theme: Jenga!

Rigby bit his lip as he gradually eased the block out. The whole foundation of the wooden fort began to tremble. Carefully, he managed to slip the brick out of its' space. He wiped beads of sweat from his forehead.

"Ha!" he laughed, leaping up out of his seat. "In your face, Do-" The table underneath him shook slightly. In an instant, the Jenga construction had collasped. Wooden blocks began to spill off the sides of the coffee table. Rigby's face dropped. He faced his younger brother.

"Look what you did!" he screeched, tightening his grip on the piece in his palm. "This is all your fault! I felt you kick the table!"

"Cool it, Rigby," Benson warned. He pushed his chair backwards to stand up.

"No! You don't understand!"

"Bro, I didn't mean to-" Don started. He reached out to touch his brother's arm, but the gesture immediately backfired. Rigby slapped his hand away, jerking in the opposite direction. "I'm going out. None of you follow me," he ordered, making his way through the front door.

Don exchanged reluctant glances between Mordecai and Benson. "Shouldn't we go after him?" he questioned.

Benson sighed. "No. I think Rigby just needs to blow off some steam.. by himself."

Mordecai directed his attention towards Don. "Yeah dude. Don't sweat it," he told him. "Rigby's always acting like it's his time of the month anyways."

The porcelain plate being set on cherrywood let loose a soft clinking sound. Eileen peered over his shoulder. "Why the long face?" she asked. Eileen pulled out a wooden stool beside him.

She glanced briefly at her wrist watch. "And the late-night snack?"

Rigby's brow lowered into a scowl. He made sure to avoid contact with her curious brown eyes. "I'm fine, okay? So leave me alone," he murmered, taking a bite out of his french-toast. Crumbs sprinkled the glossy serving table.

Eileen impelled her hand forward. "Isn't this a Jenga piece? Oh, I adore Jenga!" she proclaimed, the wooden brick in her palm.

"Shouldn't you be waiting other tables?" Rigby snapped at her. Eileen's happy-go-lucky demeanor evaporated.

"What's the matter? For real, Rigby.. I'm worried about you!"

His defenses arose as he felt her large eyes continuously probe him for answers. "I told you- nothing's wrong. Just let me eat my french toast in peace!"

"It's Don, isn't it?" Eileen's voice cracked as she spoke, softening up Rigby a bit.

"How- how did you know?" he replied, finally allowing eye-contact with her.

"You told me that he was coming a week ago, remember? I had firgured he'd probably do something to set you off like this... you always do become more.. annoyed, when he comes to visit," Eileen explained, toying with the Jenga piece. Rigby frowned.

"He's just- I don't know. It doesn't... ugh! It's hard to explain."

"Does it have to do with the Jenga game?"

"No," he responded. "The whole game thing was stupid to get mad about. I think all this.. this..."

"Emotion?" Eileen offered up. "Tension?"

"Tension. All this tension between us gets in the way sometimes. And yeah, I lost the game six times in a row. Six! I looked stupid in front of everyone," Rigby moaned, hanging his head.

"Rigby, Jenga isn't a game of wits. It's a game of luck."

"Everybody expects me to be better because I'm the older brother," he went on, ignoring Eileen. "Everybody thinks I'm a moron."

"No," Eileen said, her tone more firm. "You're not, by any means, a moron. Now you get back out there and show everyone what you're made of!"

"But-"

"No 'but's, Rigby. You're going to walk back to the Park House and show those chumps how to really play Jenga!" Eileen cheered. She placed the block back in his hand, reassuring him with a smile.

"Whatever you say, coach," he replied, getting back up. "And.. Eileen?"

"Yeah?"

Rigby offered her a small grin, forming at the sides of his mouth.

"Thanks."

A/N: ONLY 49 LEFT! WOOO!