Thankfully, Rand was not sipping anything when she said that or he might have spewed his drink all over Katie. "Pregnant"!" he echoed. "She's a gramma. She's too old to be pregnant," he declared, though he didn't look too certain. "Isn't she?" He looked back to find Katie making almost the same face her mother had made a little while ago, but only because she was not so sure about the orange mush he was trying to feed her. "Oh, Katiebug ....Don't you like your carrots" Carrots are yummy. See" Even Daddy likes carrots," he said, spooning a little of the mush into his own mouth and murmuring an appreciative, "Mmm."

They'd got lucky with Katie; despite her dislike of carrots in general, she loved being praised, and chowed down on the next mouthful in the hope that she would be told what a good girl she was. Kit smiled, reaching out to take the pot from Rand so he could make a start on his own meal. Eating together had become something of a pass the parcel sort of deal these days. "Good girl, Katie! And another one" Here it comes ....I hope Mum's too old to have kids, or she's going to be a living nightmare for the next year."

"Oh my god, how does she eat this stuff?" Rand asked, trying very hard not to make a face that matched Katie's opinion of the carrots. He forced a smile and swallowed the stuff down, giving up the bowl without an argument. Kit was a lot better at this than he was. Bath and bedtime were more his specialties. "The baby would be Katie's aunt." There was just something very wrong about a child being older than their aunt.

"The sooner those teeth come in properly, the sooner she can eat normal food," Kit reminded her husband in amusement, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly for their daughter's enjoyment. "Won't that be nice" Having fish and chips with Mummy and Daddy instead of the gourmet vomit we feed you every day?" That twitchy, happy energy that Kit displayed in abundance definitely came in handy when it came to persuading Katie to eat. "What, can't you see Mum with a designer baby in her designer handbag" I certainly could."

"You're lucky she doesn't understand what the word vomit means yet," he remarked with a grin, as he dunked a handful of chips in a pile of ketchup before gobbling them up. "So, were you a designer baby in a designer handbag or was that before your mother refined her tastes?"

She laughed, wiping Katie's chin before inserting another mouthful. "I don't think there has ever been anything about me that could ever be termed "designer"," she grinned, taking the opportunity to shovel a mouthful of fish between her own lips. "Mum didn't get refined tastes until I was a teenager. Well, until she got her claws into her first millionaire, anyway."

"How many millionaires have there been?" he asked, only knowing of two. Had there been more" How many millionaires did one need to marry, after all" As for him, he couldn't complain, but he was a long way off from being a millionaire. Thankfully, they'd obtained funding to have the house restored, or they would never have been able to afford it.

"Five," Kit told him, shrugging lightly. "Before that was Roger, the weird postman. But once she got a taste for the finer things, she never looked back. No wonder she's so disappointed in me - married for love, not the bank account." She flashed Rand a wink, snorting with laughter when Katie tried to emulate the expression but only managed to come up with a heavy blink in his direction.

"Roger was the one she cheated on your dad with?" Rand inquired, hoping that memory wasn't too painful for him to mention. He had never quite gotten all of Amelia's history where exes were concerned. "My bank account isn't that shabby," he pointed out with a smirk as he shoveled a forkful of fish into his mouth.

"Yes," she nodded. Roger was a bit of a dark stain on her past; she'd never liked him, and she'd never forgiven her mother for breaking her father's heart, either. "Dad was her longest relationship, but I have to admit, things are looking good with Andrew. He seems to see her for everything that she is - he didn't go into it with blinkers on." She chuckled at his comment. "Well, neither is mine," she pointed out. "Although mine could empty out at a moment's notice, of course."

"I didn't marry for money either, Kit," he reminded her. "Here, let me finish up with the little miss, so you can eat," he volunteered, reaching for the bowl and spoon. He'd finished about half his dinner already, so he figured it was only fair she get a chance to catch up with him.

"Thank you." She quite willingly offered up the little bowl in order to put a dent in her own dinner, smiling as Katie stuck her tongue out at her father. "Oh, I finished my side project today," she said through a mouthful, pausing to take a sip from her cup. "Up to you whether we keep it or sell it on, though. I'm leaning toward keeping it, myself."

"If you want to keep it, keep it," he told her, chuckling a little their cheeky one-year-old. It wasn't like they needed to sell it to pay the bills, and it did seem a little too personal to sell to someone else, seeing as it was a sculpture of his hands. "I'm not sure where you'd want to put it though."

"Well, you haven't seen it yet," she pointed out with a knowing smile. "I had quite a lot of fun with it, actually. I've never made anything functional and beautiful before." She shoved another forkful in her mouth, having never learned to eat slowly. It was a terrible example to set their daughter, but it was a habit Kit was unlikely ever to break.

"Functional?" he echoed. "Please tell me you didn't make it into a toilet paper holder," he said, as he scooped up a spoonful of orange mush and offered it to Katie, making yummy, encouraging sounds as he did.

She laughed, shaking her head. "Sadly, no, although that should have been on my list," she admitted cheerfully. "Actually, I made it into a photo holder thingy. And I chose a photo to put in it." She grinned. "I want to watch you melt when you see it."

"It's not a photo of me, is it?" he asked, making a face of his own. A photo of Kit or Katie would be fine with him, but he didn't really like photos of himself, not even the old photos that had been taken of the Captain.

She shook her head. "No, I wouldn't do that to you," she assured him. "Besides, it would be a little strange, don't you think, to have a picture of you being held by your own hands?" There was a splat as Katie spat out her last mouthful, screwing her face up in protest. "I think we might have reached critical mass there."

"Precisely," he agreed, laughing as their daughter rebelled against the carrots at last. He plucked up a particularly mushy looking chip and offered the little girl a bite. "I bet she can't wait until she has enough teeth to eat real food," he observed. And yes, it would be strange to have a sculpture of his hands holding a photo of himself, but she'd just given him a hint about whose photo those hands might be holding, though he didn't want to spoil her surprise. "So, when do I get to see this side project of yours" Do I have to wait until Christmas?"

Once Katie was tucked in and settled for the night, Rand stepped out of the nursery and closed the door quietly behind him, leaving it open a crack so they could hear her if she needed them. "Sound asleep, Mrs. Nichols," he said, sliding his arms around his wife's waist. "Whatever shall we do now?"

Smiling, Kit leaned back into him, raising her hand to run her fingers along the line of his jaw. "Well, I do remember something about having something to show you," she murmured impishly, tilting her head back to show him her smile. "Just as well I put it in the bedroom, isn't it?"

"How convenient," he replied, leaning in to circle his nose around hers before capturing her lips, if only for a moment, just a preview to what awaited her in the bedroom.

For some couples, it might have seemed dreadfully early to be retiring to the bedroom for the night, and perhaps in later years, their routine would extend a little, but for now, reaching the bed before 8pm was something of a habit for the Nichols. After all, they weren't slaves to the T.V., finding each other's company far more entertaining than anything electronically provided, and with Katie in bed, there was no need for them to confine themselves to the living room. Smiling, Kit took his hands in hers, backing toward their own door. "Come along, Mr. Nichols."

"You don't need to ask me twice," he replied, taking her hands and following her lead, though he already knew where they were headed. Routine or not, this was their time and now that they had a daughter to care for, it was more precious than ever, whether they made love or just talked before sleep. "Should I close my eyes or something?" he teased, knowing she had a little surprise planned for him.

"Amazingly, I am actually fully prepared for once," she laughed, drawing him into their bedroom, just across the hall from Katie's room. There was an unfamiliar shape on the dresser, covered over with what looked like his threadbare robe. "I hope you like it," she worried mildly, biting at her lower lip.

"The robe probably needs replacing, but I assume you mean what?s underneath it," he teased as she led him into the room. He noticed her nervousness and smiled reassuringly. "Don't look so nervous. You know I'm your biggest fan," he assured her, more confident in her abilities than perhaps even she was in herself.

Giggling softly, she pulled him over to the dresser and lifted the robe to show him what was underneath. There, in pride of place, was the promised sculpture of his hands, lovingly carved in shining walnut wood. They were captured in a bowl pose, upright rather than lying down, and in the bowl of his hands was a little frame containing a picture of Katie, fast asleep, on the day she was born.

It wasn't exactly what he was expecting, but it wasn't the artistry of the piece that struck him so much as the expressiveness of it. She had somehow in one work of art captured not only a perfect likeness of his hands, but the caring love and devotion this father felt for his daughter, right from the moment of birth. "Kit, I ..." he stammered, at a loss for words. "I don't know what to say. It's ....beautiful." Words didn't even come close.

She hugged herself, smiling as the emotions played over his face. It was always like this when she showed off finished commissions, but this time, it felt more real. This was a gift from her to him, and she couldn't help feeling delighted that he liked it so much. "The wood tells me what it wants," she said softly. "We were in complete agreement this time."

He glanced over at her, momentarily confused by her statement, though he'd heard it before. it was almost like she somehow communed with the wood, though he wasn't sure that was humanly possible. Then again, neither of them was exactly a stranger to weirdness. "May I?" he asked as he looked back at the sculpture and reached out to touch it.

"Of course," she nodded encouragingly. The wood was warm to the touch, smooth under his fingers. She might never be able to explain quite how she knew what the wood wanted to be, but it was clear that waiting for the right block to come along had been the right decision in this case.

"I don't know what to say, Kit," he repeated, still at a loss for words, as he touched the piece carefully, almost reverently, one finger tracing the curve of the sculpture. His eyes were fixed on the photo of their daughter, newly born, and he found his vision was getting blurry. Though he wasn't the kind of man to be given to tears, he was deeply touched not only by the sculpture and what it represented, but by the knowledge that she'd thought so much of him to create it, and he found his vision growing strangely misty.

She smiled, ducking under his arm to wrap her own about his waist, brushing a soft kiss to his cheek. "You don't have to say anything," she promised him. "I can see it in your eyes. Worth the wait?"

She might have been asking about the sculpture, but some part of him that he hardly understood took a deeper meaning from her words. The Captain had waited a very long time for her, indeed, and despite all the pain and heartache that had preceded the release from his ghostly existence, Katrina and their daughter had been well worth the wait. "Very much worth the wait," he assured her, turning his gaze from the sculpture to the woman at his side who had changed both their lives for the better.

Her smile was beaming as she rose up onto her toes to kiss him tenderly. "Good," she murmured. "Because now I'm going to rip all your clothes off and roger you silly." Her eyes sparkled with fond mischief as she held his gaze, daring him to object to the plan.

He laughed at her warning. "Is that a promise or a threat?" he asked, eyes sparkling back at her, not entirely because of the tears. His hands found their way to her hips as he began steering her toward the bed. Just who was in control of the situation was uncertain.

"How about we start with both and see where we end up?" she suggested impishly, waiting until just the right moment to throw her body weight backwards and pull him off-balance, right onto the bed and on top of her. Her hands squeezed his backside as she laughed. "So forceful, Mr. Nichols."

He laughed again. He'd had to do very little to encourage her, more than happy to play along, both of them knowing where this was going to end. Her mother might be visiting them tomorrow, but right now, tomorrow was the last thing on his mind. "I can be, if you like," he teased back as his lips found the side of her neck.

"Stop teasing," she ordered, although an order from Katrina Nichols was rather like a suggestion from anyone else. She wasn't the world's most forceful personality, and she didn't want to be. Right now, all she wanted was Rand, and he was right there in her arms. And she knew all kinds of little ways and means to make sure he never forgot how much she loved him.

He was only too happy to let her show him all those ways in detail, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be returning the favor when it was his turn. They'd eventually wear each other out and sleep, knowing they'd have to be up with their daughter in the morning, but for now, it was all about enjoying each other as husband and wife in every way possible.

After all, certain parts of him still had a century to catch up with, and he was blessed with a merry little wife who was only too happy to help. Yes, their daughter would have them up by six am, but she was just as much a joy as anything they did together. This was just another day in the life, and this life was definitely blessed.