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Franz wakes up to his baby crying, and Monster Mash playing muffled from another room in the house. On autopilot, he strips the blankets off himself, and it takes him a minute to realize that Shawn isn’t in bed beside him, asleep and comfortable and warm. Curious, he slides off the side of the bed and exits the bedroom, stepping quietly down the hallway.
Shawn is leaning against the kitchen counter with Meike in his arms, fussing with her bottle. He has his speaker playing music beside him, and looks up as soon as Franz walks into the room.
“What’s in the bottle?” Franz asks as Shawn tells Meike she’s going to go with her Papa, putting her into his arms.
“Smoothie,” he answers, crossing his arms over his chest. “Maybe I put too many vegetables.”
“You like vegetables, Meike,” Franz says, in German, and lets her settle in his arms. She pushes her hand against his chest. At 11 months, she’s gaining motor function and eating cut up food.
He puts the bottle up to her mouth, and she wraps her tiny hands around his big ones. She finally takes the tip into her mouth.
“How do you do that?” Shawn wonders.
He shrugs. “I’m a— what do you call it? Talker,” he answers, playfully.
“Talker— a whisperer?” Shawn asks. He takes a bowl from the cabinet above his head.
“Yes,” he confirms, nodding along to the joke. “I am a Whisp— whisperer. That’s what you say I am.”
Shawn pours cereal into his bowl before grabbing the milk from the fridge. Franz is more focused on Meike, but he can see the bag deflating as Shawn pours milk into his bowl out of the corner of his eye. He accepts the fact that Shawn will put the empty bag back into the fridge, and that will leave Franz to replace it.
Shawn takes a spoonful into his mouth. “So,” he says, chewing, “are you ready for Halloween? For Meike’s first Halloween?”
“I am,” Franz says as Meike finishes her bottle and babbles at him, “are you? Is she? Are you ready, Meike?”
He can feel Shawn’s eyes on him, warm and soft, and Franz feels fuzzy, a comfortable heat in his belly. He is here and with his daughter—their daughter, that they created together—in his arms and his boyfriend beside him.
Meike wriggles in his grasp, and he leans down and sets her in the floor, watching as she crawls over to Shawn, grabbing onto his jeans, and pulling herself to her feet. She’s growing up so quickly, Franz can barely believe it. He would like if she would keep sleeping through the night though, and Shawn has mentioned that he would like it if she would stop crying. She didn’t fuss much as a baby, but now that she’s growing into a toddler, Shawn wonders if that will change.
(“She’s got my dad’s attitude,” Shawn says, tiny baby swaddled in his arms.
Henry scoffs. “If she’s got anyone’s attitude, it’s yours.”
Franz doesn’t say anything, just watches her big, blue eyes as they adjust to the light, to the faces in front of her.)
“She’s ready for Halloween,” Shawn says, “we should have done another theme, though. What’s a good one?— Not one of those boring ones everybody and their third cousin once removed is doing.”
Franz shakes his head. “What?” he wonders, “what is— why— MASH is a good theme.”
Shawn hands Meike her soother from the top of the counter, and she snatches it from his fingers greedily and pops it into her mouth.
Shawn tilts his head, putting his finished cereal bowl into the sink beside him. “It’s fine— my dad says it’s the best one.”
“Your dad is right,” Franz agrees.
“For once,” Shawn says.
He shakes his head. “MASH is good. You are Hawkeye, I’m Trapper, Meike is Radar. It’s good.”
Since Meike is too young to really enjoy trick of treating, they bring her over to Henry’s house, who, despite saying he doesn’t care for Halloween, has Halloween themed toys for her.
He takes her out of Shawn’s arms the minute they walk in the door, saying something Franz doesn’t catch as he makes his way into the kitchen.
“Did my dad just steal our daughter?” Shawn wonders.
“I think so,” Franz exclaims.