AND NOW FOR THE SEQUEL NOBODY ASKED FOR.

I like this AU, it's cute, and I've been meaning to write another drabble for it, and then I never got around to it, but you'd be amazed what can come out of procrastination, so now you have this.

Enjoy! ;)


He'd somehow lost the baby.

Now, he wasn't sure exactly how he'd lost the baby.

But be was one-hundred percent sure that Arthur was going to tan his hide for losing the baby.

Long story short, he had to find the baby.

"Archie!" he called, receiving no response, which he knew he wouldn't, but that was irrelevant right now. "Archie! Come on, little monster, where are you?"

Once again. No response.

Well fuck him with a barge pole, this was ridiculous, he must have checked everywhere but-

Wait a minute!

He rather quickly rushed to the garage, glancing around desperately for a moment before sighing a heavy breath of relief. Inside, curled in the cat bed by the door, was his almost two year old son, sleeping without a care in the bloody world. As if he hadn't just tried extremely hard to give his dad a heart attack.

One of their cats was curled up around him, his tiny ears perking up at the sound of Alistair entering the room, meowing happily before resting his head back on top of the sleeping toddler's softly rising stomach.

Alistair stepped down into the garage, crouching beside the bed and petting Scone gently, "Hey, what did I say about stealing Archie?"

Scone just meowed again in response.

Alistair rolled his eyes, reaching down and scooping up the toddler despite Scone's whines of protest at having his personal space-heater taken away, "Oh come off it," Alistair said, cradling his son against his chest, "If you want a cuddle go and find Mouser."

At that suggestion the cat almost seemed offended.

Alistair laughed softly as he wandered back into the house, a familiar bounce in his step that he'd always used to lull little Archie to sleep when he'd been younger. The poor kid had the worst sleeping habits of any child he'd ever come across. It hadn't helped Arthur's perpetual vendetta against mornings any, especially when he had to skip tea in favour of breast-feeding, because there was no way Alistair was going to risk him spilling tea on their newly born son. Not in a million years.

The sound of Arthur returning home, was much more welcome than it would have been ten minutes earlier. "Welcome home," Alistair smiled, as he walked into the room, slinging his coat over a nearby chair, and his bag down after it before wandering over to Alistair to give him a light kiss.

Arthur chuckled, "Glad to be home, work is full of pillocks, fuck 'em, I say."

Alistair gasped, turning away from Arthur with a look of false horror which made him roll his eyes in response, "Such language, I tell you, when we get a phone call from his future teacher because he told someone to fuck off, you will be the one explaining to them why."

Arthur just smiled amusedly, and leaned back up to press their lips back together, "I can live with that."

Alistair rolled his eyes, "That was supposed to put you off."

Arthur just smirked, pressing a gentle kiss to Archie's temple, making the small boy gurgle happily in his sleep, "Sorry poppet. Did you make dinner?"

Alistair found himself blinking in realization that he had been responsible for dinner since it was his day off... needless to say, he'd been a little preoccupied with something else... not that Arthur could know what that something was. Arthur raised an eyebrow, "Ah no," Alistair said a little sheepishly, "I... I was busy."

Arthur shook his head with a sigh, "That fine, we'll just order take-away. Archie loves prawn crackers anyway."

"Do I not get a say-"

Arthur interrupted him quickly, "You didn't cook dinner and I want Chinese, any chance at a choice got taken away when you failed to remember to cook."

Four of their prawn crackers were sacrificed to Archie that night, less than one of those ending up in the tyke's mouth, and more than two of them ending up as little more than dust crushed into his high-chair and the carpet, not to mention his hands, and his hair, and- well, maybe they should have bought Indian instead...

But at least Alistair didn't have to explain how he'd lost their baby.