"You're going to run out of room," Gillian mused, watching as her husband ran his fingers over the inked patches of his skin.

"Betta stop havin' kids then," Cal retorted quickly. Gillian shot him a glare. Without looking up or missing a beat Cal noted, "Love how you still think the second one was my fault."

Gillian threw the crust of her toast at him. Cal looked over at her surprised. "Hey!" He complained.

Owen approached the table and pushed a mouthful of half chewed apple into his father's lap. "Ew, Owen," Cal turned his attention to his son. "No, don't give that to me."

Gillian escaped from the table unscathed. She took her plate to the sink and finished her coffee before rinsing out the mug.

"Ok thank you," Cal held out his hand for the last half chewed pieces his son was spitting out of his mouth. It was better than having to pick them up from the carpet.

"Yucky," Owen informed him, turning up his face in disgust and making a claw against his belly. He didn't get the clockwise direction right for the sign, he didn't put any movement in it at all, but it was a start. He put small fingers between his teeth to pick out the last of the fruit.

"Yeah all right," Cal flicked the spittled apple onto his breakfast plate. He found the crust Gillian had heaved just before in a fold of his shirt and put that on the plate too.

"I want!" Owen crooned up at him, toothy mouth in a demanding set, pointing.

"You want my toast?" Cal asked his youngest son, holding up the small over-cooked corner his mother had discarded. Owen reached to grab it. "Please?" Cal prompted, rubbing his hand over his chest in a clockwise direction.

"Pease," Owen echoed, mimicking the sign his father was using, by rubbing his flat hand back and forth.

Cal handed it over and his eighteen month old promptly fisted it into his mouth. "You're welcome," Cal got up and ruffled the boy's bright blonde hair. Owen turned on his heels, throwing out a hand to balance against the table leg. Cal walked around him swiftly, joining his wife at the sink, stepping over the baby barrier that ran along the bottom of the stairs. They'd had to have them custom made as soon as Owen had started moving around on his own; one for each side of the island bench. Gillian was stacking the dishwasher. "Here," Cal handed her his plate with the chewed mouthful of apple in piles of drool. "Traded your crust for fruit."

"Looks like you traded up," Gillian noted dryly. She tipped the plate so the half chewed apple slid into the sink. Cal picked up a pen from the breakfast bar and threw it towards Lewis, who was perched on the couch watching TV. Owen had found something apparently interesting on the carpet to poke with a finger and Cal wondered, after the pen hit his seven year old in the shoulder, what had happened to the rest of the apple. They would probably find it later that day, hidden somewhere in the room.

"Cal!" Gillian reprimanded him as Lewis turned and rubbed his shoulder.

"Five minutes," Cal said and signed to their elder boy. He nodded and turned again to the screen. Owen let out a squeal and Cal saw whatever he had been poking scuttle across the carpet; a spider perhaps or some other small bug.

"You could have hurt him," Gillian gave her husband's shoulder a tap.

"Gonna get dressed," Cal informed her.

"Where's the rest of it?"

"What?" He turned back in the doorway.

Gillian gestured to the sink. "The apple."

Cal gave a shrug and headed upstairs. As he was doing up his fly he heard the thud of Lewis on the stairs and the squeal of Owen coming up to the second level after him. Lewis ran to his room, assumingly under instruction to get dressed. "Cal?"

"Yeah?" He called back and turned to find his wife come into their bedroom with their youngest in her arms. Owen squealed at him. "What are you so excited about?" He asked the boy, finishing with his jeans and walking over to retrieve him so Gillian could get dressed herself. He smelt like toast and baby and his fists grabbed at Cal's clean clothes. Cal immediately wiped the drool from around the boy's mouth with the bib around his neck so he didn't dirty up his father's shirt.

"Arup summit," Owen told him, blue eyes serious.

"All right," Cal agreed. "Shall we get you dressed?" He made a one-handed 'clothes' sign.

"Dess!" Owen pointed to the ceiling.

"All right," Cal chuckled lightly. He left Gillian picking out clothes for herself and headed down the hall in bare feet. Lewis was playing with the Lego blocks on the floor. He had a new pirate ship and was dancing the cabin boy up the rigging like a wee monkey. "Lewis," he called. "Are you gettin' dressed?"

Lewis looked up. "Yep," he agreed. He pressed the cabin boy's feet to the crow's nest and got up. Owen kicked to be put down, a toenail scratching the underside of Cal's arm. He let the boy slide to the ground and he staggered across the room while his father went to his drawers to get a clean shirt and trousers. He dropped them on the changing table and bent to straighten Owen's bed covers. He was fast approaching the age where he should be in a bigger bed. Maybe bunks for the boys. He'd have to talk to Gillian about it. And soon. Owen was going to outgrow the crib.

When Cal turned around again, both the boys were crouched over the pirate ship. Owen had a figurine in both hands and was watching as Lewis simulated locking some bad guy away in the hold. Then Owen lifted his right hand to his mouth and before Cal could intervene Lewis had pounced. With both hands he pried the Lego man out of his little brother's lips. "No Owen," he shook his head. "No don't eat it." He wiped the man on the carpet to get the saliva off. "It could hurt you." He pointed his index fingers together and gave them a twist.

"Ouch," Owen echoed.

"Yeah ouch," Lewis agreed.

Cal approached, his heart beating a little funny. "Come on," he picked up the toddler and swung him to his hip. "Time to get dressed buddy." Lewis also got to his feet and went to his dresser drawers by his bed. Cal sat Owen on the changing table. Owen swung his legs in the air, folded his hands against his knees, scrunched up his shoulders and screwed up his face at his father. Cal watched him amused for a second, wondering what the hell that was about and then proceeded to pry his arms from his body to change him out of the clothes he had slept in.

Cal struggled Owen into a white t-shirt with the yellow and black batman symbol on the front. "Bat bat," Owen scrunched up the logo between his hands.

"Yep," Cal agreed and forcibly lay him back. Owen let out a squeal and squirmed. The toenail scratched the inside of Cal's wrist. "Ow for god's sake," Cal complained. "Doesn't your mutha cut your nails?"

Owen squealed again and turned over to his stomach, lifting himself into a crawling position, while Cal checked his skin for blood, he found a welt. He looked over his shoulder to see what Lewis was doing. He was standing in his underwear picking out shorts. Cal turned back to Owen who was starting to stand. "All right trouble," he reached out to hold on to him so he wouldn't fall. Keeping one hand on the little body at all times, Cal manoeuvred his son's pyjama trouseres down over the lump of the disposable nappy. Gillian had changed him that morning and for whatever annoying reason, Owen always lay down for her.

Owen kicked the trousers away, practically pinching his father's skin as he held on to his forearms. The clothing item fell to the floor and he bent over to see them land. Then he pressed his mouth to his father's skin and Cal felt the firm press of the boy's teeth. He jerked his arm away quickly, before it hurt. Owen looked up at him startled. "No bitin'!" Cal told him sharply, raising his voice. "Ow!" Cal reiterated. "That hurts Daddy! Say sorry." Cal rubbed a first around his chest in a clock-wise direction.

"So-ee," Owen repeated, mimicking that sign too, by pressing a fist against his heart. He lunged forward to give his father a kiss.

Cal gave him a quick cuddle and thanked him for apologising but reiterated he wasn't meant to bite. Then he held open Owen's clean trousers and the boy stepped in to them, one leg at a time, his toes catching on the elastic band making him stumble. By the time they finished dressing Owen, Lewis was already in the bathroom concentrating on brushing his hair in the mirror. Cal smiled to himself as he took the wash cloth and wiped more drool from around Owen's mouth, and a bit of leftover breakfast too. He was eighteen months old but sixteen developmentally and he still had teeth coming through. When every month contained major milestones, the two month difference in his adjusted age was noticeable still, when he was five Cal doubted they would be think about it all too often. He wasn't slow. They didn't worry about him like they had with Lewis.

Cal put Owen in his car seat in Gillian's car, handed him a toy and turned to his brother, making sure the boy got into his booster seat and put on his restraint correctly. Owen offered him his toy and Lewis politely indicated Owen should keep hold of it. Cal closed the door on his eldest son and went to find their mother. Today was meant to be his day for a few hours alone. Next fortnight it would be Gillian's turn. Otherwise they would go crazy.

Gillian was in the kitchen shoving phone and tissues into her handbag. "Hey," she gave him a slight smile as he came in. "Nearly ready."

"Batman and Robin are in the car."

"Ok thanks."

"Sure."

She gripped her keys and turned to him, where he was leaning against the door way of the kitchen. From there he could hear the boys in the car if he needed to. Gillian gave him another smile as she approached. "So. Three hours do it?"

"Yeah I think so," Cal agreed.

Gillian pressed a kiss against his lips. "Don't get into too much trouble," she warned lightly.

Cal gave a slight smirk. "Course."

"And you know, I have..."

"Your phone, I know," Cal interrupted. "If I need you," he added gently, placing a hand on her waist, keeping her in place for a little bit longer. When she didn't pull away he tightened it, so she fell against his chest. And when she still didn't pull away he leaned forward to kiss her.

"Mmm," Gillian hummed. "If I need you."

"You can call if you need me," Cal suggested lightly.

"Oh well thank you," Gillian responded tartly. She extricated herself quickly from his embrace. "That's good to know I have permission," she added dryly turning back for her purse.

Cal hid a smirk.

"Which is which?"

"Huh?"

Gillian turned towards him, slinging her purse over her shoulder. "Which one's Batman and which one's Robin?"

"Well, Owen has to be Batman doesn't he? Lewis nick-named him."

"Lewis is older," Gillian pointed out with a slightly raised eyebrow. "He might not be too happy."

"Lewis is my little munchkin," Cal countered.

"Probably shouldn't tell him that either," Gillian approached where he was standing again.

"He knows he's my munchkin."

Owen called out from the garage. "Natives are gettin' restless," Cal pointed out.

Gillian leaned in for a kiss again. "I meant the little part." Cal nodded that he knew already. "Have fun."

"I will," he responded quickly.

"Don't get..."

"Into trouble," Cal finished. "I know."

Gillian smirked this time, gave him a quick kiss, then stepped around him. "Three hours right?"

"Bye darlin'," Cal called over his shoulder. He stayed where he was until he heard the garage door go down again and then he moved. He whipped off his shirt and rushed upstairs again. He tossed his shirt into the master bedroom as he went by and was undoing his fly as he headed down the hall. In the main bathroom he plugged the bath hole and turned the taps. He shimmied out of his jeans and kicked them to the side. Then he found something smelling like Gillian on the window ledge, high above the boys' reach, and poured a stream of it under the water. The room instantly filled with the scent of vanilla peaches and froth spread out over the surface of water. Cal stripped off the last of his clothes and stepped into the bath. He settled and adjusted the water then leaned back, relaxing.

An hour later, Cal pulled the plug and stepped out. He reached for a towel on the rack, realising then it was Owen's and he had forgotten to bring in his own. Never mind. He had already bathed in Gillian's lotion and now he was drying himself with Owen's scent. Later, he could use Lewis's hair brush just to even it up. Cal padded down the hall to his own room and dressed in clean clothes. He found his wallet and keys and phone and checked for messages; there were none. And then he headed out. He drove down town and found a park easily. That was when the nerves set in.

It was customary to pay before the artist began, which was a bit of a shame really if Cal was unhappy with the work once it was already done. The design was simple enough. Owen was a Scottish name in origin (and Cal would prefer to follow that over the Greek strain seeing as his family had roots in Caledonia) so Cal had found the Gaelic translation for 'miracle'. There was just enough room beneath the Chinese characters for Hope and Fate, and above the rose he had with Emily's birthday, for: mhíorúilt. Gillian wasn't kidding; he was running out of room. The tattoo was done quickly, no more than twenty minutes, and skin stinging slightly and bleeding a little, Cal headed back out into daylight, happy with how it had turned out and looked against the others already there.

Cal checked his watch. He had an hour and a half left. Now what to do?