"Cooper?"

There's something poking at his shoulder, pulling him halfway out of sleep. Cooper grunts, but keeps his eyes glued firmly shut.

Again, three little pokes, and a stage-whispered, "Cooper?"

For a second, he thinks it's Mason - the voice is somewhere between guilty and mischievous, and low enough to be hard to pick out. But Mason would be calling him Dad, and he's waking up enough now to recognize the voice as Charlotte's.

With a groan, he peels his eyes open and manages a, "Wha?"

When she answers him, he's pretty sure he's still dreaming: "I want tacos." It's spoken like a guilty secret, but one she relishes all the same. But he has to have heard her wrong, because this is ridiculous.

"...What?"

"I want tacos," she repeats, still whispering, drawing out the last word dreamily.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes."

He lifts his head enough to see the clock on her nightstand, and says, "Char, it's two AM."

"I know..." she whispers, and he just looks at her, or what he can see of her in the dark, anyway. After a second she adds, "I really, really want tacos."

She's serious, muttering it like tacos are the frigging holy grail or something.

"Now?"

"Yeah..."

"I love you, but..." He's kicking himself already for what he's about to say, but, seriously? Two AM. "Go get some tacos then?"

He hears her scoff lightly, and feels her whap his arm. "You're the daddy-to-be. Midnight cravings are your job. Besides, someone's gotta stay here with Mason."

"I could do that."

"No, I need you to go get tacos," she tells him, plainly, still sotto voce. He's really thinking that maybe this is all a dream. He pinches himself hard - nope, he's wide awake. He can hear the charming smile in her voice when she asks, "Please?"

With a defeated groan, he rolls out of the bed, muttering, "They're just gonna give you heartburn."

"I promise I won't complain about it," she vows, sounding pleased as punch.

"You're damn right you won't," he grumbles, trying to force himself fully awake as he gropes under the bed for his sneakers. If he's making a midnight taco run, he's not bothering to get dressed. Pajama pants and a t-shirt are just fine if you ask him. "Where am I supposed to find you tacos at two AM?"

"You'll find them," she assures confidently. "Three tacos, with hot sauce, and sour cream, and - ooh - guacamole if they have it. And maybe some chips."

"Right. Got it." He doesn't, but if he's going for Mexican in the middle of the night, she'll take whatever he can find and be happy with it. He leaves the bedroom without so much as a goodbye, and pulls up Yelp on his phone. He thanks his lucky stars when it tells him Pinches Tacos is open until three.

Perfect.

And also horrible. Because it's two AM and he's awake and headed to his car.

Thankfully, there's almost no traffic in the middle of the night, so it doesn't take him too long to get there. He orders her tacos, and, against his better judgement, one for himself, and heads home.

He climbs the stairs, take-out container in hand, and pushes open the door to the bedroom. "Alright," he announces quietly. "I come bearing tacos."

There's no answer.

"Char?"

He sits on her side of the bed and feels for the bedside lamp, clicking it on. There's barely a twitch as the light hits her sleeping face.

You've gotta be kidding, he thinks, and now he's the one poking her in the shoulder.

She grunts, mumbles, "'M sleepin'..."

"I have your tacos," he tells her again, but all she does is turn her face into the pillow and slur something unintelligible.

Cooper stares at her, dumbfounded. He just spent the hour between two and three AM on a taco run, and now she's so asleep she can't be bothered?

Fuming silently, and reminding himself they're both at the whim of her hormones and the demanding baby in her belly, he gives up on her and marches himself down to the kitchen. He eats his own taco, then stashes hers in the fridge, and by the time he returns to bed, it's halfway to four.

When he wakes in the morning, she's in the shower, so he wakes Mason and then trudges down the stairs, eyes grainy with exhaustion.

When Charlotte finally emerges and joins their son at the kitchen table, Cooper is ready for her. Wordlessly, he walks to the table and deposits a plate in front of her.

She looks at the three tacos on the plate, then at him, guiltily. "I'll eat 'em for lunch," she assures, but Cooper shakes his head.

"Oh no," he tells her. "I did not go out in the middle of the night to buy your lunch. Eat up."

"Tacos for breakfast?"

"I think tacos for breakfast sounds cool," Mason pipes up, and Charlotte turns to smile at him.

"Oh, do you?" she questions, and he nods. Charlotte slides the plate closer to their son and says, "Then you can help me eat 'em."

Mason doesn't have to be told twice - he reaches over and grabs a taco, biting in eagerly.

Cooper sits down on Charlotte's other side and reaches for the plate. "I suppose I can give you a hand, too."

Lightning fast, she whaps his hand away and tugs the plate closer. "I'm fairly certain I was ordered to eat up," she says tartly, but then she smiles at him and it doesn't escape Cooper's notice that she's already halfway through her first taco. It looks like breakfast tacos are treating her better than she thought they would.

Cooper raises his brows and holds his hands up innocently.

"Well, alright then," he says with an air of approval, and they take a morning meal of tacos followed by Cheerios.

It's a little unorthodox, sure, but when have they ever been normal?