Disclaimer: Please don't mistreat these people. I'm very protective.

Notes: Pure, unadulterated fluff. Ohh my image. Le sigh. Written over MSN in a conversation with the Ash-love because she absolutely KEELED me with stuff about Brad and Sky and ... well, never mind, you'll just have to find out when she posts. Anyway, I couldn't let that go unchallenged, so here we are!

For those who are like "...buh?" at Robbie, e-mail me. Lorata AT fictionpress DOT com. I'll do my best to give you a bit of background. :) (And Joey, I know it's not Daddy's Girl but I'm working on it. I just needed a fluff break.)

Family

“All this because Paul actually cleaned up his dishes,” Manda said, sounding amused.

“Yeah,” Pete snorted, twirling the spoon and its load of disgusting looking goop in large circles, moving it closer toward Robbie’s stubbornly closed mouth. The baby eyed his food dubiously. “Aw, come on, kid, don’t you want some vaguely pear flavoured sludge?” Still holding the spoon, he moved his right hand from his mouth and smacked it lightly against the other, both palms up.

Robbie’s tiny, chubby hands moved; he brought one to his mouth, then shoved it away in a downwards motion, palm out. Pete blinked. “Wait, buddy, do that again,” he said, touching the fingertips of his right hand against his left palm. “I missed that.”

Robbie repeated the gesture, making a face.

“I think,” Manda said, snickering behind her hand, “That means ‘yuck’.”

Silverware clattered to the floor; Amanda and Pete started, whirling in their chairs to see Paul hop up onto the counter, letting go of Michael to hike his skirt up just high enough that he could wrap his legs around Michael’s waist.

“They say that children who are raised with affectionate parents grow up better adjusted,” Manda’s eyes widened, watching them.

Pete could only shake his head as Michael pinned his husband against the cabinets, fingers dancing up beneath the hem of Paul’s shirt. He turned back to the baby and twisted his hand in front of his nose, thumb and pinky finger extended. Robbie gave him a gap-toothed grin and let Pete shovel a quick mouthful in.

“You,” Pete said, kissing Robbie’s brown curls, “Are going to be a fantastically adjusted kid.”

Unfortunately, after that Robbie refused to eat anything else; he pinched his thumb and forefinger at chest level and pushed his hand away sharply. The movement was clumsy, but the meaning clear. Pete sighed, shook his head, and put down the spoon.

“Okay,” he said, handing the bowl over into Manda’s outstretched hand. “I know ‘don’t like’ when I see it. But listen, big guy,” he unfastened Robbie from his highchair and lifted him into his arms, holding the infant against his chest so he could feel the rumble. “You gotta get your fruits somehow.”

“Aside from the two kissing on the counter,” Manda said cheekily, grinning over her shoulder at him as she rinsed the pear residue from the dishes.

At this, Michael pulled away, hair mussed and eyes glazed. “Ah!” he said, starting, “I - oh dear, I forgot you —“ he turned back to Paul and glared. “You didn’t, did you!”

“Mm-mm,” Paul replied in the negative, smile wide enough to break down walls. “But Pete’s right,” he walked his fingers up Michael’s arm to chuck the redhead under the chin. “We’re getting Robbie used to seeing affection. It’s healthy.”

Michael snorted and kissed him, though he pulled back before Paul could distract him too much. He turned to his best friend. “Pete, would you mind —?”

“I’m on it,” Pete laughed, lifting Robbie’s wrist and forming a wave. Robbie snatched his hand away and made the gesture himself, which elicited chuckles and ‘I love you’ signs from his parents. “Play time, buddy,” he said, holding Robbie in the crook of his arm and lacing the fingers of the other with Amanda’s.

Robbie clapped his hands when Paul and Michael made the sign for ‘play’, two Y-shapes shaken in front of their bodies. “You, or him?” Amanda shot at them; Michael rolled his eyes, but Paul merely smirked.

“Never mind,” Pete left them, avoiding the living room (which was directly en route to the couple’s bedroom and there was no point in taking chances) and heading for the spare bedroom instead. Manda stopped to snag a few baby books from a pile in the hallway, then the three of them sat on the bed.

Pete leaned up against the pillows with Robbie nestled back against his chest, facing outward, “Goodnight Moon” in front of both of them. He read slowly, finger pointing to the pictures rather than the text; Manda sat across from both of them and signed the words as they left Pete’s mouth. Robbie watched her intently, hands roving in awkward imitations of her movements, usually nowhere near but sometimes making an exact replica. He bounced a little whenever they reached one he recognized.

They went through three or four books before Robbie started squirming; but instead of fussing, he raised one hand to the level of his face and waved, except the gesture was aimed at himself.

“Ohh, someone’s sleepy,” Pete crooned, recognizing the sign; it, along with an emphatic ‘NO’ had been Robbie’s first. Manda repeated it back to Robbie and he nodded. Pete picked up Robbie and moved to the mattress on the floor, specially placed there for these very occasions.

“Time for a nap,” Pete signed and spoke at the same time once he set Robbie down, though it wasn’t necessary — the baby’s eyelids were drooping. Pete lay down beside him and curled up on his side, one arm bent up and under his head. Eyes barely cracked open, Robbie reached out with a tiny fist; Pete’s mouth quirked and he held out his hand, a whole host of warm feelings rushing through him when Robbie’s fingers closed around his thumb.

He didn’t think he was particularly tired himself, but there was something about watching a sleeping infant that made him doze. “Sucker,” Manda’s voice came from above, then her arm draped over his waist and he felt her settle in behind him.

“Tragically,” Pete said, smiling.

When he returned to consciousness, Robbie was awake, lying on his back and babbling with his hands, though he waved when he saw Pete’s eyes were open. Manda’s breath was soft against his neck, and when Pete’s vision cleared further, he saw that Michael and Paul had crept in at some point and joined them.

“Happy,” Pete signed as best he could while lying on his side.

Robbie’s grin widened, showing off his bottom teeth. He raised his hands. “Happy,” he paused, then: “Family.”

Pete pretended to fall back asleep so Robbie wouldn’t see his tears; no need for the kid to get confused.