I don't own Foxtrot, and never will.

For those who have read "Foxtrot: The Works". For those who haven't, there's this one story arc where Peter punted a football onto the roof and - actually, my story might explain it better.

Jason's version of the events. Enjoy!

"Jason, Jason, Jason – rules were meant to be broken."

I watched Peter lean the ladder against the gutter, and felt an ominous pit in my stomach – like a black hole, but a bit worse. My big brother, the athletic moron (as of seven minutes and 22 seconds ago) expected me, a…physically lacking genius to go up that old, termite-ridden ladder and retrieve the football he punted up there. I knew I shouldn't have come outside. What if the ladder broke? What if the gutter gave away? What if I fell?

"Kinda like necks?" I retorted, voicing my apprehension. The ladder was too close to the house. I could easily fall.

"Quit yappin' and get up there," Peter replied, jabbing his thumb towards the roof for emphasis. Well, I had only heard him use that tone before: the time when Mom and Dad left him in charge of the house for a week while they went on vacation. It was his 'You're-doing-this-and-that's-final' tone. No point in arguing anymore, unless I wanted to get hurt. With a resigned sigh, I started climbing the ladder.

Against the odds (4 to 1), nothing went wrong and I was on the roof. It was quite a view. 'So far, so good,' I told myself, 'Now just find the ball and throw it down. Then I can go inside and let Peter play by himself. Yeah, that's what I'll do.'

The ball, as I found out, had landed right in front of the attic window. I groaned. Of all the luck to have. If Peter hadn't been so anxious, we could've simply gone inside, gotten to the attic, opened the window, and grabbed the ball! No chance of collateral damage! Sadly, it was too late now. With another sigh, I crawled towards the football and picked it up.

"Ok, I've got the ball," I yelled down to Peter. So far, everything was going perfectly.

"Throw it down," Peter called up. I tried to do as he said but, with my arm strength… I might've well as dropped it. It bounced, hitting three shingles before landing by Peter's feet. The three shingles fell – and I froze. Dad was supposed to re-shingle the roof a month ago because Mom said they were getting loose. Dad probably hadn't done it, because, looking around, I saw bare patches all around me. How could I miss that?

Acting on impulse, I scooted backwards – and felt another shingle fall. The attic window looked too far away, so I grabbed another shingle and shouted my brother's name. He didn't heard me – he was too busy hugging the football. That jerk.

There was a cracking noise. Turning my attention back to the shingle/life preserver, I found it had broken. I was sliding off the roof. Every shingle I grabbed, trying to stop myself, broke off. With a cry of horror, I fell off the roof and hit the ground. Hard. I think Peter yelled my name, but I'm not sure. Then the world went black and silent – kinda like deep outer space.

When I first regained any kind of consciousness, I was in an ambulance – I think. There were people all around me, and I felt an oxygen mask on my face. There were also beeping sounds, reminiscent of the computers on 'Star Trek'. 'Neato,' I thought. Then I felt a warm trickle of liquid – most likely blood – on my forehead. 'Not neato.' Once again, the world faded.

When I finally woke up, I was in a white room. There was a brace around my neck, and a bandage on my head. A heart monitor stood near my bed, beeping loudly. 'Where am I? Who am I – oh, I remember.' I mentally grinned, glad that my memory was fine. 'I'm just a magnet for hospitals, aren't I?' I added, recalling that story mom told me about me nearly dying as a baby – and the car accident. Right after the accident, I was briefly taken to the hospital where I was pronounced as perfectly fine. 'So…why am I here?' I frowned, unsure of the answer. The last thing I remember was doing algebra in my room. Suddenly, I realized how blurry the room was. Looking towards the nightstand, I saw a glint of light – my glasses. I put them on, making everything clear. I swear, without my glasses, I can't see any further than an inch from my eyes.

Then, Peter entered the room, looking quite somber. I was confused. What was wrong? Was I dying? He walked towards my bedside and stared at the floor about 37 seconds. Then, he said, "Jason, I feel really bad about this."

Now I was completely bewildered. "What do y-" Then, it all came rushing back: how Peter convinced me to play catch with him, how he stupidly kicked the football onto the roof, how he made me go up and get it, how I fell off-

"Wait a minute! It's all coming back to me! You're the reason I fell off the roof!" Now I was beyond angry. I could've died – and he could only feel 'really bad'? I crossed my arms and scowled. Jerk.

"I feel really bad. Really, really bad," he replied. 'Go on,' I mentally said. He seemed to get it though. "Worse than bad. As bad as bad can possibly be. Really, really, really, really bad." I remained silent. "Super bad."

"Good," I replied. Just then, the nurse came in with dinner, preventing any more conversation, thank God. Still…hospital meals are the worst. Do they fry Klinglon for this? I swear, it's this stuff that keeps their patients sick. I devoured the only edible thing on the tray – the pudding. Thankfully (and strangely), Peter didn't ask for anything.

The nurse returned a half-hour later and took my tray. I looked at the TV. Aw, what the heck. I turned it on with the remote and started watching 'Wheel', occasionally shouting the answers and mainly ignoring the jerk. I guess he wasn't leaving. When 'Wheel' ended, I turned off the TV.

"Um…Jason-" Peter started. I interrupted.

"Y'know, even though I now hate you, I'm kinda glad you're here. It would've been a long night if I had to stay here by myself. All alone…in a strange place…" I smirked, continuing. "My poor head throbbing…all 'cause of you…" The jerk sighed. Yay – it worked.

A few hours passed while I asked Peter the jerk what happened after I fell off the roof. Apparently, he had gotten Mom and Dad. They freaked at first, then Mom checked for a pulse while Dad called 911. Then, he took Paige to Nicole's place. When the ambulance came, Mom rode inside the ambulance with me while Peter followed with the car. Thankfully, all my x-rays showed no broken bones, so I could go home tomorrow. Now satisfied, I yawned. It was late now and I was tired. I closed my eyes to sleep. About an hour later-

"Jason? You awake?" What did he want? I couldn't sleep yet – but I continued to pretend I was asleep. I was kinda curious. The jerk was silent for a minute, then he said, "Jason, I'm really sorry."

"I heard that," I replied, choosing to give up my ruse. He smacked himself, whispering, "You were supposed to asleep!"

Yet, I couldn't help but smile. He really didn't mean it. Besides if the next few weeks went like this, maybe, just maybe (after I'm all better), I'd completely forgive him.