Seeing that the girls were safely inside, Betsy eyed Pete sternly. "Leithscéal a ghabháil."  [Apologize.] Although out of earshot, she didn't want to risk upsetting Pam any further.

He rolled his eyes. "Cén fáth? Díreach tar éis spraoi, mom." [Why? Just having fun, mom.]

She snapped back, thoroughly sick of the bullshit. "Buachaill! Leithscéal a ghabháil. Nó téigh amach. Ní féidir linn labhairt tinn de aoi." [Boy! Apologize. Or get out. We do not speak ill of a guest.]

Pete glared resentfully at Jim. "Tá brón orm." [I'm sorry.]

He inclined his head and feigned politeness, a skill well-honed after years in a dysfunctional workplace. He would make peace for Pam's sake, not because Pete deserved forgiveness. "Accepted."  

"Now, mhac. Béarla," Betsy finished. [Now, sons. English.] "For the rest of the day, please." She turned toward the house. "Language is not a weapon."

Her words triggering a flash of inspiration, Jim took a few long strides to catch up. "Hey, mom," he began quietly. "Do you really need her help in the kitchen?"

She shook her head. "Of course not. But… she's a helper."

He knew that better than anyone. "Yeah," he replied. "I have an idea, though."

Betsy nodded when he'd finished. "Sounds like a plan." She returned to the house.

"You're the best." He jogged over to the shed and opened the door. Triumphantly, he found his old stash of nerf guns, right in front. 'Riss must have dug it out of some unseen corner earlier in the day. "Hey, Tom?"

"Yeah," he called back.

"How long has it been since we had a nerf war?"

"How old are you?" Pete groused. He stomped into the house, grabbing another beer on his way.

Tom popped around the corner of the shed. "Too long. I'm in."

Grinning, Jim said, "Pick your poison. Since Pete doesn't wanna play, we can do two teams of two."

Tom gave him a skeptical look as he chose a gun. "Pam plays nerf?"

I hope so, thought Jim. "I'm sure she will." He picked out three guns and set one on the table. "That one's mine. Don't touch it!"

"Like I'd want that crappy little thing anyway," Tom retorted.

"Don't even think about a shotgun," Jim warned him as he jogged up to the house. "The fourth one broke ages ago."

"Shit!" Tom cursed, setting it back down. "I totally forgot."

"Hey, Jim!" Pam sounded surprised when he walked into the kitchen. She was chopping celery into neat little stacks. She took a break to grin at him. "I didn't think this was your scene." 

Relief coursed through him. She was relaxed, she was joking. He reminded himself to thank 'Riss later. "Oh, it's totally not." he agreed playfully, hands behind his back. "Not really 'Riss's, either. Actually, I was wondering if I could interest you two in a little mayhem?" He grinned roguishly as he revealed what he held.

Larissa dropped her knife onto the counter and skipped over without a second thought. "Nerf war?" she crowed, taking a gun. "It's been years."

"Too long," he agreed. "Pete's out. Tom's in. If you and Pam both play, we can do two on two." He looked at her hopefully. "Just like old times."

Pam bit her lip with a smile. She'd never so much as touched a nerf gun before. But as long as Pete wasn't playing, she thought it could be fun. She glanced over at Betsy.

"Have fun sweetie," she said, waving her off.

"Are you sure?" she asked. Jim noted with a grin that she had already begun drifting toward him.

"As sure as I am that you should avoid the rosebushes. I really appreciate all your help." She returned to slicing potatoes.

He looked at Pam with his eyebrows raised. "So… you in, Beesly?"

She took the gun, smiling hesitantly. "Can I be on your team?"

He laughed, delighted. "Do bears eat beets?"

"Depends. Black bear or brown bear?"

He flashed her a thousand-watt smile.

Larissa had been quietly observing their brief interaction. Jim had it bad. "No way!" she protested, taking one of Pam's elbows in the crook of her arm. "Come on, battle of the sexes. The buttheads versus the babes. We'll totally whoop their asses."

Jim took her other elbow. "Nope. She's mine. Already called it."

"I called it two days ago."

"I called it before you were born!"

Pam giggled as she looked back and forth between them. Nobody ever wanted her to be on their team. "I don't think you wanna play with me, Larissa," she hedged. "One-I've never shot a nerf gun before, so I probably suck. Two-I dunno if I could shoot Jim."

"Alas, the lady has spoken and her words are true." He tucked his free hand into her elbow possessively and bent down to whisper into her ear. "I could never shoot you either."

"I think you would've," she whispered back.

Larissa smiled to herself. Affecting frustration, she let go of Pam with a sigh. They were almost too cute together. Almost. "One-pretty sure I told you to call me ‘Riss. Two-you're going down, sugar."

"Bring it on, sweetheart," she retorted sarcastically. Jim doubled over with laughter.

"That's the spirit! Tom's a good partner. He was always the best marksman, anyway."

"All he ever did was play video games," Jim replied, still chortling. "And he was older than me. How was I supposed to compete?"

"Don't make excuses," she fired back. "And I'm not using this handgun," she declared. "Piece of shit. I want a shotgun."

"No shotguns," he contradicted her. "There are only three. You broke the fourth one, remember?" He shook his head ruefully. "My heart shrank three sizes that day."

"That explains everything," she needled him. Turning to Pam, she explained, "It was completely on accident."

"Accident?" He turned to Pam. "She threw the gun at Pete. From the top of the willow tree."

"Well, I accidentally forgot to bring extra ammo." She grinned. "I just watched Superman. I still maintain it would have been a great idea if he didn't duck out of the way."

"You were thirty feet up in the air!" he rejoined as Tom walked over, stuffing extra darts into his pockets. "A sloth could have moved in time."

They laughed together at the shared memory. Pam couldn't help joining in at the absurdity of the image. "On the plus side," said Tom, "we got really good at using the crappy little guns. At least until Pete moved out. Then it was back to shotguns again."

Jim sighed, putting his hand over his heart. "You don't get to call my prized nerf collection crappy and then play with it. I'm taking my toys and going home."

"See?" Larissa said to Pam. "He's a total buttface. If you knew Jim as well as we did, you'd be dying to put one right between his eyes." Quickly, she took aim and pulled the trigger.

Pam dissolved into peals of laughter as the dart bounced harmlessly off his forehead. Jim sighed, looking disappointed. "Well, Tom. ‘Riss was on your team. But she just forfeited."

"If I'm playing alone, I get two shotguns," he claimed.

"How would that even work?" Jim asked, boggling. "You need both hands to use one."

"I'd find a way."

Larissa scoffed. "Like the rules matter anymore. Definitely expired by now."

"My guns, my rules," he disagreed earnestly. "But I'm in a good mood today, so you're back in. Last chance," he warned her.

Pam spoke up. "I didn't know nerf had rules."

Tom rolled his eyes. "It doesn't. Jim made them up."

"The rules are important," he replied seriously. "May I?"

Pam giggled. Apparently he'd always been a dork about making up rules for made-up games. That was one of the things she loved about him, though.

Larissa waved her hand. "Might as well get it over with. Everyone here knows you won't shut up until you do."

"You're right, I won't," he nodded. "One," he began solemnly. "Once a nerf war has been called, there can be absolutely no firing until the game begins."

Pam turned her gun on herself and shot her own forehead. He glared at her as his siblings laughed. "What?" she asked innocently as she bent to pick up the dart. "I just wanted to see if it would hurt." She tilted her head, grinning smugly. "It didn't."

"I like this girl," Larissa claimed, still chuckling. "Where'd you find her, anyway?"

He took it as a very good sign that she was ganging up against him already. Secretly delighted, he continued as though nothing had happened. "Two: no intentional friendly fire. If the friendly fire is accidental, it wounds or kills just like any other shot. It just means that shooting a teammate on purpose—or yourself," he emphasized. She stuck her tongue out at him. "…is an instant DQ."

"An instant Dairy Queen? That doesn't sound so terrible."

He hid his grin, trying to maintain the gravity of the moment. "Disqualification, Beesly." He cleared his throat and continued. "Although if you shot yourself in the head, you'd be dead anyway, so it's irrelevant. Honor system. Three: each team has a separate dart color. Tom and ‘Riss are blue, so we'll be orange. Four: You can only use fallen darts that are your color. You can take a dead opponent's ammo if it's tactically advantageous, but you can't use it. You can only stash it. Please remember where you stash, darts aren't infinite. Five: headshots and chest shots are immediately fatal. Gut shots are immediately disabling and inevitably fatal—say thirty seconds, be reasonable. Back shots aren't fatal, but paralyze you from the waist down. If you get hit on a limb, that limb is out of commission for the remainder of the game."

"Example?" she requested.

Larissa feigned a yawn, stretching her arms. "Goddamn poindexter, you take the fun out of everything."

He ignored her. "Say ‘Riss gets me in the right wrist. I could only fire with my left hand. If she got me in the shin, I'd be able to crawl on that leg, but I wouldn't be able to walk normally. I'd have to hop on the other leg if I stayed upright."

"Which is a bad idea in general," Larissa contributed. "Stay low and take cover, unless you want to die."

Jim nodded sagely. "And if you die, you're on the ground with eyes shut. Six: the game ends when one team is dead, or if nobody can shoot anymore. And finally, seven: Spare ammo is limited to whatever you can fit into your pants pockets."

Larissa laughed. "He added that one after I started putting darts in my bra."

Pam laughed so hard she snorted. "Question. Can I take some practice shots against the shed?"

Jim tilted his head, considering. "Although it's in direct violation of rule one, it is your first game. So I'm willing to put it to a vote."

"How generous," she said, nodding her head in a parody of his officious manner.

"Let's all practice while we discuss strategy," said Tom. "I'm seriously rusty."