"Oi Owen," Cal called across the room. "Would you cut it out? Sit down!" Owen dropped out of sight behind the back of the couch but Cal could still hear him giggling. "Lewis, be a big brutha!" Cal instructed from the dining room table where he had his laptop set up to write. He could have just gone upstairs but Gillian had asked him to keep an eye on the boys because she needed to work in the other room, where she had claimed space as her office. Of course, Cal could have just gone in there to sit with her but she knew their youngest, he made trouble when he was bored, which was why she specifically asked Cal to keep an eye on him.

It was pouring outside, absolutely pouring, which it had done all weekend. Even Cal was feeling like he might have cabin fever. Owen was expelling his pent up energy by jumping on the couch cushions and Lewis was playing on the carpet behind the couch, where they had a basket of toys and a bookshelf of their books, but he was also smirking, either enjoying his young brother being silly or enjoying that he was getting into trouble.

It went quiet again, so Cal could hear the gushing of rain on the roof and in the gutters of the house. It felt a bit like they were drowning. Lewis stood up and talked to Owen over the back of the couch. Cal didn't quite catch whatever was said and couldn't see his hands either to read the signs. He turned back to his work to try and figure out where he was up to. Several years ago, after his accident, he had found about twenty five pages of a new book. And they were good. And now finally, he thought it might be a good time to actually finish it. His publisher wasn't harassing him, apparently he'd not accepted an advance, but had gone about writing it of his own volition. His publisher hadn't actually known anything about it, but now they did, they were interested.

Out of the corner of his eye Cal saw Lewis crouch down to his elaborate castle and defensive wall system. Owen had been banished for being too much of a hindrance. Cal had tried to encourage Lewis to let the younger boy play until there were frustrated tears and hitting. Lewis had gone into time out. Owen had been removed from the game. Cal was kind of hoping Lewis would do something else with Owen, keep the four year old entertained, but nope. He was set on his game and Owen was set on doing something stupid. Cal could tell. He had that mischievous look in his eye. Just so long as he didn't jump on the couch and break it, or worse, fall off and break himself.

Owen started giggling again and his head peeked up above the edge of the couch. Cal glanced over. "I can see you!" He called and Owen laughed again, disappearing. Cal chuckled to himself. The kid had some serious spunk. He was a little dude. At day care he was incredibly popular but he was also frequently the one to break something, or suggest they climb trees. It was seriously going to be just a matter of time before someone got hurt. Cal hoped it was someone else's kid. That was mean. He hoped Owen learned his lesson before someone did get hurt. Some lessons had to be learned the hard way. Some lessons could be better off learnt in a mild way.

Cal was absorbed in his book before he realised Lewis was yelling at his brother. He turned to find nine year old Lewis standing amongst his game and Owen was jumping on the couch again. He got up and approached. "Oi! You jump on that couch one more time Owen and it's time out!" Cal hollered. Owen shrunk back a bit and lost his smile but he didn't seem particularly bothered.

"I told him to stop," Lewis offered.

"I know Lew. Thank you," Cal praised.

"Dad can you play with us?" Lewis asked, walking with his father back to the table where he was working.

"I'm just workin' on somethin'," Cal told him. "Can you give me ten minutes?" Because apparently he was going to have to actively engaged both the boys in something to toil away the last hours of Sunday. Especially with Trouble over there clearly unable to entertain himself. Especially because Cal had told Gillian he would. Ten minutes should be enough time to at least finish his thoughts and save the document. He might trade in a few hours later in the evening himself.

Cal was just about to sit again when there was a loud bang and the sound of a lot of items falling. He turned, surprised, to find Lewis standing in the middle of the room, shoulders hunched up with a fright and the tall book case, that was at the end of the couch, knocked to the side, so it rested against the smaller book case, that held all the boys' books. The taller bookcase was meant to be for older books and a few trinkets and photos. To Cal's horror, he could see one of the very few pictures he had of his mother had crashed to the ground, obviously catching the edge of the other book shelf on its way. It was face down now on the carpet, glass around it.

"Owen," Lewis breathed.

"What happened?" Cal approached, knowing what had happened, but at least giving his son a chance to explain before he lost it. It was so he didn't lose it.

"It was accident," Owen told him, blue eyes wide, horrified.

No, Cal was freaking horrified. "I told you," he started, the anger boiling up, barely under control, but still, under control. "I asked you several times to not jump on the couch." His voice got louder but he restrained from yelling. Only just. "This is why I asked you not to. What if you'd fallen and cracked your head open on the table?" He gestured angrily and Owen shrank back further; harsh 'hurt' and 'fall' signs. "Time out," Cal snapped. "Right now. Five minutes."

"Four," Owen mumbled.

"Five. One for every year of your age and an extra one because you broke somethin' that was precious to me," Cal shot back quickly, feeling his legs start to tremble. It wasn't even the picture. It was the rain and the picture and frustration.

Lewis had stooped to pick up the photo gingerly, as if he might break it some more. Cal could see the glass in the frame had shattered and the picture was bent forward, concave; it could be scratched, damaged.

Cal turned on Owen as he walked around the couch. Time out was just as beneficial for the kid as it was for the parent. At least, that's how Cal saw it right now because if he had to deal with his four year old he was pretty sure he might throttle him. A five minute time out would give Owen time to think about what he'd done and maybe how to make it right, and it gave Cal a chance to calm the hell down again.

"What happened?" Gillian asked at the kitchen door way, her hands reaching out for Owen, who scuffed along with his head down.

Cal turned to see her. "He's on time out," he shot like it was an accusation and she withdrew her comfort like Owen had the plague. Gillian approached and Cal got closer to Lewis, trying to be careful because he was in socks. He took the photo and studied it. The image didn't seem to be damaged but the frame was shattered.

"That's Nana," Lewis told his mother.

"Oh," Gillian noted quietly. She surveyed the toppled bookcase and the glass. She gave Cal's arm a squeeze as she went to get some newspaper. Lewis helped her pick up the pieces of glass and told her what he'd seen and Cal fumed for a while, then put the picture on the breakfast bar to get a new frame later. He righted the book case and straightened up the books. Lewis put the other items that had fallen back, standing on the couch to reach properly. They worked in silence. "Cal," Gillian noted softly.

"What?" He growled.

She gave him an unimpressed expression, her warning for him to not take it out on her. "It's time," she told him softly. Cal gave a sigh and went to walk around her, to go and find Owen who should be sitting about half way down the hall downstairs, facing the wall. Gillian grabbed his wrist as he went by and he looked up at her. "Be gentle."

"I will," he insisted but she was right. She could probably read the anger in him. The room was incredibly quiet when he left. Owen was in the hall, in the exact spot for 'time out'. He was facing the wall, his legs crossed in front of him, his elbows resting on his thighs, his chin cupped glumly within his hands. He heard Cal approach and looked up. "Hey," Cal greeted.

"Time's up?"

"Time's up buddy," Cal sat himself next to his son, who shifted to his knees. He was still such a skinny wee thing. Just like his big brother was. Still.

"I'm sorry Dad," Owen told him.

"When I tell you to do somethin' Owen, I expect you to do it," Cal told him gently.

"It was accident," he repeated, his face sorrowful now.

"I know it was darlin' but you know there's a reason why I tell you to do somethin'. Because it's eitha not safe for you or because it's not safe for someone else or I'm helpin' you learn to be a big person."

Owen nodded pitifully.

"That's my job Wen."

"I know," his voice waivered, on the verge of tears.

Cal wasn't even trying to lay it on thick. He reached out his arms and Owen fell into them instantly. "I'm sorry Dad."

Cal hugged him tightly, rubbed his back a little, then turned his head to plant a kiss against his son's ear. "I know you are. I accept your apology. I know it wasn't on purpose. But what did you learn?"

"No jump on the couch."

"Yeah," Cal agreed, his voice gentle again. "And what else?" He pulled Owen back a little to see his face.

"Um," Owen fingered the seam of Cal's shirt at his shoulder. "Do the things you ask me."

"Yeah," Cal agreed more firmly this time. "Thank you. Are you gonna do that from now on?" Owen nodded but he probably wouldn't. That was Owen. And that was a normal response for a four year old. But at least for a while, he might think twice about it.

"Is Nana all right?"

"She'll be just fine," Cal responded kindly.