Hobbie gingerly tapped the buttons beside the door to the apartment, willing the portal to open quietly for once. He'd give anything for a minute- just one minute- of peace. But the door slid open just as loud as ever- deliberately, Hobbie thought. Belligerantly. He sighed, hunching his shoulders in a vain attempt to protect his ears from the familar plaintive cry--

Silence.

Hobbie poked his head through the open door, then slowly eased his body around the corner into the hallway, leaving one foot outside in case of flying household implements. He'd grown used to all manner of unpleasant greetings, depending on Wes' hormone level, and had learned to duck or soothe accordingly.

There was no one in the hallway. Hobbie looked longingly at the door, hit the button to close it, and scuttled into the kitchen for weapons. "Chocolate soothes the savage beast," he muttered, arranging a handful of cookies on a plate. He debated adding a sprig of parsley, decided that Wes could probably find an insult in it, and put it back.

A soft voice, painfully out of tune, wafted out of the den. Hobbie didn't bother trying to pick out the tune. Holding the plate high in one hand, he pushed open the swinging door and stopped dead in his tracks.

Wes was holding something pink and fluffy, and poking at it with a pair of metal spikes. Drawing nearer, Hobbie could see that it was a thick, fuzzy string of some type, and the spikes were apparently used to bind it together in some inexplicable way that Wes hadn't yet got the hang of. Hobbie frowned. The scene was entirely too peaceful.

"Hi, honey," he said carefully. "Um."

"You're home!" Wes raised his face. "Kiss?" He was wearing a lavender tunic that emphasised the maternal glow of his skin. The pile of thread lay atop his tummy, and he moved it out of the way so Hobbie could rest his hand on the bulge. Not that bulge, you pervs.

"Daddy's home," he cooed, as the baby kicked fiercely. "Ok, kid, knock it off. That hurts." He thumped the top of his stomach, then held up the pink monstrosity. "Isn't it pretty?"

Hobbie regarded the mess solemnly. It was nice not to have stuff thrown at him, and he wanted to keep the peace. "It is. It's very... pretty. It's certainly very pink." He thought for a moment, then plunged ahead. "What is it?"

"Booties!" Wes said brightly.

"Booties. Ah." Hobbie morosely inspected a tangle. Oh well, he thought. It has to end sometime.

"How many feet do you think our child will have?"

Miraculously, he made it to the kitchen before the first plate flew.

Finis

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