"Hey! Where's Chris?" she asked, noticing Jeanine herself was behind the wheel.

"God only knows." Jeanine said, putting the car in gear and starting off down the residential street at a rather fast pace.

"But you don't have your license yet." Timber pointed out. "In fact, you won't be sixteen until February."

"But I have my permit." Jeanine pointed out. "And so does Angie." she added, gesturing towards Angela who sat in the passenger's seat. "And Angela gets her license in September."

"But two permits don't equal a license." Timber quipped, fastening her seat belt.

Jeanine peeled onto the main road and sped insanely fast down the street towards the mall.

"Ben has his permit too." she pointed out with a grin.

Timber looked over at Ben who was sitting in the back seat with her.

"And I do remember a certain somebody driving home after she and Scott Moffatt decided to do some liver killing with very expensive tequila." Jeanine continued.

Timber sat back in her seat, knowing her friend had a point. "Yeah well... Scott was in no condition to drive, and we do not refer to it as ‘liver killing’ Jen. We prefer the phrase: 'exercising the wine-is-fine-but-liquor-is-quicker theory'."

Ben chuckled. "Either way you slice it, you'll still be paying for it when you're in your forties." he commented.

"Where's Kelly?" Timber asked.

"She had an orthodontist’s appointment today, remember?" Angela replied.

"Oh yeah. Is she going to get rid of her retainer?"

"Probably not, it doesn't seem to be helping." Ben stated with a chuckle.

"True." Timber laughed.

Jeanine turned up the radio as one of her favorite songs came on.

* * *

"Ahhh.... a bed." Clint sighed. "No more airplane seats, no more nasty airplane food... civilization."

Dave laughed weakly, coming out of the bathroom. "You act as if we were just stranded in the dessert for forty days and forty nights." he quipped, using a Biblical reference.

"Well it feels like it!" Clint exclaimed, kicking off his shoes with minor difficulty.

"I just want to go to bed; and eleven hour flight and not a wink of sleep." Dave commented, taking off his own shoes. "I need to close my eyes before I forget how."

"It's only like five in the afternoon back in Calgary. There's a nine hour difference over here." Clint explained.

"I know that." Dave snapped, in the mood to be caustic.

"PMS much?" Clint asked sarcastically.

"It's two in the morning over here Clint. My watch is still set at Calgary time. Therefore I know what fucking time it is over there and I can add and subtract, therefore I can figure out the fucking time difference." Dave said, pulling back the sheets. He began to strip.

"Hiss-hiss meow!" Clint giggled. "Retract those claws."

"Ugh! Shut up!!! This morning you were dead to the idea of talking to anyone and now you're all smiles. Just when everyone wants some damned sleep.

"You mean to tell me that you have no jetlag whatsoever?" Clint asked.

Dave turned to him, only in his boxers. "Not when I didn't sleep on the plane, went to bed at two, Calgary time, last night, and we have to get up at nine tomorrow morning." he clarified.

"Today morning... this morning I mean." Clint corrected, starting to undress as well. "And dude, your fly's open."

"I don't care." Dave commented, adjusting the waistband of his pants to better conceal his utility. "Let's just go to sleep." he said, getting into bed.

"Fine, but if you keep me up with your snoring, I'm resulting to asphyxiation to keep you quiet." Clint informed him.

"Whatever." Dave mumbled miserably, crawling under the sheets. He was so tired, he could barely turn off the light.

"Dave, my sheets are cold." Clint announced after a moment.

"Big deal Clint, I really don't care."

"Can I sleep in your bed with you?" Clint requested.

"Why? Just because your sheets are cold?" Dave asked in disbelief and annoyance.

"No, I'm just lonely over here. I need someone to be with me." Clint whimpered.

"Oh my God! You sound like a five year old!" Dave exclaimed wanting to kill his brother.

Clint grinned in the darkness, happy to get on his brother's nerves. "Come on Davey! I'll never get to sleep unless I get to sleep with you!"

Dave growled angrily. "Kick me once and you're getting shoved out." he said sternly, pulling back his sheets. He just wanted to get some rest and there was no use wasting time with an argument.

"Thanks Davey." Clint said happily, bouncing over to his brother's bed. He climbed under the sheets and snuggled up against his triplet's back.

"Get the fuck off of me!" Dave exclaimed.

"I'm cold." Clint complained.

"Why, do you prefer dead?" Dave threatened.

"You're mean." Clint whimpered.

"I SWEAR Clint. If you do not get the hell off of me I will honestly make you wish you had a nice set of cold sheets to sleep on."

"It's just cold in this room Dave. Aren't you cold?" Clint continued.

"No!" Dave snapped. "Now shut up! It's bad enough you want to sleep with me like some deranged puppy, but now you're keeping me up? If you aren't sleeping by the time I count to five, your ass is grass!"

"Goodnight to you too!" Clint giggled, defiantly in the playing mood.

"Goodnight." Dave said, shutting his eyes and beginning to drift off.

"I love you." Clint added, scooting closer to his brother.

"Mmmhmm." Dave murmured.

"I said I love you!" Clint repeated, kneeing his brother in the backside.

"I love you too damnit! Shut up!" Dave snapped.

Clint snickered once again. The next sound that was heard in the room was the sound of Dave's light snoring.

* * *

"Bob! No! We are NOT going to have a song called 'Baby's fine ass'! I honestly don't think Dad will take kindly to the title, let alone the kind of lyrics you're suggesting." Scott said firmly, strumming out a few random chords on his guitar as he spoke. "We aren't Sir Mix Alot!"

"Oh shut up Scott. It was a valid idea!" Bob insisted, laying back on his bed in only a pair of boxers.

"No it is NOT a valid idea Bob! Baby's fine ass? What the hell are you thinking?" Scott too was only in his underwear with his guitar nestled in his lap as he sat Indian style on his hotel bed.

"Okay, 'Her Nice Butt'. That's better right?" Bob asked.

"No! That's even worse!" Scott exclaimed.

"Yeah, well coming from a guy who once wrote a poem called 'Cottage Cheese Thighs'..." Bob trailed off.

"That was a joke! I wasn't actually going to write a song out of it!" Scott defended himself.

"Yeah, well it would appeal to our fans that do actually have cottage cheese thighs." Bob pointed out, clasping his hands behind his head.

"Okay, I've heard enough." Scott clarified. "You've officially lost the license to speak."

"You're so narrow minded Scott." Bob insisted. "I say we do a few songs that are more... mature."

"Mature? You call 'Baby's fine ass' more mature? Mature is one thing, triple X is another!" Scott said.

"Damn, you know I already had all the lyrics written out too." Bob said with a pout. "It went like this: 'Oooh baby, when you bend over in that skirt, I just want to slap that ass, grab a cheek and..."

"Shut up!!!" Scott cut him off. "... before we have to put a parental advisory sticker on our next album!"

"Curse this blasted jet lag!" Bob called out. "I know I won't be able to get any sleep for a while, and we have to get up so early!"

"Well then next time don't sleep on the plane." Scott said, setting his guitar back into it's case and pulling back the sheets.

"On an eleven hour flight Scott?" Bob asked skeptically. "I don't think so."

"Well you seemed pretty content with that Power Ranger's coloring book you had..." Scott teased.

Bob pulled back the sheets on his own bed. "Up your Scott. At least it's something to do! You just sat there and pouted the whole time!"

"Yeah well you don't see me bitching now, do ya?" Scott pointed out.

"For once in my entire life I can actually say no." Bob replied haughtily.

"Shaddap." Scott said, flicking off the light as Bob got between his sheets.

"This sucks. Me and Timber would be chillin' right about now." Bob stated, staring into the darkness and waiting for his eyes to get used to the light, or lack thereof.

"Oooh, does someone have a little crush?" Scott crooned.

"No." Bob replied calmly. "I just miss hanging out with the girls."

"Nuh-uh. You aren't pulling that with me. You and Timber have to have something going on. You probably just claim to be friends so Dad'll let her sleep in your bed with you, though that still wouldn't be a reason and I really don't understand that to the day." Scott said, all in one breath.

"Dad doesn't know." Bob said softly.

"What?!?!?!" Scott exclaimed in disbelief. “And I thought I was the bad one.”

"Please don't tell him Scott... he'll be so mad." Bob begged.

"Like I even want to talk to Dad let alone have a conversation with him." Scott retorted. "So where does he think she sleeps when she stays over?"

"He thinks she sleeps in the guest room... Scott you have to swear not to say anything!"

"I won't Bob! Damn, I just said that!" Scott snapped. "So does she even know Dad doesn't know? Does she know she's a key participant in the deception of your father? And what about when you sleep over there?"

"I tell him I'm sleeping at Ben's... Scott... no she doesn't know. I told her that Dad was cool with it, but you know he wouldn't be." Bob pointed out.

"Hell yeah I know he wouldn't be! He goes spastic when Angie and I are alone in my room! Whether the door's open or closed."

"Well he doesn't so much care about Tim and I alone in a closed room, I think it's just you Scotty, but he will care that we're sleeping in the same bed."

"Do you guys ever... do stuff?" Scott asked, a mischievous grin forming on his lips.

"Of course not Scott! It's not even like that!" Bob exclaimed. "She like... my best friend. You know? She's always there and she's so easy to talk to."

"Wah-wah-wah. Spare me the touching story." Scott interrupted. "Have you ever seen her naked?"

"Horndog!" Bob said with a laugh. "No, I haven't seen her naked. I mean, she changes in front of me, but she turns around, and I really don't look."

"Why not?" Scott asked.

"Because I have respect!" Bob replied. "Geez, you're hormones are on overdrive all the time. You're like a walking erection!"

"So? Erections are cool." Scott said.

"Go to sleep." Bob ordered, shaking his head with pity. "You need to."

"If this bed's a rockin'..." Scott started to say.

"I know, I know. Don't come a knocking." Bob finished for him. "But you're alone, so the bed shouldn't be a-rockin'."

"You never know..." Scott trailed off.

"That's sick Scott." Bob declared.

"What about the whole 'Baby's fine ass' thing?" Scott asked.

"That was a joke!" Bob pointed out. "Only you would think of something like that and actually be serious."

"To deny our own impulses is to deny our humanity." Scott said poetically.

"Okay, no more Matrix for you." Bob stated flatly. "Goodnight Scott."

"Night-night Duke." Scott said, rolling over in bed. He reached under his pillow and pulled out her picture. Goodnight Angel. he said silently.

* * *

As Jeanine drove in front of Timber's driveway, all four of them noticed a familiar figure on the front steps. They instantly recognized that figure as Kelly.

She jumped off the porch and ran to the car sobbing hysterically.

"What's the matter Kelly?" Timber asked, getting out of the car.

"Look what they've done to me!" Kelly sobbed hysterically. "They've mutilated me!"

"What happened?" Jeanine asked, getting out of the car and running around to where her cousin stood. Angela and Ben followed suit.

"He'll never like me now! He's going to dump me for someone else!!!" Kelly screamed, throwing her arms around Jeanine's neck.

"What happened?" Timber asked again, her curiosity peaking neck-in-neck with her annoyance.

"Look!" Kelly exclaimed, smiling a toothy smile. She was wearing braces. "I had these already in fourth grade until eighth!!! And now I have to have them on for another two years!!!" she fumed.

"Why?" Timber asked, not helping the situation any.

"Because I never wore my retainer!" Kelly sobbed, scrubbing at her eyes with the back of her wrists.

"Big deal Kelly. You should be thankful you can even pull the braces thing off and you don't look totally hideous in them." Jeanine offered. "Take it from a guy. How does she look Ben?"

"She looks fine!" Ben said with a shrug. "You barely notice."

"Clint is going to dump me for sure now!" Kelly sobbed.

"No he's not Dumb-ass! Clint is not nearly as shallow as you think. He wouldn't care." Timber said firmly. "Clint's so sweet and kind! You really don't give him enough credit."

"I hope your right." Kelly sniffled. "Because I don't know what I'd do if he ever dumped me..."

* * *

Clint shivered, tucking the blankets tightly up under his chin.

"Quit kicking me!" Dave whined, swatting weakly at his brother with his free hand.

"It's cold." Clint commented, snuggling deeper into the blankets.

"Well maybe if you slept in your own damn bed..." Dave muttered.

"Just go back to sleep Dave." Clint directed in a cranky tone.

"Can't. Dad came and woke us up ten minutes ago."

"I must have missed that somehow." Clint murmured, closing his eyes.

"Yeah, well just know that tonight you're sleeping in your own damned bed." Dave said randomly.

"I had fun bunking with my buddy Big D!" Clint giggled.

"Well don't get used to it." Dave said, getting out of bed and stretching. He trekked across the room to his suitcase and opened it, looking for clothes to wear. "I swear Clint, you get more girlish everyday."

"Shut up!" Clint giggled, shivering.

"Dude, it's not that cold. It's actually kinda warm in here." Dave pointed out, noting that he was standing in only his boxers.

"Are you kidding me?" Clint asked, wrapping the covers around his whole body. "It's like an arctic tundra in here!"

"It is not!" Dave insisted, pulling a pair of dark green boxers out of his suitcase. "It's like, just perfect in here."

"It's cold!!!" Clint wailed.

"Are you feeling okay?" Dave asked, concerned.

"I'm cold." Clint whined. His nose was running slightly. "Clint, I think you're sick." Dave said, approaching him. He put a palm to his forehead. "Sick! You're all sweaty and stuff!" he shrieked, snatching his hand back.

"Shut up." Clint said weakly.

"Get up and take a shower Clint. That'll make you feel better." Dave said.

"Good idea." Clint agreed. He sat up straight, but felt as if all the contents of his skull were draining out. "Go get Dad." he said, slamming his head back down into the pillow.

* * *

"It's only midnight over here... so it's about nine over there?" Timber asked from the other end of the phone.

"Yeah, about nine." Bob said.

Timber snickered. "I miss your little Canadian accent." she said, noting how he pronounced ‘about.’

"My what? You have one too!" he accused.

"I do not Bob!!! Jeanine and Kelly have very light ones, but I don't have an accent at all!" she said defensively.

"You do too!" Bob exclaimed. "You're from Canada! Of course you have an accent!"

"Okay Mr 'Abote' 'Ote' 'Beeeeen'..." Timber said matter-of-factly. "Try no. I am NOT Canadian. My parent's were born overseas, to begin with, and I was born in the states and lived there for the first ten years of my life! You should know this! Scott knows this! We moved to Calgary after my brother went to college!"

"Hey Scott! Where was Timber born?" Bob called to his brother who was in the bathroom.

Scott peeked his head out. "What?"

"Where was Timber born?" Bob repeated.

"I don't know exactly, but it was somewhere in the states. Dude, she grew up there." Scott said.

"I can't believe I didn't know that!" Bob scolded himself.

"Ever notice how she talks all weird?" Scott asked, continuing to brush his hair.

"I do NOT talk weird!" Timber exclaimed, hearing him. "There's a U in the words 'out' and 'about'! Use it!"

Bob laughed. "At least we say 'abote' and not 'aboot', so we aren't that bad."

"You guys are the most Canadian people I know." Timber said. "And I know a lot of Canadians."

"Sorry if we don't talk as eloquently as you Americans." Bob joked, rolling his eyes.

"You should be." Timber teased. "I'm just glad I had the American way of speaking instilled my mind so you damn Canadians couldn't alter my speech pattern."

"ANYWAYS." Bob said, still cracking up. "Enough about me and my fellow Canadians... what's going on over there?"

"Hmmm..." Timber said, thinking. "Oh yeah, I wasn't supposed to tell you, but Kelly got braces again. She's spazzing out about how Clint's going to dump her because she's ugly now... it's so annoying."

"Again?"

"Yeah, she had them in like fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth grade. I didn't know her until seventh, when I moved to Canada from where I was born in the states." she said, stressing the last point to instill it in his mind.

"Okay, okay. So I should have known, sue me." Bob said, surrendering.

"You really should have known Boob." she teased.

"Hey! We may say 'abote', but it's still pronounced 'Bob'." he clarified.

"Anyway." she said dryly, but spoiled it with a chuckle.

"But Clint would never dump her because of braces! That's so trivial... he wouldn't even care, assuming he notices." Bob pointed out.

"I know, that's what I told her!" Timber exclaimed.

"Well that's Kelly for ya. She's been so mean lately. What's up with that?"

"I don't think it's PMS. I think it has to do with Clint. She somehow feels like he's going to dump her! She's so afraid to loose him, but she's stressing herself out and making herself cranky. I keep saying to her 'You need to just meditate and calm down', but she doesn't listen. At the rate she's going, he's going to dump her ass like trash on garbage day."

"Meditate?" Bob asked.

"Yeah, Jeanine says it works." Tim explained. "I never get stressed, so I really wouldn't know."

"And you can't sit still long enough." Bob added with a laugh.

"True." Timber giggled.

"So anyway, Ms. America, what's new with you?"

* * *

"Dave, what are you doing here? Why aren't you dressed?" Frank asked, opening the door to his hotel room to see his youngest standing in the hallway in only his underwear.

"Clint's sick." Dave said. "Come on! He's going to die!" he exaggerated, pulling his father by the lower arm.

"Are you joking Dave? We have an interview in two hours!" Frank fumed, following his son.

"Well it's not his fault he's sick Dad." Dave reminded him. "But he probably gave it to me! He insisted on sleeping in my bed last night because he was really cold or something. He got me sick!"

"Relax Dave. I doubt he got you sick." Frank said, rubbing his eyes. He was already becoming stressed and it wasn't even noon yet. He entered the room with Dave.

"Clint, are you okay?" Frank asked, sitting down next to him on the bed.

Clint shivered, his eyes still partially closed.

Frank put a hand to his forehead and yanked it back. "He's burning up." he told Dave. "Go run a bath of cold water."

"How cold? Warmish-cold, or 'I'm-trying-to-keep-meat-fresh' cold." Dave asked, heading towards the bathroom.

"As cold as it gets Dave. We have to get the fever down." Frank said, sounding annoyed.

The door that joined Scott and Bob's room with Dave and Clint's opened and Bob poked his head in. "What's wrong with Clint?" he asked, automatically knowing something was afoot.

"He's running a fever Bob, I don't think we'll be going to the interview today." Frank said. "He's really sick."

"He's looking kinda pale." Bob pointed out, sitting down next to his identical triplet on the bed.

"We can do it!" Clint murmured. "I can do it." he insisted weakly, opening his eyes only partially.

"Clint, you have a really high fever." Frank coaxed. "We're going to try to bring it down."

"It's so cold..." Clint murmured, his teeth chattering.

"It's okay Clint. You'll be fine." Bob said softly.

"Is the tub ready?" Frank called to Dave.

"Yeah!" Dave called back, walking into the room. He went back to his suitcase and got out a pair of dark jeans and a tight black shirt. "I'm going to go shower in Scott's room." he announced, going through the adjoining door.

Frank smiled wryly. "Just like him to leave when we need help."

"We're going to go get you in the tub." Bob said with a smile at his brother.

"Come on Clint, let's get you up." Frank instructed.

"No, too cold." Clint whined, closing his eyes, and attempt to go back to sleep.

"Up, Clint." Bob said sternly.

"Come on Clint." Frank coaxed, trying to pry the sheets from his son's hands.

"No..." Clint whined.

"Ugh!!! Just get up!" Bob exclaimed, whipping the sheets off the bed.

Clint curled up into a fetal position, shivering tremendously. His entire body glistened with sweat.

"Come on..." Frank said, draping an arm over his shoulder. Bob grabbed the other arm.

The two helped Clint into the bathroom, an event that took only a minute due to the amount of body weight they were dealing with.

"Come on... into the tub." Frank directed, helping his son move his leg into the bathtub.

"Ahhhhh!!!!" Clint screamed. "It's freezing!!!"

"Get in, or we're going to do this 'Girl, Interrupted' style." Bob threatened.

"You watch too many movies." Frank informed him.

"Just let me die, I don't want to get in there!" Clint whimpered, trying to resist.

His father and identical brother started to physically force his weak limbs into the tub. Clint finally gave up and ended up plopping roughly into the water.

"Somebody's cold." Bob joked, noting the condition of Clint's nipples.

Clint shivered uncontrollably. His teeth clicked against one another as he spoke. "N-n-n-no d-d-d-duh Sh-sh-sherlock." he stammered. His skin was incredibly pale.

"Come on, let's wash up." Frank said, taking the sponge and squirting liquid soap onto it. He lathered it in his hands and started to wash his son's back.

Clint sat with his knees tucked up under his chin, trying to keep what body heat he had. Bob sat on the edge on the bathtub, gazing over the bathroom for a moment.

The room was mainly white, cream, and beige; giving it a classy appearance. It was quite spacious with a window that allowed sunlight to spill in. There were several mirrors in various places and even a small closet on the back wall stocked with four fluffy white bathrobes. It was the same as the one in his own hotel room, minus the shivering, skinny boy in the tub.

"I haven't bathed you since you were five." Frank said, scrubbing Clint's arm.

"Th-th-there's r-reasons f-f-f-for th-th-that." Clint said, trying to relax his convulsing muscles.

"Give me your leg." Frank directed.

Clint paused for a moment before reluctantly leaning back and poking his goose-bumped leg up out of the water. Frank scrubbed it with the sponge dutifully.

"I'll do his hair!" Bob exclaimed, rolling up the sleeves on his yellow shirt.

He filled his palm with shampoo, slopping it onto his triplets head, then lathering it.

"N-n-not sss-sss-sss-sss-so h-hard B-B-Bob." Clint stuttered as Frank took his other leg.

"S-s-sorry."Bob said, mimicking him. "I won't let go Jack!" he exclaimed randomly.

Frank laughed. "You really do watch too many movies."

"I really do, don't I." Bob said, continuing to lather his brother's spiky hair.

"Boxers off." Frank directed.

"What? NO!" Clint exclaimed, seeming to forget the cold for that split second.

"Clint, you're going to have to take them off eventually. And it's not like anything I haven't seen before." his father reminded him. "I used to change your diapers all the time."

"B-b-but things h-have ch-changed since th-th-then!" Clint pointed out, tucking his legs back up under his chin.

"I'm your father Clint!" Frank exclaimed. "I won't look, I promise."

Clint contemplated his next actions. "Don't look." he said.

Bob rinsed his hands off in the already sudsy water, grabbing a towel off the rack to dry them. "I'll go get you some clothes." he suggested, getting up and exiting.

"Good idea." Frank agreed. He looked back to Clint. "Come on Clint, I'm not going to look."

"If you look..." Clint muttered, yanking at the waistband of his boxers and pulling them off then ringing them out. He tossed them out of the tub and onto the bathroom floor. "You looked!!!" he exclaimed to his father, tucking his knees back up under his chin.

"I didn't Clint!" Frank said defensively. "I told you I wouldn't so I didn't. Why are you being so immature about this?" he asked. "I'm a male too." he said, handing him the sponge.

"Yeah, b-but... n-n-never m-mind." Clint said, accepting it. He wrung it out, causing more suds to float into the water. "I'm b-better now." he lied. "C-can I g-g-get out?" he asked.

"Finish washing... " his father told him.

"N-n-n-not with y-you here!" Clint exclaimed.

Frank sighed and stood up. He turned his back.

"D-d-d-don't turn a-around." Clint said, pushing the sponge under water.

Frank could hear the water splashing around slightly. "Are you done?" he asked after a moment.

"H-h-h-hold on a sss-sss-sec." Clint warned.

"How long does it take?" Frank asked.

"I'm d-done! J-j-just hand me a t-towel p-p-please." Clint said, standing up on weak legs. He still felt lethargic and listless, but he was stronger than before.

Frank grabbed a towel off the rack and turned around to help his son out of the tub. He caught a good look of Clint's fully nude body.

"DAD!!!"

* * *

Kelly gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were red and puffy.

He's going to dump me for sure. she thought to herself, feeling miserable.

Why did they have to make me ugly? Why did they do this to me? A few tears rolled down her already sore cheeks.

She turned and looked out at her bedroom. White wicker furniture, a pink and yellow floral motif... it was all that made Kelly who she was. She looked at her closet. She had many clothes, but only on pair of pants. Her jeans that she rarely wore. That was what made Kelly Kelly. That was what made her personality. The skirts, the dresses, the girly things that made her her. She was Kelly Tembolli and this was her life.

Maybe she didn't want to be Kelly Tembolli anymore.

* * *

return***twelve