Page 59 of Saving Little Clark

Chapter 25: Clark

Hours passed in a blur of giggles and imaginary play, the three of us huddled around the coffee table with our stuffies in tow. I had my beloved Bananas, of course. Alex clutched his ratty stuffed puppy, Bingo, the one he swore up and down was named after the song and not the dog, thank you very much. And Elijah presided over the whole affair with his plush rabbit, Mr. Hoppington, clasped to his chest.

In the end, the villainous Baron von Broccoli was defeated, and the land was saved. The heroic trio retired to the royal gardens for a well-deserved tea party, regaling each other with tales of their exploits. Which, of course, led to the inevitable Daddy talk.

"... and then, even though I just wanted to color, my Daddy said it was time for a nap! Right in the middle of the day, like a baby! Can you believe that?" Alex threw his hands up, nearly sending his teacup flying.

I smothered a grin, reaching over to pat his knee consolingly. "Aww, poor Alex. How dare Uncle Will make you get some rest.”

Alex stuck his tongue out at me. "Naps are dumb," he grumbled, bottom lip jutting. "I'm a big boy, I don't need 'em. Tell him how silly naps are for big boys like us, Elijah."

But Elijah just shrugged, hugging Mr. Hoppington a bit closer. "I dunno, I kinda like naps. My daddies sing lullabies. Naps aren't so bad, long as there's cuddles and cookies."

"Traitor!" Alex gasped, jabbing an accusatory finger. "You're supposed to be on my side. Now Clark's gonna be all smug, thinking he's got the high ground."

It was a well-established fact that Alex was the most resistant to anything even remotely resembling structured downtime. Naps, quiet play, even just sitting still for five consecutive minutes... it was all met with the kind of dramatics one would expect from a kid being asked to eat a plateful of Brussels sprouts.

I just shrugged, trying for an innocent look that fooled exactly no one. "I don't know what you mean, Allie-gator. I would never dream of lording my superior naptime opinions over you. I'm far too mature and humble for that."

Alex narrowed his eyes, looking for all the world like an angry kitten. It was, frankly, adorable.

"I'll show you superior," he grumbled, lunging across the table in a playful attempt to grab me. But in his pique, he'd forgotten about the delicate dishes laid out between us.

Plastic cups and saucers went flying, bouncing off the carpet and ricocheting wildly. The teapot wobbled once, twice, then tipped precariously over the edge, its lid popping off and skittering under the couch with a forlorn rattle.

Giggles bubbled up and spilled over, quickly escalating into big, belly-deep guffaws. We collapsed into a pile of flailing limbs and hiccupping laughter, stuffies squashed between us as we howled.

Our giggle fit was interrupted by the sound of pounding feet and concerned exclamations.

"Is everyone okay? We heard a crash."

"If you little monsters broke my limited-edition Doctor Who tea set, so help me..."

Our Daddies skidded into the playroom, eyes wide and chests heaving. They took in the scene with mountingincredulity - the three of us sprawled in a tangle of flushed faces and hitching laughter.

The tense line of their shoulders eased, expressions shifting from worry to fond exasperation.

"Well, well," Oliver drawled, hands on his hips like a little league coach surveying a team of unruly players. "What have we here, hmm? A trio of giggly gremlins, from the looks of it."

"And what are giggling gremlins doing in my nice, clean playroom?" Daddy added, fighting valiantly to contain a smile. "Surely my sweet, well-behaved boys would never make such a ruckus. Must be some other scamps, run amok while their daddies weren't looking."

Alex rolled onto his back, grinning up at them. "It was an accident, Uncle Brody. Honest and true. The tea set just felt a little wobbly. Wanted to join in on the fun, see what all the giggling was about."

Uncle Will snorted. "Is that right, pumpkin? The tea set got a case of the sillies, all on its own? No help from any little boys who don't know their own strength?"

Alex nodded solemnly, eyes round and earnest. "That's right, Daddy. We were perfect angels, minding our manners and using our gentle hands. Just like you taught us."

Elijah made a choking noise, face going red.

"Alex!" he squeaked, caught between scandalized and delighted. "That's fibbing, you can't fib to the daddies."

Alex waved him off. "The prefer the termselective truth-telling.A nuanced art form, really.”

The Daddies exchanged a series of long-suffering looks over our heads, but even they couldn't hide their twitching lips.

"Selective truth-telling," Uncle Lance echoed, shaking his head with a rueful grin. "Dear lord, what are we going to do with you boys? It's a miracle you haven't ended up on the naughty list yet, the way you carry on."

"Aw, Daddy Lance! Don't even joke about that!" Elijah gasped, sitting bolt upright in sudden distress. "Santa won't put us on the naughty list, will he? Not for a little accident like this?"

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