A/N: Requested on tumblr as "Leslie goes to April about triplet advice before April's even a mom because of how much time she spends with the kids and her success in helping plants the "realistic thoughts about kids" thoughts in her mind."

Well, that's another kidfic for some of you to ignore!

"So, this vitally important meeting you called me over for involves brownies and ice cream… and waffles, of course," April notes, shaking her head at the fresh plate on Leslie's kitchen countertop. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"No, trust me! This is all for-"

She means to continue but then, like they could tell food was being set out, the triplets each snagged a plate and topped it with scoops and other assorted sugary goods. If April didn't know Ben made the brownies, and that the ice cream came from a carton, she'd be a little worried about this whole situation. Then again, what did she care? April definitely doesn't think a lot about how much junk food the triplets have. Not one bit.

When they leave, Leslie takes a deep breath and reaches for the lone, remaining waffle. Instead of taking it, she just leaves it there and looks at April in earnest.

"I know, that was a… buttload of sugar," Leslie shrugs.

"It's nine o'clock," April laughs. "Also, why the hell did you call me over at this hour. I do have a husband at home I haven't seen in, like, four days."

"Speaking of, how's work?" Leslie's hand absentmindedly approaches the waffle, and April can't help but chuckle. "Oh, screw it."

The fridge door cracks open quickly and soon the waffle's loaded with whipped cream and sitting happily on the plate.

"It's fine, I guess. I mean… it's great, and I love it, but I'm, y'know, it's weird," April finally sits on a stool next to the little island in the kitchen. "Life's weird right now."

"Andy still-?"

"Yes," April slouches.

"You know you don't have to do anything you don't want to, April," she offers. "I mean, that's obvious-"

"Duh."

"But it's not for everyone, so if you're not ready or won't ever be I'm sure it'll be fine," Leslie waves her off, getting ready to dig her fork into the waffle when April sighs. Letting it clang on the plate, she looks up. "What?"

"What if it's not fine?" April stares as she speaks, all of it suddenly bubbling up. All of the worries that have been in her head for a long, long time come out. Some of them, the ones she never wants to share, mainly that one, stay put thankfully. "What if he hates me forever? What if I never want it, or he does so much that he-"

"April," interrupting her friend, Leslie shakes her head. "None of that's going to happen. Now, I have to ask you something."

"Oh, I thought this was just going to be me watching your kids' diets again."

"Well… no. I mean, if you want to. No, don't do that. I've had enough surprise vegetable attacks for one lifetime, I don't need whatever strange magic you're working to keep you looking like that-"

"Leslie, you've seen the garbage I eat. Don't ask me," April shrugs.

"Right, so magic," Leslie nods and continues her schpiel. "So, there's a whole soccer tryout and Sonia wants to do it instead of her mock Supreme Court club she always goes to. Plus, she might miss a period of math every few weeks if she gets in. You know how much she loves math."

"Yes. Yes, I do," April grimaces. "Why are you asking me this?"

"You guys babysit them all the time," she picks up her fork and aims it at the waffle before groaning. "I was thinking maybe you'd tell me I was right in saying she couldn't go to tryouts."

April just sits and stares for a moment before speaking. "I dunno, Leslie. She's your kid-"

"And I want your opinion," Leslie has that same, pleading look. It would have been enough, but of course Leslie happens. "Please, please, please. I swear, I won't call you stupid this time or say your ideas are terrible. I never mean it anyways!"

"Calm down," April laughs. "You really want my actual opinion?"

"Of course!"

"Why?" April asks, honestly curious.

"Oh, I hope you're always giving me actual opinions but every week since the wedding you tell me I should divorce Ben so maybe I should lower my expectations," Leslie trails off before looking back at her, glancing over to the stairs and then to April. "Because I trust you. Plus, you've got… that instinct."

Instead of asking her about that, already dreading the word, April just squeezes her eyes shut to think a little harder. "Sonia's not going to fail algebra because of this. Not even close. If anything she'll skip a year of math. So, like, don't worry about that at all."

"So I should let her do it?"

"Wouldn't it make her so happy, though?" April suggests, remembering her face when Andy runs around with her and how she tires him out sometimes. Then she pictures Andy's face, smiles at the thought, and has to burn it away. "I mean, she'll love it. It'll give her an outlet for all of that pent up energy, too. Wouldn't that be awesome to lose for at least a little while? Yeah, you'd have to pick her up and drop her off, but she'd also love you for it and not that she already doesn't. Plus, what's there to lose?"

"Model UN! Debate!"

"Which she can do in high school, or not at all. Trust me, Leslie: you don't want to tell your daughter what she likes isn't cool enough. Even if your alternative is… ugh, debate," April sneers but tries to remember her usual checklist and mental patterns with clients. It's refreshing to be mentally stimulated again. Andy's amazing and all, but work tiring her brain in a good way was totally new and something he could never really give her. "Just don't, y'know, stifle her interests or whatever."

Somewhere along her little ramble, Leslie's face changed. April was too busy talking and thinking to pay attention to it, at least much, and didn't realize the smile working its way there. It's something knowing and April hates it, because she's usually right too. Sighing, April closes her eyes and awaits the deluge of advice. When it doesn't come she looks around as if expecting time to be stopped and instead is only met with that same smile.

"Why are you look at me like that? Are you a serial killer? You have to tell me if you're a serial killer," April pokes her finger toward her. "How do you do it? Do you want to wear my skin-?"

"April, I'm not… oh, whatever. I'm just really impressed at your answer," she accepts the grumble at ignoring April's attempts at exposing her supposed crimes. "It sounds-"

"Oh God, please don't say it," April clutches her stomach.

Leslie stops and nods her head. "Well, that was all I needed to talk to you about. I'll see you later," she smiles and April finds her way out of the house.

Like a mother is what Leslie was about to say. What she doesn't know is that April would be so horrendous at it her kids would be a mess. They'd be totally uncool, stupid, and would grow up to be failures in every way. Most likely because of her and her inability to raise a freaking plant. How the hell was she supposed to be able to raise a kid? All her decisions were terrible, her advice was awful anyways, and April half expects every kid she sends out her office to come back a week later addicted to smack. Sonia would tryout and Leslie would be so mad, and life would be terrible.

A week later, April gets a care package at work. It's got little notes - dozens of them - from Sonia along with a batch of cookies. Each note tells her she's so happy that her mom was convinced to let her play, and she knows exactly who did it.

April spends a lot of time reading those notes for a few months. The cookies don't last nearly as long, but still.

Still, those notes sink deep into her mind. They ask her all sorts of questions that she suddenly has the answers to. Paper and words have no real solutions in and of themselves, but the little smiles and notes and, later when she's over at their house, Sonia's massive hug for her all start that first key tumbling. They all send that first signal, like little fires, that make her think she might be capable of it.

She might actually be okay at it.