Hearing a loud crash coming from the general direction of the family room, caused Nikita to heave a resigned sigh and reach for a robe as she rushed out of her room to forestall whatever damage her two little ones were more than capable of wreaking. Finding Nicolas sitting in front of the television, contentedly watching his favorite programme, Nikita scanned the room for her youngest. Spotting Christophe doing his best monkey impression, Nikita quickly crossed the room to pull him down from the bookshelf. Squealing in protest, Christophe lodged his complaint in a charming combination of French and English baby talk, letting his mother know in no uncertain terms of his displeasure.
Laughing down into his indignant little features, Nikita was taken aback by the sheer beauty of her son. Christophe was as fair as his brother was dark. His perfect peaches-and-cream complexion, bowed lips that would put Cupid to shame, and deep ocean blue green of his eyes, was pure sunny perfection. All the more striking as they where complimented by a white-blond mess of curly locks. He had inherited his father's deep jade eyes, Nikita mused, with Michael's uncanny ability to communicate with a mere look. But his personality was pure Nikita. Christophe was garrulous and outgoing. He was loud and willful and contemptuous of any attempt to curtail his personal freedoms. He was quick to anger but even quicker to forgive, possessing an unerring sense of fair play. Always ready for a cuddle or a kiss, and a smile that could light up the world, securing him a place in the hearts of every female who met his acquaintance.
Holding Christophe's wiggling body firmly, Nikita walked over to Nicolas and sat down cross-leggged on the floor next to him. Nicolas flashed Nikita a dimpled smile, and said in his patented long-suffering big brother voice, "Mama I tried to reason with him, but he wouldn't listen. So I put pillows under him so if he falled he'd be okay."
"'Fell'. It's okay Nicolas, your brother's antics have not gone unnoticed," Nikita replied with a smile in her voice, leaning down to kiss her oldest son atop his head.
Releasing the squirming Chrisophe, Nikita rose to her feet with surprising grace and headed for the kitchen. "Are you guys ready for breakfast? How 'bout blueberry pancakes and...," Nikita's voice trailed off at the sight that greeted her.
The kitchen was a mess. There were open cereal boxes lying on their sides, contents strewn across the table. Spilt milk trailed from the fridge across the length of the kitchen, meeting the cereal in a puddle in front of the cabinet housing the crockery. Mouth agape, Nikita stared in amazement at the destruction before her. Marveling at the ability of two small boys to turn her beautiful kitchen into a post-breakfast war zone, Nikita emitted a low groan.
Nikita returned to the family room. "I see you guys have taken care of breakfast already," she said amused.
Looking up from his cartoons, Nicolas flashed her his four-year-old version of his father's wicked grin, "We were really hungry mama, and you and papa was asleep."
"Were" asleep," she corrected automatically. "It's fine, but just this once Nicky, next time wake either papa or me okay?"
"Oui."
With a bemused shake of her head she headed back to the kitchen to return it to some semblance of order, absently rubbing the small of her back.