Disclaimer: The drabbles are mine, the idea isn't. If you can't figure it out from the summary, the challenge was up on Ars Amatoria. Oh, and I don't own the Power Rangers.

Ashley Hammond/Astro Yellow: You can't kill me! I wrote more:P

Juzblue: I just can't see Andros in yellow. :D The surprise is in Reaction.

Routine

When we finally leave our room, his arm is draped loosely around my shoulders, keeping me close to him. I smile and hug him impulsively as he turns toward the kitchen, wrapping my arms around his neck. He hugs back and my smile grows.

"I'll make breakfast," he offers.

"As long as I get Ella up," I finish for him. "We do this every morning, Andros."

He smiles sheepishly and nods, kissing me a final time before we go about our morning routine. I smile and move down the hall quietly, pausing in the doorway to watch our youngest daughter sleep for a moment. No matter how perfect things seemed when we were eighteen, it was our children that kept us close through everything that came after.

Slowly, I make my way through the darkened room, careful not to trip or stumble over the growing piles of clothes and books on her floor. She mumbles sleepily as I shake her shoulder, turning her face into the pilllow.

"Ella..."

"Don't wanna get up," she wails, as she does every morning. Her lower lip juts out as she stares up at me, her brown eyes perfectly round.

"Just because that works on your father..." I say sternly, but I know I'm smiling.

Ella looks down and sighs, but smiles a moment later. "Is Dad making pancakes?"

"Get dressed and come see," I tell her as I leave the room.

"Fine," I hear her grumble as she forces herself out of bed. I only laugh and move toward the kitchen where, sure enough, Andros is making pancakes.

"Hey," I murmur, slipping my arms around his waist from behind. "Aren't you done yet?"

I can feel him stiffen a laugh. "You're hungry, then?"

"Starved," I say brightly. "And you know how much Ella can eat... Need any help?"

"Ash, pancakes are the one thing that I can cook without your help," he reminds me, turning away from the stove just long enough to wrap an arm around my shoulder.

"And it took you long enough to learn, too," I tell him sweetly. "But you did look cute covered in flour."

He glares at me, but smiles, and I laugh. I can't help but smile as I remember all the times we ended up covered in spilled flour or worse, batter, and it's really quite funny how many burned pancakes we went through. But what I remember most is how he truly opened up when we were alone, how he'd let himself laugh instead of just smiling shyly.

"Hey," he says quietly, tapping my shoulder. "What are you thinking about?"

I smile. "You."