title; baby bottles and cartoon turtles.
prompt; nostalgia.
pairings; abby/hoagie.
words; 507


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"Tell Abby you aren't serious, honey . . . ,"

Hoagie Gilligan blinked at the exasperation in her voice, his previous enthusiasm fading into disappointment. He looked down at the tattered notebook in his lap. Baby boy names were scribbled across the paper in messy fashion, some smudged and scratched out. Two, however, were circled in bright scarlet ink, shining like a beacon of brilliance in sea of boring, familiar, and classic names. "Uh," he started, "Yeah."

Abby rubbed her swollen abdomen with a sigh. "I was 'fraid of that."

Hoagie frowned as he watched her settle deeper into her chair, wincing away from the bright heat of the sunlight pouring in through the bayside windows. She was supposed to be more excited about the fucking amazing signatures their sons (twins! Hoagie was still a little hung up on that) were destined to have. After all, Leonardo and Michelangelo were great – no, fantastic – names. It wasn't like he was trying to coax his wife into planting Mikey on the birth certificate of girl or something.

Hoagie chewed his bottom lip, a thoughtful look coming to his face. He was really going to have discuss the names April and Jessie over with Abby if they decided to have any more kids after the boys were born in a couple of months.

"Hoags,"

He turned at the sound of his wife. Grinning, charmingly, Hoagie pushed his glasses further up his nose. "Yeah?" he nearly cooed. He clutched the list of names to his chest, hoping she wasn't going to suggest giving one of the boys his name. It would be fine for one kid (also boring) like Wally and Kuki had done with their newborn four months earlier, but wouldn't that be hard with twins? He really didn't know the logistics of twins.

Abby could have almost smiled at the smudges of ink across his cheeks, and the bridge of his nose, and the sudden nervous look to his blue eyes. "You're really settled on those names, right?" she asked, rubbing her swollen abdomen with a tender hand. One of the babies inside pressed a tiny foot against her.

Hoagie nodded. He was smiling now at Abby in that way that she had long decided she loved, all relieved, goofy and affectionate and rather like the little boy that had declared his crush years ago.

"Abby gets to choose the middle names, alright?" she finished, giving in with sigh laced with what could only be described as a tired, quiet sound of love.

Her husband was across the living room in a second, nearly knocking the French lamp (a wedding present from her grandparents in Paris) off its perch in his clumsy rush. "You," he murmured against her lips after sweeping her into a sudden kiss, "are the best."

"Yeah," Abby said when he finally parted from her mouth. "Abby knows."

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a/n:

i honestly don't know what i'm doing anymore.
. . . sorry, adult!hoagie.
also, if you don't get the references, i am disappoint. D:


Abby & Hoagie © Mr. Warburton.