"That, love, would be an apple. Can you say apple? Apple? Aaaaa-ple?"

Wheatley glanced towards the fruit, wiggling it a tad, simply to draw the toddler's attention to anything but his faltering grin. He wasn't sure if she was mentally teasing him by not saying the word he was pushing towards, or simply too overcome with humor at his ridiculous attempts get her to spit the proper sounds out.

Whatever the case, she was grinning, short giggles escaping her lips every few seconds as her eyes crinkled and her bright row of teeth became visible whenever she smiled.

"C'mon, love… Just-you know-bit of red here, got a lil' stem there, sort of round oval-ly shape, maybe a little yellow here and there, it seems. Typical fruity taste and all that. Just your typical, run-of-the-mill, nothing-too-special, I-wish-you-would-say-the-word apple."

Chelsey bit her lower lip playfully, eyes narrowed in concentration as she focused solely on the apple in her father's-Wheatley's-hand. She reached a tiny finger forward, pointed at the dull red fruit, and looked straight into Wheatley's expecting eyes.

"Abble." She announced as calmly as a two-year-old could manage.

Wheatley blinked, eyebrows raised in surprise as he tapped the fruit. He chuckled, rubbing his temples as he handed the fruit to the tot, who gratefully accepted it with a sly smile.

"Somehow I think you're playing unfairly, love." He rubbed her full head of dirty blonde hair-a token of his part of the gene pool-playfully. "You're too much like your mum."