ushered the kid to the bed.
"Mom always tucks me in." The kid whined as he slipped under the covers.
Frohike growled. "I'm not your mom." He sighed and then proceeded to tuck the kid in. "Now, go to sleep."
"No story?"
God help him!
"Fine. This is the tale of The Little Kid and the Three Hackers."
"Not heard of that one."
"Great. So shut up and let me tell it." Frohike sat on the bed. "Now, once upon a time, there was a little bra-er, kid who thought it would be neat to hang out with three of the coolest guys in town. Now, unfortunately, the really cool guys were not home, but the kid decided to break in and sift through all of their highly classified secrets."
"Is the kid called Goldilocks?"
"The kid doesn't have a name." Frohike said.
"Why not?"
"Doesn't need one."
"Everyone needs a name."
"No. It doesn't matter. It's just a story. Now shut up and let me tell it."
The phone rang. "At this hour?" Frohike picked it up. "Lone Gunmen." A pause. "What? You're kidding. You guys owe me BIG time for this." He slammed the phone back into the receiver.
"What's wrong?" The kid asked his hundredth thousandth question.
"Time for a road trip, kid." Frohike sighed.
"I get to stay up?" The kid asked excitedly.
"Not MY idea. Come on, get some shoes on."
The kid scrambled out of the bed and Frohike had to help him tie up his laces.
"Where are we going?"
"No where." Frohike grabbed his vest. "Move it or lose it!"
The kid hurried after Frohike who, after securing the warehouse, hopped into the van with the kid right behind. He sped out of the drive and onto the street grumbling to himself. It wasn't how he had planned to spend the night. He pulled up to the police station and dragged the kid with him and asked the officer at the front desk where booking was.
They were led into a room where he found the four of them, sitting at a table in a room with a holding cell and guarded by two officers.
"Okay, you guys. What happened?" Frohike glowered at Byers and Langly. The kid ran up to his mother who took him in her arms.
"It was his fault." Langly pointed his finger at Byers.
"They swore it was legit." Byers insisted.
"What are you talking about?"
"The tickets." Langly replied.
"What tickets?" Frohike said wearily.
"The All-Star tickets. We stumbled upon a rather large fencing operation." Byers said.
Langly was unhappy. "We didn't know it at first. And they had been under surveillance by the cops and we happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Wait, you mean you guys bought bogus tickets and were picked up for it while I'm stuck with the kid? Brilliant. I've of a mind to leave you guys here overnight to teach you a lesson."
"You wouldn't!" Langly sat up in his chair indignantly.
"Watch me, hippy."
"Frohike. What are your intentions?" Byers asked seriously.
"I'll get you guys out... but not tonight. Come on, kid. I'll get you some ice cream." He held his gloved hand out and the kid said bye to his mom who was glaring daggers at Frohike.
"Chocolate chip?" The kid grabbed onto Frohike's hand and looked up adoringly at the older man.
"Hey, whatever you want. Ta ta, guys and gals. See you in the morning."
Frohike felt justified in his form of punishment and left to the sound of outraged protests. Fine with him. He and a happy seven year old strolled out of the station to see if there were any ice cream parlors still open so late. The kid really wasn't so bad. He was willing to drop his mother with the promise of ice cream and his company. What the Hell? Kid's got taste. And the rest of the night went much more smoothly.
End