A/N: I really should stop writing these.

Hank should have learned by now not to leave him home alone when the power tools were out.

Evan stood back, assessing the cream-colored wall of the guesthouse's living room. Though absolutely pristine and stylish as the rest of the house (and, moreover, Boris himself), it just lacked some... pizzazz.

Which was why he had found the absolute perfect shelf to put up on the wall.

Paige had dragged him to one of those rich-people-estate sales last week, where a bunch of women in their early twenties fought over marked down Marc Jacobs purses and elderly socialites scrutinized 'antiques'. Paige had taken to bargaining over some ancient paint set and Evan had wandered off to discover...the shelf.

The shelf, which was now currently in his hands.

He wasn't known for his fantastic carpentry skills or anything but he figured he could set this up on his own. Divya and Hank had left twenty minutes ago for routine physicals on a family of Hamptons children so he had juuust enough time, he figured.

He wasn't quite sure why the shelf was so important. Maybe it was that he'd never done something like this before. Maybe it was because Hank barely trusted him to sort out the mail anymore. Maybe it was the sheer knowledge that neither he nor Hank had put a single piece of themselves in the house yet. Or maybe it was all three.

Whatever the reason(s), Evan wanted to put up the shelf.

For some unknown reason, Hank had knocked over a cabinet the other day and one of Boris's many helpful assistants had rushed over with a power drill. He'd been prepared to help out but Hank had insisted on doing the job himself. And had yet to return the drill.

Which was perfect, in Evan's situation.

It wasn't like he was going to do anything else with it. He just needed to put up a frame! Hank would never know, so long as he put it back exactly the way it had been resting on the counter.

"Okay…" Evan pressed the shelf against the wall with both hands, then reached for the drill, arm stretching juuusst enough...

"Got it!" he exclaimed. With one hand pressed against the shelf, he used the other to bring the drill closer.

"Okay…" he put the nail in place. "This'll be easy. Just…put the drill…on the nail…" he mumbled to himself.

Except that, yeah, not easy.

Every time he tried to put the nail in place and hold the shelf, something slipped. And he couldn't hold the shelf, the nail in place and the drill all at once. Well, he probably could but it was a little difficult. They made it look so easy in those magazines.

Finally, with some serious effort, Evan managed to keep the shelf held against the wall with his shoulder and put the nail in place, drill in his right hand.

He exhaled a deep breath and then slowwwllyyyy drilled the nail into place. Once it seemed in place he let out a joyous laugh. "I got it!" and then looked down at the four-odd other nails on the table nearby. "Oh, man."


Hank stumbled into the guesthouse about an hour later.

"Evan?" he called, setting down his bag and reaching for a water bottle in the fridge. Usually by this time Evan was up and about, eating lunch while poring over the newspaper's Finance section.


"Hey, Ev?" he asked, feeling worry slip into his voice. He peered around the corners, searching for the familiar head of brown curls.

Finally, he could see Evan on the living room carpet, surrounded by a drill and some scattered nails. A shelf hung halfway off the wall and Evan was holding a rag to his thumb.

"What'd you do now?" Hank asked, sinking to his knees so he could assess the damage.

"Uh…" Evan looked sheepish. "I may or may not have…"

Hank pulled away the blood-soaked rag. "Is that a…?"

"Drilled a nail into my thumb." Evan finished lamely.

"Ev…how in the hell…?"

"I wanted to put up the shelf."

Hank just stared down at his brother's wound. "Don't you remember the last time you tried to do something that involved power tools?"

"I didn't leave that nail gun lying around!"

"Well, for people with the magical skill of common sense it's perfectly normal to leave something like a nail gun within the vicinity of a twenty-seven year old without the apocalypse happening."

Evan winced as Hank applied pressure. "Ow – it was not the apocalypse!"

"Evan, when I got there, Ms. Newburg was crying hysterically, the table was on fire and Divya had torn her dress!"

"I miss that table."

"It was nice, yeah." Hank looked at his brother seriously for a moment. "Hey…why were you trying to put up a shelf anyway?"

Evan avoided Hank's gaze. "I just wanted to do something myself."

He sounded so sincere and hopeful and genuine that it was almost hard to look into his pool-blue eyes. "Ev…you can do plenty of things by yourself," Hank said gently.

Evan looked up at him and then slowly nodded.

"Now come on," Hank gently steered his brother upright.

"Where are we going?"

"Hamptons Heritage. You have a nail in your thumb."

"Oh, yeah." Evan looked at the nail lodged in his thumb as if he wasn't sure how it had gotten there. "Kinda hurts a little."

Hank rolled his eyes. "I ought to invest in a playpen for you."