To her credit, Sophie waited two weeks after giving birth to decide she didn't want to raise the baby. But really, she did a lot to her credit before then too. If Bert hadn't been there when she found out she was pregnant, she probably wouldn't have kept it to begin with. And if Bert had a chance to go to college in England and get a degree in something he couldn't even spell, well. Well, he wouldn't, because he couldn't spell it, but Sophie was smart, and had a lot of opportunities, and Bert couldn't blame her for that. And when she knocked on his door holding a gorgeous infant with Sophie's lips and Bert's eyes, Bert couldn't blame her for anything.

"Tiny Sophie!" Bert said, even though she was at least two inches taller than he was. He kissed her on the forehead. "Tiny Mary!" he took her from Sophie's arms and cradled her to his chest, breathing in deeply. She smelled so good. Bert had no idea how this nice-smelling thing was his baby.

Sophie set down a large baby bag on the floor, took out a folder, and went to the dining room table. There were custody agreements to discuss, and she looked guilty as she tried to skim over the part where Bert would have full custody and she wouldn't pay child support. But Bert barely listened. Mary was asleep against his shoulder, and he could sit like this and just listen to her breathe all day.

Bert reached across the table. "Whatever you want," he said. "I'll sign whatever."

Sophie slid him some papers and a pen. "I can visit in the summer."

"Yeah, totally," Bert said as he signed.

Sophie took the papers back, then stood and looked down at Mary. "You'll have a nanny, right?"

"She's already hired."

She sniffled. "And you're not going on tour for...?"

"Not until the summer," he said. He ran his hand over Mary's back, feeling it rise and fall with her breath. "Do you want to hold her before you...?"

Sophie took a step back, her eyes shining with tears. "If I do I won't give her back." She wiped her eyes. "All her things are in the bag. Diapers, formula, her picture books, and she likes -" Her voice caught.

Bert reached out and touched her shoulder.

"She likes NOFX," Sophie said as she started crying. "But only the early stuff. And she doesn't like The Bled." Sophie put one hand over her face. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Bert said, moving closer and putting his arm around her.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Bert repeated. "She just needs to hear The Bled's new album."

Sophie laughed through her tears and pulled out of Bert's embrace. "I have to pack for tomorrow. I should..."

"Call me when you get there."

Sophie took a deep breath, turned, and walked out the door without saying goodbye.

To his credit, Bert waited three minutes before calling Quinn.

"I have a baby," Bert said.

"I know," Quinn said. In the background there was the sound of gunfire in Halo 3. "Hold on a sec, man." He put the phone down, then shouted, "You snipe me one more time motherfucker, I swear to god I will come to Japan and beat your twelve year-old ass!" He picked up the phone again. "So you saw Sophie today?"

Bert looked over at Mary, sleeping in her bassinet. "No. I mean, yeah but it's done. She's going to England. I have the baby now."

"Oh," Quinn replied. "Wow. Um...hold on." He put the phone down. "Listen, cocksucker, I have to go, but the next time I have a free weekend, I'll be in fucking Tokyo, fucking you in your eye socket, understand?" He picked up the phone. "All right, I'm back."

"What do you feed babies?" Bert asked.

Quinn sighed. "I'll be there in four hours."

To his credit, Quinn was there in three hours and eleven minutes.

When Quinn walked in, Bert was sitting on the couch next to Mary's bassinet, tapping her nose while making a clicking sound with his tongue each time, then giggling.

"Let's play Guess Who Has the More Developed Brain?" Quinn said as he dropped his suitcase on the floor.

Bert looked up, squealed, and launched himself into Quinn's arms.

Quinn kissed his cheek. "How's Mary?"

Bert released him and gave him a thumbs up. "Still alive!" He went back to the couch. "I found some formula in her bag. How was the flight?"

"Sucked." Quinn put his index finger in Mary's hand, and she grabbed onto it tightly as she stared up at him with big blue eyes. "Well that's just fucking adorable," he said. He leaned forward and spoke in a high-pitched baby-talk voice. "Uncle Quinn is gonna buy you everything you want, like toys, and games, and beer."

Bert kicked his thigh. "Don't get my baby drunk. It's not like Branden's dog."

Quinn looked back at him and laughed. "Did he ever find out it was us?"

"Nope," Bert said proudly.

Quinn nestled himself between Bert and the bassinet. "Someday we have to get Dan's dogs fucked up. Like drummer initiation or something."

Bert leaned his head against Quinn's shoulder. "Hey, Quinn? You remember Tinkerbell?"

Quinn slid his arm around Bert's shoulders. "She's not Tinkerbell."

Two years ago a fan in Texas had given Bert a fern. He wasn't sure what about him screamed "I need a fern", but, with the exception of once when he got a sketch of himself naked with fairy wings, Bert liked gifts from fans. He named the fern "Tinkerbell" and kept it in the bus. He watered it every day, made sure it spent time near the window, and even sang to it. He'd just bought his house in LA, and Tinkerbell was going to be the first symbol of his success and maturity.

Then one afternoon when he was shitfaced drunk, he accidentally kicked his fern out the bus window while it was moving.

Bert turned his head so that his face was muffled against Quinn's shirt. "I'm gonna fuck this up," he said, so softly that it was barely audible.

"No you won't," Quinn said immediately.

Their conversation was interrupted when the baby woke up and let out a high-pitched scream, then sputtered and threw up on her chin.

Quinn winced. "Well, at least we know she's yours." He lifted her out of the bassinet and cleaned her off with a small, soft washcloth sticking out of the baby bag. "So how long do you need me to stay?"

Bert pulled his knees to his chest, folding himself into an impossibly small mass. "Eighteen years?"

Mary's wails subsided to a gurgle as Quinn bounced her gently against his shoulder. He smiled. "That works." He paced across the living room, softly singing Punk Rock Girl, and she was asleep in minutes.

*

"Daddy," two year-old Mary said as she sat on the kitchen table. "Cookie."

Bert abruptly stopped in the middle of the line he was writing in his notebook, broke off a small piece of the oatmeal cookie beside him, and shoved his finger in Mary's mouth.

"Yum um," Mary muttered as she chewed.

"Okay, tell me what you think, Tinkerbell," Bert said. He picked up his notebook and sat back in the chair. "Wake up, asshole, here I am. Pull you down as far as I can. Trapped and eating one another. Stupid choking motherfucker." He looked up at Mary for a reaction.

"Cookie Daddy," she said.

Bert broke off another piece of cookie and fed it to her. "Yeah, the second line's weak."

There was the sound of the door opening, and then Quinn entered carrying one of his guitars. "Hey, Tink."

"Kin!" Mary called out as he learned down to kiss her.

"How's Amy?" Bert asked. Quinn had been dating a guitarist named Amy for only a few weeks, but he was spending a lot of time jamming at her house.

Quinn looked at Bert critically. "Are you giving her cookies?"

"Cookie Daddy," Mary said.

Bert smiled. "No."

"She's just gonna puke it up at 6am, and I'm not cleaning it."

"Cookie Daddy," Mary repeated.

Quinn leaned against the counter and sighed. "You're so fucking whipped by her."

"Daddy -" Mary said.

"Bite me, Quinn."

"Cookie Daddy."

"You can't just -"

"Motherfucker!" Mary shrieked.

The two men fell silent and stared at her. Mary smiled, delighted by the attention, and then began sucking her index finger.

Bert turned to Quinn with wide eyes. "I don't know if I should be upset or proud."

Quinn stifled a laugh as he collected Mary into his arms. "I think it's time to play on the swings."

That night it was nearly dawn when Bert crawled into bed with Quinn. Quinn was used to Bert's late-night cuddle emergencies, but they usually took place on tour, when Mary was with her nanny, Bert was drunk, and uninterrupted sleep wasn't sacred. Quinn had already been up to check on a crying Mary, and he was sure Bert had gotten up at least twice, so it was crazy to create more reasons to wake up during the night. Bert got underneath the blankets and wrapped one arm and one leg around Quinn like a sleepy octopus who needed a shower.

"What's wrong?" Quinn said without opening his eyes.

"The lyrics I wrote today were shitty," Bert said into Quinn's shoulder.

Quinn shifted, trying to free his right calf from Bert's unusually-bendy ankle.

"I'm teaching my daughter how to swear," Bert added.

"No one's surprised," Quinn said through a yawn.

Bert went suddenly still, and Quinn recognized it as the predecessor to one of Bert's rare serious statements, like, "We're gonna need a new drummer" or "Sophie's pregnant."

"What is it?" Quinn asked.

"I'm jealous of your girlfriend."

Quinn's eyes opened. "You got a thing for Amy?"

"I'm not jealous of you," Bert said. "I'm jealous of her."

Quinn rolled onto his side so that he was facing Bert. "Look, it's not all that serious, and it's not like I'm ditching Mary. I mean, just today I spent two hours on the swings -"

Bert kissed him.

They'd kissed before, everything from small affectionate pecks on the lips to open-mouthed kisses on stage, but this - the way Bert was cradling his face in his palm, the deep, rapid kisses, the press of Bert's dick against his hip, the realization that he was insanely aroused - this was new. Bert was kissing Quinn the way he did everything, with more intensity than was really wise, in a way that usually ended up with both of them being bailed out of jail byJepha.

"I don't want you to take care of my daughter," Bert said against Quinn's lips. "I want you with me."

To Quinn's credit, he pretended to be conflicted for about ten seconds before sliding his hand down Bert's pants.

*

Quinn walked down the stairs and raised his arms triumphantly. "Presenting Miss Mary McCracken, the most terrifying zombie in Los Angeles and surrounding counties."

Six year-old Mary bounded down the stairs in her costume, a black shirt with reflective wounds on it, and a plastic zombie mask. "Grr!" she shouted as she dashed toward Bert, sitting on the couch holding an acoustic guitar. Quinn quickly came up behind her and moved the guitars to safety, as Bert lifted her into his lap. "Am I scary, Daddy?"

"Not even a little," he teased, clicking her nose.

"Daddy!"

"Come here a sec, Tink," Quinn said. Mary crawled over to sit beside him, and listened intently as he whispered in her ear.

Bert stretched backward, leaning over the arm of the couch.

Mary turned to Bert, lifted her mask, smiled sweetly, and said, "Daddy, when I grow up, I'm going to date boys just like you."

Bert yelped and fell off the couch.

*

"I can't do this," Bert said.

Quinn considered this a moment. "Will it help if I slap you?"

"Yes."

Quinn slapped Bert across the face.

"Thanks," Bert muttered.

"Any time."

Bert took a deep breath and looked at the door to the living room.

"You don't have to do this," Quinn said. "She's only twelve. What's the worst she could get into?"

"Want it alphabetically?" Bert asked him. "I'll start with amphetamines." He groaned and put the heels of his hands over his eyes. "Or we could do it in order of all the drugs Bert did when he was a kid." He lowered his hands and looked at Quinn with panic in his eyes. "Who let me have a kid? Why wasn't there an IQ test?"

"Can I slap you again?"

Bert turned and put his hand on the doorknob. "I'm going in."

Mary sat in the middle of the couch, wearing baggy jeans, military surplus boots, and a t-shirt for a band which Bert knew for a fact had a guitarist who was an asshole. After a huge argument at the beginning of the school year, Bert agreed that she could wear eyeshadow, and she naturally found the darkest and most hideous eyeshadow, just to torture him. But even with the gray dust around her eyes and the faux-punk clothes, Mary was gorgeous, with striking blue eyes, wavy blond hair, and a smile that could light up a room. Bert would be overwhelmed with love and pride if he wasn't so busy trying to figure out how to lock her in her room until she turned thirty.

Bert sat down next to her, though she didn't acknowledge him. Quinn came in behind him, but stood off to the side.

"Mary," Bert said. "I love you and I'm worried about you."

Her head snapped to the side, and she glared at him. "I'm worried about you too, Dad. You know why? Because you're gross."

Bert pursed his lips together. He couldn't let her get to him. "It's not safe for you to be out unsupervised, especially with boys."

"I'm serious," Mary continued. "Have you brushed your hair since the nineties? It's so embarrassing to have you come bother me in front of my friends."

"Bother you?" Bert's voice rose and he stood up. "You were two hours late, I thought you were fucking dead, and you think I'm bothering you?"

Quinn came up behind him and touched his arm, like a professional wrestler tapping in. Bert took a step back, and Quinn sat down beside Mary.

"Sweetheart," Quinn said. "If you want to criticize your dad, we'll sit down at the kitchen table in the morning and I can give you material from long before you were born." He put his hand on her shoulder. "We'll get posterboard and everything."

When Mary looked up at him, her eyes were shining with tears. "It's just that I'm the only loser who has to come home straight from school. Everyone probably laughs at me when I'm not there."

Quinn pulled her into a hug. "No one laughs at you."

"Yes they do," Mary said, her voice muffled in his chest.

"You know who they laugh at?"

Mary paused. "My dad?"

"Yep," Quinn said as he stroked her hair. "And you know why?"

Mary pulled her head back and sniffed. "Cause he's gross?"

"That's right." Quinn turned and motioned for Bert to join them on the couch. Bert squirmed in between them, with his ass on Quinn's lap and his head on Mary's shoulder.

Mary pushed some of his hair out of her face. "You smell like ass, Daddy."

Bert kissed her on the cheek. "I love you too, Tinkerbell."

Quinn suggested that they watch a movie, and Mary dashed up to her room to get some anime DVD that Jepha had given her which she swore was the coolest thing ever. As soon as she left the room, Bert climbed on Quinn's lap, straddled him, and pressed their foreheads together.

"Why are you so good with her?" Bert asked.

Quinn smiled. "I have some experience calming down the McCracken divas."

Bert let out a shrieking giggle and poked Quinn in the stomach.

Quinn slapped his hand out of the way, pulled his head closer, and kissed him long and deep.

"You know," Bert said as he brushed his lips against Quinn's chin. "You're not really obligated to stay for eighteen years."

"Good." Quinn ducked his head to capture Bert's mouth again in a quick kiss. "I was planning on more than eighteen." He smiled. "If that works for you."

Bert grinned and leaned in for another kiss.

To her credit, Mary watched from behind the door for a few minutes before she barged into the room and announced that they were both so gross.