“It means no worries!” Blaine twirled on the spot, singing convincingly into a spatula.

“For the rest of your days!” their daughter joined in, almost as loud and mostly off-key, waving a peppercorn grinder as maracas.

Kurt slid onto the bench alongside her, joining their harmony on philosophy and closing out the song just as she dove into his arms.

“How was your day?”

“We went to the park!” she declared brightly, tipping her head back to look up at him so she didn’t have to let go of her grip on his waist.

He brushed a hand through her long, messy hair, extracting a twig. “Yes, I can see that.”

Blaine chuckled to himself as he took the soup off the stove and found a ladle in the drawer. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” Kurt answered.

“Uncle Finn came with us! We went to the jungle gym,” she announced, pulling their attention back.

“Now, what have I told you,” he scolded playfully. “You don’t need to go to the park, Uncle Finn is a jungle gym.”

Blaine snorted, shifting back and forth as he pulled out three bowls and served their dinner.

“And he bought me a bunny!”

Kurt’s eyebrow arched, and he looked up at his husband, who was suddenly very interested in garnishing the soup.

“He did what now?”

Blaine held up his hands in defence, smiling. “Not my fault, I left her with Finn for half an hour and now she’s the proud owner of a brown dwarf rabbit. Take it up with your brother.”

“I see.” Kurt glanced down at her, suddenly all too aware of the giant anime eyes she was putting on deliberately, and – oh god, was that a lip quiver?

“Can I keep him Dad? Pleeeeaassee?”

Kurt laughed, rubbing her back gently. “It’s a big responsibility. You have to take care of him. He won’t feed himself, or magically find water or clean out his own cage.”

“I know, I know, I’ll be good and make sure he has everything and I’ll take good care of him, but I can?” she asked frantically.

Kurt sighed, rolling his eyes. “Alright, alright.”

She let out a squeal of delight, rocking against him and snuggling tight. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou!”

“Uhuh, okay.” He laughed, sliding off the counter and carrying her with him. “Come on, we have dinner.”

They pulled out chairs at the table, which had already been carefully set, and Kurt wondered to himself just how much of their afternoon was spent waiting for him. Saturdays were their day, the day the three of them had together, and this week they’d been robbed of that. He’d tried not to think about it through the morning, but failed each and every time. Even while sitting through a business lunch and two other meetings that were reshuffled after his boss had pulled the new line and made his life a living hell. Worse still, this probably wasn’t going to be the last Saturday he lost, and the thought of that made his stomach churn.

Blaine finally sat down, and Kurt shook himself out of his trance as the three of them ate in quiet comfort.

“So what are you calling him?” Blaine asked.

“Uncle Finn,” she said.

“No,” Blaine laughed, “the rabbit. What are you naming the rabbit?”

She nodded. “Uncle Finn.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes, exchanging a confused glance with Blaine.

“I’m calling the bunny Uncle Finn,” she clarified again.

“But sweetie, won’t that get… confusing?” Kurt asked.

“No,” she answered. “Because one of them is a rabbit.”

Blaine almost choked on his soup.

“Okay,” Kurt said in agreement. She had a point.

“Why Uncle Finn?” Blaine asked once he’d recovered.

“Because,” she said, tearing a piece of bread away from her roll. “When I ask Bunny Finn questions, he looks confused, too.”

Blaine tried, he really did, but the whimpering laughter broke through after a few minutes and Kurt kicked at him playfully under the table.

“How was work?” Blaine managed to ask, once he’d calmed down.

Kurt sighed. “Long. And painful.”

“I don’t like it when you work Saturdays,” she added in quietly, and the silence that followed made Kurt’s heart hurt.

“I won’t be for much longer,” he told her softly, trying to find a reassuring smile.

“Well,” Blaine cut in, trying to ease the tension. “I call monkey-no-dishes.”

“Monkey-no-dishes!” she cried, and threw both arms up in the air.

“Oh, now, that’s not fair,” Kurt rocked back in his seat. “I had to work.”

Blaine grinned at him.

Kurt leaned in on both elbows and clasped his hands, fixing him with a very deliberate stare.

“Are you trying to guilt me into doing the dishes?”

“Yes. Yes, I am,” Kurt said. “Is it working?”

“Yes,” Blaine admitted, rolling his eyes fondly as he got up out of his seat and gathered the empty bowls.

She glanced between her parents, eyes bright and curious. “Is that how you make people do stuff?”

Kurt scowled at her. “Layla Elizabeth,” he scolded. “You don’t make people do anything they don’t want to.”

“But you make me eat vegetables,” she argued.

Kurt fixed her with an amused glare. “That’s different.”

“I can make you do stuff,” she said cheekily.

Kurt couldn’t help the curiosity. “Are you threatening me, missy?” he swiped lazily at her bare foot, sticking out from under the table, and she pulled it away with a giggle.

“I can make you help daddy with the dishes,” she insisted, grinning.

“Uhuh,” Kurt said, dubious. “How’s that?”

“I know how to use the phone,” she told him seriously.

“So?”

“I know mom’s number.”

“And I’m helping with the dishes,” Kurt announced eagerly, pulling himself out of his chair.

He swatted at the back of Blaine’s head when he realised just how hard he was laughing.

After a long pause, Layla tumbled from her seat gracelessly, landing on her feet and declaring loudly that she was going to draw before scurrying off to gather what she needed.

With a chuckle, Kurt settled his hips against the bench, wiping a dish towel over each bowl that Blaine passed him. He swayed on his feet after a moment, curling against the warmth of his husband’s body.

“I missed you today,” Blaine said, his voice thick and barely above a whisper.

Kurt pressed a kiss to his collarbone, lingering and soft, and hummed against his skin. “Mmm. I missed you too.”

After they’d washed up and stacked the dishes, they wandered back into the living room, where she bounded up to them eagerly and waved a piece of paper high in the air. “I drew Uncle Finn, look!”

Blaine eyed the blob on the page, coiling his arms around Kurt’s waist to rest his chin on his shoulder. “It’s wonderful sweetie, but I think Finn’s a little taller than that.”

“If it was to scale she’d need more paper,” Kurt added with a chuckle, folding his hands over Blaine’s where they rested on his stomach.

“Bunny,” she insisted, waving the page.

“Oh!” Blaine nodded his understanding. “Then, perfect.”

She gestured with both hands as if to say a sarcastic thank you, and flopped down next to the coffee table once again, fiddling with a rainbow of crayons.

With private grins they gathered their current books and found an easy sprawl across the couch, pressed against each other and curled together comfortably so both of them could read. Kurt passed Blaine his glasses, and Blaine slid them on, planting a quick kiss behind Kurt's ear in thanks.

Pressing back against Blaine’s chest, his head resting comfortably on his shoulder, Kurt found his bookmarked page and let the paperback fall open against his knee. Soft music filtered across the room, some old musical soundtrack from years ago, so often played now it was just an undercurrent of words and notes slipping by in perfect familiarity.

They read and coloured on into the evening, stopping only when Layla would scramble to her feet and present them with her latest masterpiece before declaring what her next one would be. Kurt traced light fingers lovingly over the shapes and colours that swirled across the pages she handed them. This one would go on the fridge, that one would go in his office. Blaine absconded with the bunny picture early on, declaring it to be a guidebook on how to tell the two Finns apart. Kurt’s stomach hurt from laughing so hard, he had to bury his face in Blaine’s neck to stop from falling off the couch.

“This one’s going to be a princess,” she said seriously, sweeping lines of black across the page. There was a pause, and her tone shifted into one of quiet curiosity. “Daddy?”

“Yeah, sweetie?” Blaine asked, eyes glued to his book.

“Am I a freak?”

He froze, brow dropping immediately. “Of course not, baby girl, who said that?”

“A boy at the playground today,” she said absently as she poked through a selection of crayons, looking for the perfect blue. “I like this one. Dad what’s it called? Be-jube?”

“Bijou,” Kurt corrected quietly, his voice hesitant. “And which little boy, sweetheart?”

“I only saw you with Jeremy,” Blaine added.

“He was Jeremy’s friend,” she explained. “He kept talking about god and church and how I’m bad because I’ve never been to one. He said I was a freak because I have two daddies.” She kept on colouring without looking up, perfectly at ease.

They’d both lowered their books, exchanging a quick, unsure glance before Blaine asked, “and what did you say, sweetie?”

She shifted onto her hip, shading gently with her crayon. “I said, but your Jesus had two daddies. And he turned out okay.”

Kurt’s face melted into a soft look of adoration, an awe-filled smile spreading slowly across his features.

Blaine rested his head against Kurt’s gently, closing his eyes. “You know sometimes,” he whispered. “I think she’s the brains of the operation.”

“You and me both,” Kurt murmured back, his voice shaky.

“I think you answered your own question,” Blaine said, loud enough for Layla to hear.

She stopped colouring, and nodded to herself before resuming fiercely.

After a few more moments she came racing over to them again, holding out her latest work. The princess was tall and wore a long blue dress, with messy brown hair and big blue eyes. “It’s me, I’m a princess,” she said.

“We knew that,” Kurt replied, taking the drawing and eyeing over it. “Looks like you get your height from me.”

He squawked as Blaine pinched at his sides.

“Well, it’s true,” he shot back.

Layla eyed them, waiting for a verdict.

“It’s beautiful, sweetie,” Blaine said softly. “Just like you.”

She grinned, chin jerking up and to the side. Kurt was struck all over again by the same realisation that caught him almost every day, now; that even though she was a product of himself and Rachel, somehow she still managed to be endearingly, endlessly and unmistakably Blaine’s daughter.

“Come here,” Kurt said softly, curling an arm around her waist and pulling her in tight to his chest.

She settled against him, hands pressing into to her own chest and tugging at her long curls happily. Blaine’s arm lifted from Kurt’s side to brush stray hairs away from her face.

He could stay here, Kurt decided. He could just stay here quite happily for the rest of his life, with Blaine’s arms around the two of them. Stolen Saturdays were nothing in the face of the long haul, the rest of their lives, and he silently thanked whatever powers he could think of for Saturday nights.