Hi guys!

I'm back with another pick-a-noun fic! Thanks to Sharon who suggested "PMS", since… well, let's say I'm having very bad post-PMS days now. This is to another classmate who suggested the names Tiffany and Gabriel! :)

P.S.: I wrote this originally and I hoped it'd be funny… but now that I re-read the ending, I'm not quite sure. The first part is rather funny though, at least that's what I think :P

-Christie

Disclaimer: I do not own Cause of Death

"Dad!" Seventeen-year-old Tiffany Fallon groaned in exasperation as she saw her father using her computer.

"What's up, kiddo?"

"Don't 'kiddo' me! Can you use your own computer, Dad?" The adolescent stood at the doorway to her room, resting her hands on her hips. Her coffee-brown hair was tucked into a messy bun, and she was sporting a baggy top and loose shorts. She looked very much like a direct replica of her mother – except that the wisps of loose hair falling out of her bun were curled at the ends.

"I was just looking up the recipe to your favourite pancakes, Tiff – don't you want them for breakfast?" Mal glanced up from the screen, staring at his daughter with a raised eyebrow.

Tiffany groaned again. "Dad, no! I need to keep in shape to stay on the volleyball team!"

"You look pretty fit to me."

"Heck no! I'm bloating and I feel like a freaking elephant!" She ranted, jumping up and down at the same spot in annoyance. Why couldn't he see how much I'm bloating up? That's basically the reason why I'm wearing this baggy shirt rather than a tank top!

Mal stood up from his daughter's white chair, and walked across the room until he was standing in front of her. "Weighing 45kg is hardly like an elephant! If you're an elephant, I'd be a whale that can potentially crush two sharks to death!"

"But you're a guy, Dad! Girls don't weigh that much – and did you just mention my weight? You can never mention a girl's weight in front of her, Dad! It's a golden rule! I thought Mom chewed you up pretty good when she was pregnant with Gabriel!" Tiffany whined, recalling the screaming matches her mother had with her father when she was pregnant with Tiffany's little brother, Gabriel.

His hands were raised up as a sign of surrender. "Okay, okay, sorry about that! But I still think you're perfectly in shape, Tiffany."

"No – I'm – not! I'm perfectly not in shape!" The adolescent jumped up and down again as she complained, failing to notice her mother's shocked yet amused face poking out of the door of her study.

"Children," Natara teased, making the quarrelling duel snap their gazes at her. "Everything okay?"

"Mom, I'm not a kid!" Tiffany huffed, stomping her foot like a three-year-old. "Tell Dad I'm not eating pancakes for breakfast tomorrow!"

"Nat, tell her that she has to eat carbs, or else she won't have any energy for volleyball practice!" Mal shot back, sending a half-hearted glare towards his daughter

Natara chuckled at the squabbling pair. Their tempers were so similar that it was comical to see her replica arguing with the Lieutenant of SFPD, who was subtly flinching at the sudden outburst of the usually docile daughter. She walked out of the room, stopping a few inches away from Tiffany and casually leaned on the wall. With a soft smirk on her face, she crossed her arms and addressed her daughter.

"Honey, you need food to survive. Pancakes may be fattening – well they are kind of fattening, actually – but they provide a lot of carbs and proteins. You'll burn all those with practice tomorrow anyway," Nat explained, attempting to convince her daughter that having pancakes for breakfast was perfectly okay; and that it wouldn't cause her to become morbidly obese.

"What if I don't?" Tiffany demanded, widening her eyes. "Oh gosh, I'll be kicked off the team if I don't stay in shape!"

It was Mal's turn to sigh. "We'll hit the gym if you don't, okay, sweetie?"

Tiffany balanced the idea for a few seconds before nodding. "Hmm. I guess it's fine then."

"Okay," Mal smiled and left his daughter's room. "I'm leaving!" He announced.

"Computer, oh sweet computer!" The adolescent dashed across the threshold of her room until she almost hugged the computer. Not forgetting what her father did before the argument over pancakes and carbs, she shot a glare over her shoulder that hit her father square in the face. "Dad, use your own computer!"

Mal sighed. He had a hunch on why his usually amiable daughter was having crazy mood swings, but he'd rather live.

Tiffany latched herself onto her MacBook Pro, only to slam it shut few minutes later. "Hmm, computer," she mumbled as she folded her arms on top of her computer and rested her chin on her folded arms. The soft melody of Demi Lovato's "Warrior" was still softly tumbling out of her slightly ajar lips as her head dropped on the cold aluminium surface of her laptop.

The soft thud startled Mal as he walked away from his daughter's room. With curiosity inside him, he turned back to Tiffany's room, only to see the teenaged-version of Natara slouched haphazardly on her MacBook Pro, her messy hair falling out of her bun. Sighing internally, Mal grabbed a blanket off Tiffany's bed and covered his daughter with it.

Women, eh? He thought, as he stood over his eldest child, who had grown up from a wailing baby girl into a beautiful young lady. Time had passed by so quickly in front of him, and he still could remember the day when she was born. She had been an inquisitive child, her piercing hazel eyes looking around the room minutes after she was born, and Mal remembered how his baby daughter narrowed her eyes at him as he picked her up for the first time.

Time surely flew, and Tiffany Fallon was no longer the infant in Mal Fallon's arms; she was already a high school senior, with few months left till graduation, with few months left till she went to college, with only a few years left before she had to take on the world on her own.

He wouldn't be there to catch her when she fell, but he promised to be there for every one of her milestones.

But now, he would focus on letting his teenage daughter sleep off her rampage minutes prior, until she felt better and less cranky.