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Nate/Bree
Nate could always tell when Bree was up to something. Well--not up to something, but when she was hiding something, or avoiding something---just something. She kind of got twitchy. Not twitchy---well, a little twitchy. On edge! On edge sounded a lot better than twitchy. Bree got on edge when there was something going on, and by the way her knee was bouncing, it was something big.

"Hey Scott?" Nate called, and the boy's head shot up from his blocks (and so did Bree's she'd been carefully watching him), "Could you bring those to your room? There's more room in there."

"Okiessssssss," Scott responded in a bit of a whistle and piled all of the blocks into his bucket and waddled out, leaving Nate and Bree alone. He dropped down to the couch and leaned back into the cushions, Bree remaining on the edge, knees still bouncing furiously.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she responded, as if it was silly to ask. Nate refrained from rolling his eyes and sat forward, trying to catch his wife's gaze.

"Okay, so what are you thinking about?"

Bree's shoulders scrunched and she squirmed a bit under his gaze. Nate slowly began to grin, his hand going to her back to slip around her waist. She loosened up slightly, and finally looked down at her husband.

"I---I'm pregnant."

"Okay." Bree's worried eyes sharpened into a great glare.

"Okay? That's it? That's---That is not the response---you are supposed to be---Nathan Ewan Dawlish you are---I cannot believe---"

His hands had magically moved to the back of her head and Nate captured Bree in a kiss, shutting up her worries and showing her he knew exactly how she wanted him to react.