A/N: Well, better late than never. Almost a year on and I'm finally updating this fic. I haven't written for a very long while, so I'm sorry that I'm so rusty. I thought it would be better to just post something quick and simple (with no plot) as I try to get back into the flow of things. Thanks to my dear beta, you're wonderful.

Warning for a few swear words.

Which one is always stubbing their toe and screaming about it?

"Shit!"

"John, please," Anna sighed, "He has ears, you know." She turned from the hob to look exasperatedly at her sheepish husband as he braced himself against the doorframe of the kitchen, eyes screwed up in pain.

John Bates had always been clumsy. His mother had scolded him many a time for his quotidian knocks and bruises, toes in particular. His wife was no different, admonishing him often for his carelessness. Whilst not offended by his language, she was especially keen to ensure that their unborn child did not pick up any of their father's colourful vocabulary.

"Back to he are we?" John grunted, teeth gritted. Anna had to bite her lip to conceal her amusement as he flopped onto the dining room chair, foot in hand.

"It varies, you know. But don't try and change the subject. You've got to start working on your language," she reprimanded, switching off the gas and moving over to sit next to him (it would have been easier to stay frustrated for longer if he didn't give her those eyes).

"You say she one day and he the next," John replied. Anna shot him a reproving look, and he chastened. "Alright, I'll try. And I've got three months still. We'll need it to change this old man's ways." Her eyes saddened slightly. She hated when he put himself down.

"Sorry, love, I didn't mean old. Well-weathered. Experienced…or geriatric," he joked, pleased to see a smile light up her face once more. She gestured for him to place his poor foot on her lap.

"You giving me a foot rub? This seems to be the wrong way round," he teased, but accepted nonetheless (she was sure to get her way somehow, might as well make it quick). John Bates was never in pain for long with such a tenacious woman at his side.

Anna smiled, focusing on the task at hand by gently rubbing her husband's injured toe, "I wouldn't be too sure about having time to change. That book Mary gave me said he can hear from as early as 23 weeks, and we're past that mark now, thank God."

"I doubt they'll be picking up my cursing," he scoffed.

"Are you telling me that he doesn't know the sound of his Daddy's voice?" she challenged, stopping the massage and crossing her arms.

"Their Mummy's, more like. I've heard you singing."

A rosy glow graced Anna's cheeks. "I didn't know that you were listening…" she trailed off.

"Don't be embarrassed, love. It was endearing, and rather beautiful." His view now was rather endearing and beautiful. There sat his beautiful wife, in her most favourite flannel pyjamas, golden hair tumbling out of its bun and eyes glinting with the beginnings of tears.

"I just love them so much, John," she whispered, looking away, her eyes filling up quickly, "I didn't even know it was possible." Her change of pronoun gone unnoticed, he leant forward and slowly covered her hands with one of his larger ones, the other tipping her chin up towards him.

"Me too, love. And I just can't wait to have them here." He met her lips in a sweet kiss, feeling her smile.

"This doesn't take away from your potty mouth, John Bates," she scolded half-heartedly, before placing another quick kiss on his lips and pulling away, "I don't care how long it will be till she can repeat the words, you're working on your language now. It's really quite terrible."

"She? Make up your mind, love," John said amusedly, smiling lazily at his wife.

"And for that, my dear husband, you can drain the spaghetti." She smiled triumphantly as her husband groaned and stood, placing her feet on his chair as soon as he had moved.

"As you so wish. This foulmouthed fool deserves it," he passed round her chair, turning to lean over her and kiss her head. Anna watched him lovingly as he pottered around the kitchen, beginning to dance.

"John, I'd be careful if I were you. It's not the biggest kitchen," Anna warned.

"What was it that you were singing the other day? Was it Annie?"

She sighed. "I thought we'd left the subject. But yes, it was Annie."

"The sun'll come out tomorrow…" he began to sing, throwing her a variety of faces as he mixed pasta and sauce.

"John, I really wouldn't. You're a clumsy thing when you're focusing." She shook her head lovingly, well aware of the hazards of their new home; even she was prone to knocking into the bin.

"Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow-"

"John watch-"

"There'll be- fuck! My toe!"