See Chapter 1 for disclaimers.

Sophie was woken early the next morning by a rhythmic chopping sound. Nate was woken by Sophie yanking the pillow from underneath his head to press it over her exposed ear. Once he was awake, though, the relentless cycle of thud-crack was pervasive.

"What is that noise?" he asked, raising his head to peer blearily around the room.

"Probably Eliot chopping firewood," Sophie grumbled from between the pillows, remembering Hardison's prediction from the day before. "Make him stop, Nate," she pleaded. "It's too early for that sort of thing."

Nate groaned, head falling back against the bed. It was barely seven in the morning, the patch of sky visible through the windows just starting to get light. He tried to convince himself he could go back to sleep for an hour, but even if he could tune the axe strokes out to nothing but a background rhythm, he couldn't do the same with his wife.

"Na-ate," she whined, when there was no movement from the other side of the bed. And then her feet found his legs and she dug her toes into the flesh of his calves.

"Fine!"

Nate threw back the covers and got up, reaching for the bathrobe draped across the foot of the bed and sliding his feet into slippers. Yawning and rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes, he padded downstairs and out onto the back porch.

Eliot had evidently been at this for a while, which accounted for some of Sophie's annoyance. He had built up a good-sized stack of split logs and, despite the below freezing temperature, had discarded his jacket and flannel shirt, and his t-shirt was sticking to the light sheen of sweat covering his body.

Nate pulled his bathrobe closer around him against the cold.

"Eliot," he called out – not too loudly and trying to time it between swings of the axe. Startling a man wielding even the lightweight axe Nate kept for chopping firewood was never a good idea – and an even worse one when said man was Eliot Spencer.

He had to repeat himself a couple of times before Eliot turned to look, axe dropping to his side.

"Too early?" Eliot asked, taking in Nate's sleep-rumpled state.

"Little bit," Nate replied.

"Didn't mean to wake you," Eliot apologised.

"You didn't," Nate said, the corners of his mouth turning down a little in dark humour. "You woke Sophie."

Eliot sent him an apologetic grimace as he stooped to gather the last set of split logs scattered around him and stacked them neatly with the others. He steadied himself with a hand against the house for a moment, and Nate's gaze sharpened.

"How about you leave the playing with sharp implements to others until that vertigo clears up?" he suggested.

"I'm fine," Eliot said automatically, reaching for his flannel shirt and shrugging it back on.

Nate gave a lopsided smirk, but let it drop.

"Coffee?" he asked, stepping back towards the door.

"Yeah," Eliot grabbed his jacket and an armload of split logs to restock the basket in the living room, and followed Nate inside.

Nate made the good coffee – the one Sophie couldn't resist. He had left the bedroom door open so he knew the aroma would reach her, even if her head was still sandwiched between two pillows. If he was going to watch the sun rise, it was only fair that the woman responsible for him being awake to do so should join him, rather than staying snuggled up in their warm bed.

Sophie held out an impressive length of time. Nate was almost at the bottom of his second cup when she put in an appearance. She went straight for the coffee pot, ignoring Nate's "Good morning" until she had fixed her cup the way she liked it, and spent a moment savouring the aroma and the heavenly first sip. Only after that did she cross to where Nate leant against the counter for a good morning hug and kiss. She caught Eliot smirking at them over the rim of his coffee cup as she turned in Nate's arms, but she wiped that expression from his face in seconds by joining him at the breakfast bar, planting a kiss on his cheekbone – with a wink at Nate – before seating herself on the stool next to him and curling herself around the warmth of her coffee cup.

Eliot froze, then turned slowly to stare at her from underneath lowered eyebrows.

Sophie smiled sweetly.

"So, chopping wood at six o'clock in the morning?" she opened.

"Seven," Eliot protested.

"It was six when you started," Sophie countered

"Yeah," Eliot admitted reluctantly.

"We have got to find you some quieter hobbies," Sophie said emphatically – causing Nate to choke on his last mouthful of coffee.

"Like what?" Eliot seemed genuinely curious as to what she might suggest.

Sophie thought for a moment. She either needed an actual solution or a suggestion funny enough that they could laugh it off and move on without having the rest of the conversation about Eliot's sleeping habits.

"Macramé?" she deadpanned.

Eliot snorted.

"How about mime?" Nate asked, earning glares from the other two. "What? It's guaranteed to be quiet," he continued.

Sophie shook her head at him sadly and continued to talk to Eliot.

"In the meantime, you could make up for waking me up at this ungodly hour by making me breakfast," she suggested.

"I could," Eliot agreed. "What are you thinking?"

Sophie considered it. Morning sickness was taking the day off, and she apparently had a trained chef willing to indulge her culinary whims...this needed some serious thought.

"I'm not sure yet," Sophie told him. "Why don't you go and shower off that sweat you worked up playing lumberjack while I decide?"

Eliot tipped his head back to get the last few drops of coffee from his mug, then stood to carry it over to the sink.

"You might want to take into account what you have the ingredients for while you're thinking about it," he told Sophie. "Unless you're hiding a magic wand in one of those cabinets?"

"Go and shower," Sophie repeated. "I'll have my requests ready when you're done, and I expect top-of-the-line performance."

Eliot just rolled his eyes, and left her, Nate and the coffee pot to it.