Disclaimer: I'm not an owner, I'm just a random shipper.

Always a Twerp

Timmy closed the front door as softly as humanly possible. He listened carefully for a full minute after it clicked into place. Not hearing anything, he breathed a sigh of relief and took one tiptoed step toward his room, when...

"TWERP! GET IN HERE!"

No point in running. Timmy approached the living room couch where Vicky lay sprawled, steps heavy with resignation. "Yes, Vicky?" He said meekly.

"Where have you been?!"

"Out with Chester and AJ."

"Oh, of course, I should've guessed! Hanging around those lazy good-for-nothings while the trash has been piling up all day! Who did you expect to take the trash out while you were out having fun? ME?!"

"Of course not, Vicky. I'll take care of it right now." He ducked his head and examined the trash can. It was less than half full. With a shrug, he tied the bag, replaced it, and made to leave.

"Where do you think you're going, Twerp?!"

"Um. To take the trash out?"

"And who's going to rub my feet while you're gone?"

"I'll hurry back. I'll be like the wind." Timmy vowed.

"Less talking, more running, Twerp!" Vicky yelled at his disappearing back.

Timmy was as good as his word, rushing back to the couch at full speed. His hands went to work on Vicky's feet with an expertise born of much experience, thumbs zeroing in on knots like they were magnetized.

"Ahhhhhh," Vicky sighed in relief. Her face transformed before his eyes, the anger draining away, replaced by contentedness. Her entire body relaxed, eyes shut, barely awake. "Mmm."

But over the next several minutes, Vicky's features transformed again. Content bled into sorrow. Timmy made reassuring noises, but was powerless to halt the outbreak of tears ten minutes into the massage. As soon as the first sob came, he drew her up to sitting and hugged her against his chest, running his fingers through her hair. "Sh, sh, sh."

"I'm so sorry!" She wailed. "I don't mean to be like this."

"I know."

"It's force of habit. It's because you LET me treat you so bad. It's really your fault when you think about it."

"I know."

"No, that's not true. It's not your fault. I really do care about you. I'm just really bad at showing it."

"I know."

"Stop being so agreeable all the time! You should be scolding me!"

"I know."

When the sobbing finally died away, a little girl with brownish red hair poked her head cautiously into the living room. "Is mommy feeling better now?"

"Yes." Vicky sniffed away the last of her tears. "C'mere, booger."

The girl carefully crawled onto the couch and curled up next to Timmy, and the three of them cuddled as best they could in the awkward seating situation.

"I don't know how you two put up with me." Vicky whispered. "I'm so awful right now."

"It's fine. It's very nostalgic for me." Timmy said complacently. "And it's entirely understandable right now, given your condition." He patted her bulging belly lightly.

"Was I this bad last time?" She asked pensively, ruffling the little girl's hair.

"Worse."

"Oh, God. That WOULD be nostalgic. Why did you marry me, again?"

Timmy kissed her temple. "Because I love you, of course. And you love me."

"Oh. That."

Minutes later, Vicky was asleep, all of her considerable weight resting on Timmy's chest. The little girl examined her mother's sleeping face.

"Daddy, what does Twerp mean? Why does mommy call you that?"

Timmy opened his mouth and closed it again. He decided on a slightly sanitized definition. "Twerp means 'little one'."

Her face screwed up in confusion. "But...you're bigger than her."

"Yes, but I've known your mother a looong time. I wasn't always bigger than her."

"But you're bigger than her NOW. Shouldn't she stop calling you that?"

"No. Never." Timmy said with a fond smile. "I'll always be her Twerp."