So, I should probably mention that Tank's view on children - the thing about being able to say refrigerator - that's my bestie's exact view on children. She says it often. It's actually quite funny. She's been around my nieces (1 and 3) on occasion and it just ends up as a stared down. They don't know what to make of her, and vice versa. I haven't actually checked to see if the three year old can say refrigerator yet, but considering she was saying strawberry quite clearly at one and a half, I'd say it's not a stretch.

Chapter 3

Tank sat at his desk, staring blankly at the screen of his computer. He was exhausted. With Ranger away consulting every other week – or at least that's how it felt – a lot of the day to day running of the company had fallen to the big guy. That meant rosters and pay rolls and budgets and keeping everyone else's asses in line. It also meant stress. The kind that kept a large muscular man up at night. He hadn't had a decent night sleep in what felt like a month. He wondered briefly, glancing over at the small photo of his niece he'd blue-tacked to the computer tower, if this was how new parents felt.

Minimising the window of the roster he'd been working on, he opened up the file folder sitting on the corner of the desk and proceeded to stare blankly at that for a while until he heard the tell-tale sound of little feet pattering down the hallway. He hadn't had much to do with Tilly over her first year of life. He'd been there for all the major milestones, but on the sidelines. He wasn't the one hugging, carrying, or soothing the girl. He was there, and she wasn't afraid of him. That was all he really asked at this stage. She'd obviously learned that he wasn't going to pick her up, because she never asked like she did of the other men, raising her hands when she wanted "up-py." She did always seek him out when she came to visit though. Usually to give him a taste of whatever treat Steph had given her that day.

He'd closed the file again and pushed his chair back by the time Matilda Manoso's pig-tailed head poked around the edge of the door he'd left open.

"Un-Tak?" she called quietly.

"Tilly-Girl?" he called back, leaning around the desk to peer at her.

"Un-Tak!" she exclaimed, doing a little happy dance when she spotted him, which promptly landed her on her diapered ass. She was still mastering the use of her legs in the upright position, but according to popular opinion she was quite advanced for her age between that and her speech development.

"What have you got today?" Tank asked the toddler as she returned to her feet and made her way across the large office. In reply Tilly held up a baggy of grapes that had been cut in half length ways. "Oh grapes," he said, supplying the word for her.

"Gapes," she repeated, grinning and nodding.

Tilly stopped a couple of feet away from where he sat, wobbling as the loss of inertia almost caused another topple to the floor. "Can I have one?" he asked, leaning forward so that he was at a better level for communicating with the one year old.

She nodded enthusiastically and picked a half grape out of the bag, holding it out to the big man. "Ahhh," she prompted.

"Ahhh," Tank replied, holding his mouth open until Tilly had deposited the piece of fruit in his mouth, then chewing with vigour to show his appreciation.

Tilly did another little dance, excited over feeding her Uncle. She reached up on tippy toes and put her baggy of grapes on the edge of the desk and moved closer to Tank's chair. One pudgy hand was laid on Tank's knee, grabbing his attention, even though she already had it. "Bopple?" she asked plaintively. "Fidge-ator?"

Blinking, Tank had to pause, replaying the child's words in his head. Had he heard that correctly? She'd asked for a bottle in his presence on numerous occasions, so that was no surprise. But her other word. Could that have been? Had his persistence finally paid off? Every time he had a moment alone with Tilly he'd repeat the word refrigerator for her in the hopes that she would repeat it back. She hadn't shown much interest in it, even when she repeated every other word anyone said – which made for a few interesting incidents when men lost control of their mouths. But he'd kept it up. One day she would say it and he would remove he would know she was old enough to be aware of herself and enough to tell him to stop if he hurt her.

Was today that day?

"What did you say?" he asked, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly.

She narrowed her eyes in response, looking just like her mother. "Bopple pwease?"

"Where's the bottle?" Tank prompted.

Tilly's mouth worked for a moment as if testing the word on her lips before saying it aloud. "Wa-fidge-a-wator?" she sounded out.

"Refridgerator?" Tank asked.

"Wa-fidge-ator," Tilly confirmed with a nod. "Bopple? Pwease?"

Tank grinned. Unable to stop himself, he scooped Tilly up into his arms, depositing her on his shoulders and spun around while she giggled before jogging out of the office and down the hall toward the break room where Steph and Ella kept watered down juice bottles ready to go for Tilly. As he emerged into the main command floor there was a collective cheer from everyone in the room. Tank paused, travelling his gaze over the men standing in small groups, peering over cubicle dividers, leaning out of doorways.

"What?" he said.

"Where are you going, M&M?" Lester asked from nearby, using his own affectionate name for Matilda.

Tilly laid her hands flat on Tank's bald head and announced loudly. "Bopple. Wa-fidge-ator."

"REFRIGERATOR!" the men cried in triumph.

Shaking his head, Tank continued on to the break room. He didn't know what was so exciting about the word refrigerator for them. And right then he didn't care. Besides, Tilly was using his skull as a drum kit, the sooner she got a bottle, the better.

Steph was leaning against fridge, when they entered, her arms crossed over her chest, a self-satisfied smile gracing her lips as she waved a bottle toward her daughter. "The hard work paid off," Steph said.

"What hard work?" Tank asked suspiciously, leaning down so Tilly could take the drink herself.

"Refrigerator," Steph replied easily.

Tank's eye narrowed. "Ranger told you? When?"

"About nine months ago," Steph shrugged. "We've been working on teaching Tilly to say it ever since."

The hairs rose on the back of Tank's neck and he recalled the men's reaction. "We?"

Steph nodded. "Me, and Ranger, and Lester, and Bobby, and Hal, and Cal, and Hector – although, he was teaching her a Spanish word, so it could have been anything – and everyone else in Rangeman. Oh! And Ranger's parents."

"You've all been teaching Tilly to say refrigerator just so I'd-"

"Pick her up," Steph confirmed. "Hug her like we've all known you wanted to since the day she was born."

Tank shook his head, and the child in question grabbed hold of his ear with her free hand to keep from falling, even though Tank had a secure hold of her hips.

"I can tell who the favourite is going to be from now on," Steph assured him, tilting her head as Tilly passed the bottle down to her mother and leaned against the back of Tank's head, in a half hug. She let out a wide yawn. "She's tired, hasn't had a nap. If you're not careful she'll fall asleep up there." Tilly had proven fussy when it came to sleep. She could sleep in any position, but refused to sleep if certain people were around. For example Mrs Helen Plum. It was like the kid had a sixth sense and knew she had to keep an eye on the woman. It was the same when it came to Lester if he was in a certain mood.

For some reason, Tank didn't think the idea of Tilly falling asleep on him sounded like such a bad idea. If that's where Tilly was comfortable, he would make sure not to disturb her. It was a compliment, really.

"Gapes?" Tilly asked quietly.

"Grapes," Tank confirmed, patting her leg. "Hold on tight." Her little hands gripped both his ears as he met Steph's gaze one more time. "I'll be in my office."

She smirked. "So will she."