(A/n: Guess what, lazy ass got another review! Well, I think I've gotten a few, but I didn't give them reviews... sorry folks. I will make this one long enough for everyone.)

Frank drove home slowly, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. The radio droned on with some hip-hop artist and his pleas for the world to recognize his gigantic phallus, so Archer switched the radio off. Maes had some strange ideas of music. He had a feeling that punk of Zolf's would be at the apartment, and whether it took a well placed bullet or not, he was determined not to allow this mockery of a relationship to continue. He felt almost bad about letting Kimblee "pay the rent" in the past, but with a respectable job on the force, and the money their deadbeat father was finally sending more or less regularly, that wasn't necessary anymore. Why wouldn't Kimblee just repress those pesky memories with alcohol like normal people did?

He turned into the apartment building lot with a sigh. Once his father snuck into his head, it made it hard to keep his mind "respectable". Al he could think about was the bastard and his abandonment of the family. Frank had gotten used to living more or less alone at six, he could reach the stove, cook a meal for himself (although admittedly at that age he wasn't very good at picking healthy options, hence his life long battle with anemia) and was fine. But then Father returned with his first brother, that sneaky brat Maes, bearing yet another woman's last name. (Frank himself did not share a family name with his father.) And to make matters worse, when Frank turned eleven a sickly toddler joined the family. Zolf had been Frank's, and Frank alone's, burden ever since. The child had never really gotten any better with age, and in fact soon proved his weakness of mind by utterly losing his. Frank sighed again and climbed out of the car, heading inside.

Kimblee better have dinner ready, he decided. Or there would be trouble.