Grin


My lips tingled with the urge to turn up. A very small laugh escaped before I could help it.

Jareth looked up at me, arching an eyebrow as he grabbed a towel to cover a screaming baby who was covered in things best left unmentioned.

I shrugged, and wrapped another towel around another screaming baby, readying for transport to the bathtub. "At some point, it all becomes so utterly, ridiculously too much that you have to laugh."

"Do you?"

"It's either that, or cry. I've done too much crying lately." I wrapped the third screaming baby up in a third towel.

"So practical."

"Also, bright side: At least Feanor's been spared. And us. It's just the babies."

Jareth's eyebrows both shot up. "Yes, just our infant triplet babies struck by some magical intestinal woe that no one can get near the byproducts of without disintegrating, save direct family. Of which there is you, me, and our toddler son, who is currently hiding out as far from here as possible to muffle the incessant wailing."

I turned the bath tap on and checked the water temperature. "Such a pity your mother can't help. She's always going on about spending more time with her grandchildren."

He huffed out a quiet laugh. "You do have a way of finding those silver linings."

"Makes up for us not being able to do magic around the triplets till they're older?"

"Alas, no." His fingers twitched. "What I wouldn't give for a quiet little sphere of space-time…"

"You and me both, my dear man. Pass me a magical hazmat baby?"

"My pleasure, my love."