"What?" He growled irritated. He had finally got into the zone with his maths. He was just finishing question five.

"Tea's ready, Mark." His younger brother told him.

"Ok." Mark jumped up and threw his iPod and phone on the large double bed that dominated the dark room, "Come on squirt."

"Hey! I'm not that little!" His brother protested venomously. He tried to punch Mark, but Mark held him back with ease.

Mark raced downstairs to the dining room where his father was waiting patiently, smiling at the antics of his two sons.

"Calm down you two." His father said, watching as the younger son tried to punch Mark. Mark was in a corner, trying to escape.

"Right that's enough." The father said firmly, as the two brothers eventually sat down.

They looked up at their father, in awe. How could such a feared figure in the business world be so gentle to his sons? It was easy; they were the most precious things in his life, since Carole died thirteen years ago.

It was a car crash. It was wet and dark. Carole was driving home from Scotland and a drunk driver smashed into the side of her. Carole died instantly the doctors said. Neither of the boys remembered it, they were too young. Mark had been five and Luke had been just one year old. So neither of them remembered the crushing guilt and depression the father had felt. But their father had been so depressed he'd barely been able to care for his sons. He'd had to get a live-in nanny for a year, until something happened that woke him from his stupor.

He had been entering the door from work to drink himself into oblivion, when a pair of small arms had wrapped around his legs tightly and a voice had said, "Daddy!" with such excitement, he couldn't help but to pick Mark up. As he did so, he looked into Mark's eyes; they were exactly like his mothers' – golden brown. He ached with sadness, but instead of going to drink himself into sweet oblivion, he went to find Luke. He found Luke in the nursery that had been created for Mark originally, but as he'd grown up, they – him and Carole – had moved Mark out and moved Luke in when he was born.

He still remembered the exhilaration he had felt when Carole had announced for the second time that she was pregnant. As he leaned against the doorway, looking in on Luke and Mark playing with their toys, he thought that maybe he didn't need to drink himself in a stupor when he had these two gorgeous boys to look out for.

From that day onwards, he did exactly that. He bandaged their knees after they had fallen from their bikes; he'd cuddled them when they had nightmares; he had sympathised when they had gotten turned down by their first crushes in secondary school, and he thought that Carole would have been proud of him.

Overall, he thought he had done a good job of raising them. They had turned out to be well-rounded, well-educated and well-behaved boys. Of course, there had been moments when they had been naughty, like when they had tried to make a cake for his birthday and ended up spilling the mixture all over the floor, but he thought he had done Carole proud.

"Dad?" Mark said, "Are you still with us?"

Mark had watched his Dad just space-out in a matter of minutes – it was creepy. But then, where else did he get the 'spacing-out' gene from, if it wasn't his father? Of course, there was his mother, but he couldn't really remember what she had been like. Dad always said that he had the exact same eyes as his mother; Mark had to take his word for it, as he couldn't remember.

He was spacing-out again, Luke thought, looking at his elder brother. That wasn't anything out of the ordinary then.

"Guys? Are we going to space-out again, or are we going to talk about how our days went?" Luke said. That got both his brothers' and his Dads' eyes on him.

"Yes, we are. How was your day Mark?" His father asked him.

"It was fine – I made the football team." Mark said, his golden brown eyes lighting up.

"Well done. And what about yours, Luke?"

Luke replied, "I got to play for assembly, didn't I Mark?"

Mark nodded, "It was really cool, how you played your guitar, and, considering you were the last resort, you played like you were in your bedroom, jamming to Blinbk-182, rather than playing in front of a thousand students."

"Thanks."


A/N: What do you think? R&R please, as reviews make me happy. :)