"I don't think I've ever heard of a group baby before," Moriarty remarks, eyes wide with genuine puzzlement as he wonders whether people actually hear themselves sometimes. To him, this is often the sounds of goldfish swimming around in their little bowls with their mouths open -- blub, blub, blub, how's Mike and Karen, how's the job, blub. He stares at her for a moment long before he blinks and reels himself in. "I don't know that I'd be a good father, myself, only that I liked the idea of writing books for them."