(A/N - This is my first fanfic, and a fairly rough draft at that. Any critiques would be greatly appreciated.)

Bedtime Story

Two redheads in the kitchen, their Sunday night ritual. Almost twins, but not exactly. Dylan's older now, of course. A little rounder, maybe. But her eyes are still bright, and her laughter still rings out as it always has. She isn't as young as she used to be, but she'll never be old.

The young one is taller, slimmer, wears her hair longer. But she has her mother's way about her, the bright laughter, the easy movements. She was always a beautiful girl. Soon, she'll be a beautiful woman, like her mother. So like her mother. He loves them both, in his own way. He loves the way their hair shines in the sunlight. He loves the way they talk to one another, so easily, the antidote to his own changeless silence.

"That bowl's too small. Look, you're getting avocado all over."

"Why didn't you tell me that when I got the bowl out in the first place?"

"You know, despite what you think, I don't actually have eyes in the back of my head."

"That's not what you told me earlier."

Dylan laughs, giving the skillet a practiced shake. He would never have thought she could be such a good cook. "Yeah, well, I lied."

The young one rolls her eyes. His eyes. She's his daughter too. But she pulls a larger bowl out from the cabinet. Strange that their daughter could be so obedient to anyone.

"So." Dylan turns, flipping that hair casually over her shoulder. "How was your… study session?"

"Nothing happened!" The young one mashes her avocados with renewed energy, skinny shoulders working underneath the thin, faded fabric of one of her mother's old t-shirts.

"That's not what I was implying." Dylan turns back to the stove, a strange smile on her face. "Of course, I've got to wonder just why you'd be so defensive if nothing happened…"

"Well…" The young one struggles, at a rare loss for words, and finally falls silent. He loves their silences, too. He loves everything about the bright world they've created around themselves, their home. They're perfect. They're his. "Besides, I thought you liked Toby. You said he was nice."

"I said he seems nice. But you are a Sanders woman. We're not known for having the best taste in boyfriends." He supposes he should take offense to this, but somehow, he can tell that Dylan isn't including him with the rest of her boyfriends. He's different.

The young one frowns at her guacamole, then suddenly cracks a wide, mischievous smile. "Actually, technically, I'm a Zaas woman, not a Sanders woman."

Dylan turns, arms folded. "Do you want to be Brandy Zaas?" she asks. "Because we can go down to the courthouse tomorrow and get everything changed. You can go to school on Tuesday and tell everyone that your name is now Brandy Zaas. If, you know, that's what you want to do."

Brandy scowls and turns away. Dylan, laughing, goes back to her skillet. "I'm sure Toby's a very nice boy," she says, trying to soothe over any hurt feelings. "Just… don't be in any kind of hurry, okay? There's plenty of time for boys. You've got your whole life ahead of you."

Their daughter doesn't say anything, but that's all right. They're never angry with one another for very long. They have the same temper - it flares up in an instant and then disappears. Neither is the sort to hold a grudge, and especially not with one another. They are, after all, mother and daughter. Perfect. His.