Pregnancy was an odd creature. A week or two ago, her body had plagued her with nausea and morning sickness, had threatened to make her vomit at the mere mention of food. Now, she was constantly hungry. Cravings had started to peek through, though hardly the stereotypical pickles-and-ice cream cravings. Hers would strike at the early hours of the morning, and she'd be out of bed by four, with a jar of oil-cured olives. Tracy often came out in the morning to find an empty olive jar and his wife fast asleep on the couch.

Some of the foods she craved, she never spared a passing glace for before getting pregnant; Tracy knew she hated pears before the pregnancy, but now she suddenly loved them. They always held a few cans of the white-syrup pears in the pantry for her, and she was certainly not one to neglect them.

Tracyhad noticed her change in appetite – to be honest it was rather hard not to. The first time he'd spied her with an unusual food in front of her, he just smiled quietly and thought to himself, 'it begins.'

Tracyhanded her the dish, which she dried off and replaced in the cabinet; a craving had been nagging at her all day, though she hadn't quite been able to pinpoint it, which was rather unusual. Her husband lowered the temperature of the water and ran his hands under the tap, rinsing the soar and suds away as Rae made to close the cabinets. Something caught her eye and she paused, reaching up to pull it down.

She turned the cake pan over in her hands, before she looked up at him. "Why don't we bake?" she asked, "Chocolate cake."

He smiled at her and her unusual impromptu cravings, taking the pan and setting it on the stove. He brought her the necessary ingredients and she mixed them properly, watching the egg and flour and cocoa fuse together and become a sticky, chocolaty brown mess in the bowl. He took it from her once the oven was heated and spooned it all into the pan before placing the mixing bowl in the sink to be dealt with later. He turned back to find Rae opening the oven to put the cake in, and leaned against the counter, crossing his ankles and watching her slide the pan into the oven.

Tracywatched her slide the cake pan in the oven, and dipped his hand back into the flour bag, a sly smile spreading on his lips as he watched her standing back up. Their eyes met, and her gaze gradually traveled down to the handful of flour he'd withdrawn from the bag. She looked back up at him. "You wouldn't dare," she said suspiciously. He cocked and eyebrow.

"What do you mean, luv?" he asked, before tipping his hand forward, watching the flour spill from his palm and cascade over her. She looked down at her pants in shock at the large white spot that had suddenly appeared on her person. She looked back at her husband and he merely smirked down at her. She never broke eye contact, but reached forward and dipped her hand into the bag as well. He looked down at her, playfully challenging her. She cupped her hand, dragging the white powder with her and she hit him square in the chest with the flat of her palm, smashing the white flour between them. She dragged her hand down his chest, leaving a large white smear that contrasted greatly with the medium blue of his shirt.

He looked down at her handiwork as she turned to wipe the flour from her hands, and he took another handful, throwing it, however lightly, at her. It bloomed like a mushroom cloud as it soared towards his wife, settling around her hips and bottom. She craned her neck to see the new stain and laughed at him. "Really?" she asked. He rocked back and forth on his heels.

"No idea what you mean, luv." He said, his voice lilting with a faux-innocence.

She stepped up to him with another scoop of flour and pulled on his collar, dragging him down to her before rubbing the flour across his neck and jaw, letting some sprinkle uncomfortably down his shirt. He wiggled, trying to get used to the odd feeling against his skin, and he saw the look on her face. She was leaning against the counter, now,daring him to one-up her. He waited until she turned again before grabbing her around the waist and holding her to him, keeping her looking away from the counter as he reached back for the bag, grabbing it gently as to not rustle it and lifting it up, and she looked back too late, noticing how he held the bag of flour precariously over her head, and down it came, splashing and cascading over her head and shoulders, and she closed her eyes, held her breath against it. It took several second for the bag to empty completely over her, and when the dust finally settled, clinging to her and forming a small pile on the kitchen floor, she just looked up at him in complete shock, the grin never leaving his face.

She stood stock still as the flour came to a settle around her and all her husband could do was laugh, his shoulder shaking as he watched her startled expression. "S'the matter?" he asked, leaning down to her, his hands on her hips.

"Tracy," she said, looking back at him. You just… you just dumped half a bag of flour on my head. What is my reaction supposed to be?" she asked; the man suddenly felt a pang of guilt, that he'd acted a little too rashly and what had seemed funny at the time was only upsetting.

He still smiles, though it wasn't as energetic as it had been moments ago. "Sorry, my love," he crooned, spinning her around and bowing his head to kiss her, tasting the white powder. She dropped her hands down past his waist and grabbed him, leaving two neat handprints on the seat of his pants, laughing as she pulled back. He smiled wryly and tried to wipe the staid from the back of his pants, only succeeding in smearing it. "Now we're even," she said. Tracy could merely laugh as she shook the flour from her hair, watching as it cascaded to join the rest on the floor. They both looked down, seeing the kitchen tile coated in white.

"By Mab," he said, laughing. "We made a mess!"

"We? We?!" she nudged him lightly, stooping down and scooping more of the powder from the tile. "Well, as long as the mess has been made…" she lightly dusted his shoes with the flour and he laughed, helping her up from the floor.

"Very true, honeybee," he said, tapping the underside of her opened palms. With the sudden jerking motion, the flour jumped from her hands and onto her shirt.

They paused for a moment before they both ducked to the floor, scooping up as much flour as possible and dodging each other's attacks. Tracy kept a keen eye on her, mildly stunned at the fact that they were now having a flour war, sending fistfuls of the powder flying across the room at each other. The air was thick with the upturned flour, and he was sure it would settle over everything; he didn't care.

More laughter erupted from him as he removed his glasses, wiping his brow on his already whitened sleeve. His wife was a ghostly white-washed image through the haze as she sat across the kitchen, back against one of cabinets, clutching at her rounded belly. The smile fell from Tracy's face, fear for the worst gripping him, turning his insides to ice as he scrambled across the kitchen for her, taking her in his arms at once. "What happened?" he asked quietly.

There was silence between them for a moment at Rae looked up at him. "She kicked." She said, her voice coming forth excitedly. "I felt her kick!" she grabbed her husband's hand and splayed it across her belly. He remained still, barely breathing as he waited.

It was a small flutter that pushed rather violently against his palm, and he laughed, shocked and elated and amazed all at once because that was his daughter. He smiled shakily, feeling her kick again. Rae leaned into him and he kissed her, wiping the flour from her cheek, though it was a pointless endeavor; they were both covered in and inch-thick coating of powder. He took a sweeping look around the room. "Look at that," he said, his voice holding a tint of awe as he rested his head against hers. "Still in the womb as she has to tell us to behave."