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Author's Notes: No offense meant to anyone who writes stories like these, honestly. I'm sure there's tonnes... lots... a few... there's got to be at least one who does it well. Still joking, for the love of God put down the gun. Parody, it protects me from bullets, don'tchaknow? Anyway, blame Sezzie, she challenged me to use socks and pickles, and you can't have pickles without pregnant women. It's the law.
Sometimes Jarod wished he hadn’t gone digging in the Pakor records. In fact, sometimes he wished he hadn’t left his nice, comfy, safe cell.
“Jarod!” came the frantic scream from the next room, and Jarod sighed.
“Jarod!" she yelled again. "Yorick put your sister down. NOT THAT HARD! No, no, Kati, don’t cry. Look what you’ve done now. STOP TRYING TO STRANGLE YOUR SISTER WITH HER SOCK! NO SUPER POWERS IN THE HOUSE, YOUNG MAN!”
Family is the most important thing, he said under his breath.
After beating down the moment of dread, Jarod stepped into the nursery.
“Jarod,” Mel-Andy-Green - as she insisted on being called - said with obvious relief. “Where have you been!? Jamie has been astro-projecting into the neighbours again, Katie keeps levitating her brother, and I’m not even sure which one of the triplets is Kyle and which ones are Kyllee and Kiyle!”
“I brought pickles?” Jarod offered meekly.
Mel-Andy-Green glared. It was impressive given her size (she was nearly nine months pregnant), and it promised unpleasant futures. Like no sex for a long time. Possibly forever. Not, he thought bitterly, that he had got any lately anyway. Stupid fucking Centre kept impregnating her before he got the chance.
“Cute, not funny but cute,” she sneered. “You watch the children. I’m going to put my feet up. The twins –” he repressed a wince. He thought that would bring the total up to 23 –“are doing horrible things to my bladder.”
There was a high pitched scream from one end of the nursery. “Stop chewing on your brother, Charlie,” Jarod said idly.
It was always the same – you have one cute one and everyone wants a hold; you have a few more and everyone wants to move a State away. So they were a bit of a handful - “Beatrice, put out that fire right now” - but they were family.
The lights went out at the same time a small voice said “oops.” Downstairs his wife yelled, “I think my water just broke! And we’re out of pickles.”
Jarod groaned, and wished for his nice comfy cell.
[please don't kill me. I like living.]