Family Behavior.
-(1)- Additions. Chapter Four.
She was in the first corner of the living room, typing furiously on that silver laptop she had bought with saved baking contest winnings, open schoolbooks surrounding her self-made "prison." Her eyes were focused on the screen, occasionally flicking to the left where a notebook was rapidly filling with pencil marks in a seemingly alien language where only numbers and symbols made up the characters. Even the name sounded alien: Algebra. And, apparently, she barely understood it, because this was the ninth time she was redoing this one problem.
'Incorrect answer' the computer read.
Make that the tenth. She tore the page out and crumbled it in her fist before tossing it at the overflowing wastebasket in the corner. The ball bounced off the piles of other balls lying on the floor.
"No...!" She groaned loudly, burying her face in her palms, her blond hair curtains for her shame. Her eyes ached with exhaustion and strain from staring at the screen—in glasses!—for hours. "How do I keep getting this wrong?!"
She tried again.
Again.
Again.
Make her total... Thirteen.
How, how could she be this dumb?! She only had one more problem in this set and she would be finished with her homework until next weekend, after Halloween. Not like she liked the holiday much, people took it too far for her tastes, but she did appreciate the breaks between the suicide missions her brain was always on.
Claudius, his father's blue plaid scarf wrapped around his neck, popped up to the left of her laptop screen, his face ridiculously cute and questioning. Pink spikes of hair almost matching the length of their father's blond mop danced haphazardly around his blushed face and brushed her math notebook.
"Hey, big sister!" He stared at her with those brilliant dark blue eyes, wide and vivid orbs of curiosity. "Whatcha doings?"
She was envious of his eyes. They were the same color as hers, as their mother's, but somehow Carlisle was the only one with glasses. The universe wasn't known for being fair.
But otherwise, she absolutely adored her nearly four year old brother. Like everyone else.
"Math." Carlisle spat on algebra's grave.
"What's that?" Claudius asked, sitting beside his sister, kicking over books in the progress. "Sounds like fun."
"It's not," She exhaled deeply through her nose. "...What are you doing now?"
Claudius was playing with her books, making a tower out of them. Occasionally, an illustration would catch his eye and he would be captivated by it... for about seven seconds. "They're like blocks," he noted, not having any trouble with the heft of the textbooks.
"They're a lot heavier."
"Yeah." He thought for a moment, his eyebrows mashing together and pouting. "I want cookies, big sister," he suddenly demanded.
"We have chips-ahoy in the bottom cabinet." She slid her laptop closer to her face, blocking him out.
He frowned; as if cookie location knowledge wasn't enough for him, he pushed her computer out of her face and stared at her. "I want your cookies."
She frowned back at him. "I'm working now. I'll make some later."
"But I want some now."
"You have to wait."
Claudius pouted and fell back dramatically. His head made a dull sound on the carpeted floor when it hit and he stretched out, his little grey boots on her keyboard and his pink hands on the cold tile of the kitchen floor. "I don't wanna wait..." He whined dramatically.
Carlisle kept her eyes on the screen. "I have to figure out this problem."
"Why?"
"So I can graduate."
"Why?"
"So I can get into a good college."
"Why?"
"So I can get a good job."
"Why?"
Carlisle looked up and paused. Her mind struggled in thought. How could she beat the childish question of "Why?"
"I... Don't know," she sighed, slapping her laptop closed after shoving his feet away. "I guess I don't know."
"So why you doing it?" Claudius asked, picking at his outstretched bottom lip idly.
"Society?" She stood up and maneuvered away from the piles of books, walking to the kitchen, motioning for him to follow.
"Boo," he said, climbing onto one of the barstools and kneeling into the cushion. "...You gonna make me cookies now?" He asked, excited.
Carlisle smiled shrewdly at him. "No. I'm giving you chips-ahoy." She kneeled down and tossed the blue packet at him.
Claudius made a whining sound but lunged for the pack and tore it open, noshing on the small brown circles.
Carlisle stole a few of the cookies and sat on the floor across the refrigerator. She opened her laptop and began typing again.
As her failing number rose to twenty-seven, Claudius' hair fell into her face like a pink curtain. Crumbs fell down onto the keyboard. She heard munching in her ears and tried her best to ignore it. But she had about as much success as she had with this problem. None.
"Claudy," she brushed the crumbs away. "What are you doing?"
Munch-munch-munch. "Nothings." Munch-munch-munch. "I thought you were done." Munch-munch-munch.
"I was trying to keep you out of my hair."
His hand tussled her hair, getting a few strands tangled in her glasses. She expertly flicked them out of the legs and kept typing with the other hand. "Leave me alone, Claudy," she said calmly.
"I want you to make me cookies."
"One: you already had some; two: you'll ruin your appetite. Mom's making dinner, remember?"
Claudius brightened, his eyes large and cheery. "So we're having pizza?!"
"Okay, ow." Lightning said, picking the boy up by his abdomen and squeezing his tummy, making him squeal. "You hurt my feelings, little boy."
Carlisle looked up and watched her mother tickle her brother, his offense punished.
"But mama, you can't cook!" He said, kicking his feet to get out of her grip but failing. "That's why we always have pizza when you burn dinner!"
She eyed him with a smirk. "Oh, is that true?"
Claudius nodded enthusiastically, still flailing like a maniac. "Yeah, mommy! You can't cook!"
"Okay, that's enough," Lightning said seriously, setting him down on a barstool. "Stop insulting me."
Carlisle detected a flush of pink in her mother's cheeks. Her mother was always embarrassed that she couldn't do the whole "doting mother and housewife" thing like she had expected. It hadn't come naturally to her like it was "supposed" to, that's why most of the duties fell to either Snow or Carlisle and now, Claudius.
But she could obsess over cleaning the floors as if she had OCD, so that was something housewifey.
Her cheeks became a deep shade of pink.
"Mom, don't be like that," Carlisle said, turning her head to meet her mother's gaze. "Don't be embarrassed about the thing."
"I'm not embarrassed!" Lightning said, her voice cracking with the emotion. "Just drop it, both of you."
Carlisle made a sound but kept her focus on her work. "If we're being preemptive, I want yellow peppers and pineapple on my pizza."
"Eww... I want extra cheese and those little fishies!"
"Anchovies?" Carlisle stuck her tongue out in disgust. "Gross. How can you eat those?"
"You eat fruit on yours!"
"So do you. Tomatoes are fruit."
"I don't eat tomatoes. I eat pizza sauce."
"What do you think the red is?"
Claudius gaped at her, his tiny world destroyed.
A hushed cry if horror escaped his parted lips. "Noooo..."
"I said, 'drop it!'" Lightning snapped, her blush in full force as she spun around to find a cookbook. How could they be so sure that she would fail...? "I can do this, but thanks for your overwhelming faith in me!"
"Hey, mom?" Carlisle raised a finger and pointed to the cabinets above the refrigerator. "The cookbooks are over there."
"I knew that."
The siblings exchanged sorry looks. Claudius climbed onto the counter, scooting over to where his sister was and jumping down. He pressed his ear against her shoulder and covered his other with his chocolate covered palm.
He didn't like the sound of the smoke alarm.
()-()-()-()
The loud, shrill beeping pierced the still evening air and Carlisle waved a red kitchen towel in front of the smoke alarm planted by the stairs as Lightning ran water over the "overly-browned" meat. Claudius was inside a cabinet, his hands over his sensitive ears as he waited for the hated noise to stop.
Smoke and the smell of burning filled the kitchen and wafted up the stairs, setting off the other alarm in the hallway. Set off by the beeping of the main alarm, the others scattered around the house joined in the grating choir. In moments like these, Lightning was glad Snow had convinced her that installing sprinklers along with the smoke detectors was overkill; she was rather fond of the watercolor paintings in the house.
She was so stupid! How did she not know that the stove was on ten instead of one? She could've proved Carlisle's paranoid delusions correct and burned the house down. In fact, the girl's hands were trembling in fear and panic as she fanned the air. Carlisle's chest heaved, her face sweaty, pale and green.
Lightning grabbed the towel from her and said, "Go upstairs. In the bathroom." When Carlisle gave her that martyred expression Lightning hated, she pushed her in the back gently, nudging her to the stairs. "Now; before you pass out."
Carlisle looked a bit disgusted with herself, she thought she could get over her fears of raging fire, but, ultimately, relief flooded her face. She bolted up the stairs in that unnatural way she did and Lightning heard the bathroom door slam shut over the incessant—and alarming!—beep, beep, beep, beep.
One panicky child down...
A touch of a button turned the hood fan above the stove on, sucking out smoke. When the beeping faded, Claudius opened his hiding cabinet and poked his head out warily. His hands were near his ears, ready to fly back on them if the noise returned. His eyes raked the room with suspicion before they settled on his mother, who was leaning, completely and utterly defeated, against the opposite counter.
"Is it overs?" He asked and she nodded in response.
"Yeah, it's over," Lightning said, sighing in disappointment. She motioned for him to come out—ignoring the obvious smell of chocolate emanating from his mouth—and he hugged her knees, burying his face in her legs.
"...I wike your 'ooking, mama," his voice was muffled by her legs, but she caught most of his sentence.
She smiled, even though she knew that was clearly a lie. If she didn't burn it, she over-salted something, or lacked the patience for nuanced recipes or just made something taste plain terrible. Hell, the boy knew that takeout was synonymous with her entering the kitchen with any intent aside from snacking. But there was something oddly comforting about his little white lie.
Nearly four years ago, when he was still inside of her, it was like he could read her moods and tried to correct them by either making her happy with a small, gentle nudge or knock her out of depression with a strong kick. Now that he had developed speech and other vital functions, he used his words and tiny hugs to soothe her. She was glad that they didn't lose that emotional bond when he was out of her and in the world.
She ruffled his spikes lovingly and he gazed up at her with those blue orbs of pure adoration. He smiled back, his mouth smeared with melted chocolate.
"Come on," Lightning said, taking his sticky hand and leading him to the sink. "Let's clean your face up."
-()-()-()-()-
Claudius wiggled his deboned, baked anchovy at his sister making her swat the fish away with her phone. He laughed loudly as his mother scolded him for dirtying the carpet in the living room and Carlisle tried to clean her screen.
"Seriously! That carpet's new, Claudius!"
"Sorry, mama," he said when he caught his breath again. "You don't like the fishies, Carlie?" He teased his older sister, who was glaring at him.
"Do you like the fruit?" She asked darkly, her eyes narrow and cold. "The tomatoes?"
Claudius whined and turned to his father, who was trying to salve Lightning's broken cooking spirit. "Daddy, is pizza sauce really apple sauce?" He asked adorably.
Snow thought about the question, mostly about where in the hell it was coming from...
"Not like you think, no," he cocked an eyebrow. "Why are you asking?"
The little boy pointed an accusing finger at his sister, who gave him a bored look. "'Cause Carlie says its like apple sauce!"
"I distinctly told you, 'love apple sauce.'" Carlisle mumbled, her mouth full, sliding her finger up as she read her screen. "It's an archaic term for tomato. It's on Wikipedia."
"Can you please stop doing that to your brother?" Snow asked exasperatedly. "You'll destroy his faith in the stability of the universe."
Carlisle swallowed and shrugged. "He was bothering me when I was working."
"As petty as your mom..." Snow muttered lowly, but Lightning still managed to catch it and glared at him. "What?"
Her voice was cold. "I heard that. I'm not petty."
"You've never heard yourself, then," Snow said, earning him a smack upside his head. "Oh, that's it..."
He chased after her as she ran around the kitchen, pizza sauce on his finger.
Carlisle and Claudius laughed as their father smeared their mother's hair with red streaks. He caught her in the cage of his arms and pressed a kiss to her check, even as she tried to kick out of his grip.
"Stop!" Lightning laughed and gave fighting up. "Snow! Stop!"
"Not until you apologize," Snow said, teasing. "Set a good example for your kids."
"Let me go!"
"Apologize!" Snow squeezed her stomach.
A sharp burst of laughter escaped her. "I - I'm sorry! Okay?"
"That wasn't convincing," Snow chuckled. "With more conviction."
"I'll kill you if you don't put me down!"
-()-()-()-()-
Her head was in the cradle of her elbows, pressed against the cool glass of the table. Her hair covered most of her face as she snoozed lightly, her even breath fogging the glass surface. The screen of her laptop was dark, having fallen into it's own sleep an hour or so ago.
Outside, the near-full moon was reflected by the sea, the bent light casting strange shadows through the windows. The light made her hair glow in an eerie way, similar to the ghosts that her parents joked she resembled.
Snow picked her up, her ectoplasmic hair draping down his arm and sighed. Trust Lightning's kid to work themselves to exhaustion. His finger brushed the laptop, making it whir loudly in the quiet house. She didn't even respond to the sudden sound with anything more than a heavy exhale.
As they—to be honest, it was mostly him—he passed through the kitchen with his feathery daughter in his arms, he heard her whimper and felt her twitch, as in she was having a nightmare. He stroked her hair with his thumb and her face was calm again.
She yawned and rolled into her side after he gently laid her on her bed.
"Night, Carlie," he whispered, closing the door behind him.
Down below, her laptop whirred and its screen light made the walls glow blue. The screen read, after so many tries, 'Correct,' her efforts rewarded.