flybywash | (no subject)

(no subject)

You know, with the way the bad goes in constant cycles around here, Wash is mildly surprised it hasn't overlapped before now.

It's as good a reason as any why it's taken this long to visit.

Naomi's nestled in her sling; a box under one arm and his cane in the other hand, Wash scrambles and juggles for a couple of seconds before he knocks on the door of the Tonks-Wrangle flat.

"Anybody home?" he calls.

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Wash snorts, amused.

(And not looking in the room yet.)

"If decency ever happens, send me evidence, I've got a blackmail portfolio on everybody except you so far," he calls.

There is a rustle from the room which somehow manages to convey surprise. Then, "Ow. Wash?"

"The one and only. And..."

He takes a moment to readjust the sling, sneaking a fond smile, bright for all its quickness, at Naomi.

"I have company of the small human and adorable variety. Some slightly less adorable gifts, too."

It takes Bernard a second to process what tha means, and then he twitches all over again.

"Goddammit. You keep surprising me, and I keep jumping and it keeps hurting, so come on in and cut it out."

Wash manages to smother a snicker, but only just. "Duìbùqĭ."

That sentiment becomes rather more sincere when he edges in and actually gets a look at Bernard. Saying you look like hell would be redundant, so he doesn't, but that really doesn't make it any less true.

"Hey. How are you feeling?"

Nymphadora hefts the box onto the bedside table, and then bends over to kiss her husband. "Hi, sweetheart." And then again.

Hey. She's entitled. On a number of levels.

Softly, "Hey." Once properly kissed, Bernard smiles at Wash, his eyes flickering to the tiny hand peeking over the edge of the sling.

"I'm good. Better, now that I have visitors." He grins, a little more color coming to his face. "Who's this, then?"

"This..."

Wash takes a seat and puts his cane aside, lifting Naomi out of her sling. She makes a tiny noise of protest -- "Hey, it's okay, băobèi, shh," he whispers, kissing the top of her head as he rests her against his chest. "This is Naomi Warren-Washburne. Naomi, this is Bernard. Wanna say hi?"

'Hi,' in this case, is a solemn and marginally sleepy blink.

Bernard beams at her. "Well." His voice is a little hoarse. Pay no mind. "Already giving Sunny a run for her money as the prettiest princess in all the universes, I see."

"Isn't she beautiful?" 'Dora's settled herself next to the bed, as well, and takes Bernard's hand. "Takes after Zoe's side of the family, clearly."

He pokes her with his free hand. "Hey, now. Kid's clearly a Wrangle." He looks to Wash, blue eyes sparkling merrily. "Though if she starts repeating herself, you let us know. Because that would just be weird."

To Tonks, mildly: "Hey."

He's grinning uncontrollably.

Because they're right; she is beautiful. He'll never argue that. And she's his.

"Weird besides the general inherent weirdness of being a walking echo chamber?" he asks, hoisting her a little higher.

She's snickering. "Bernard's dad does it," she explains fondly. "On him it's pretty funny, actually, and it grows on you after a while."

"Ahhh." A sage nod. "Well, once she's talking I'll put everyone on repetitive watch and report back."

Of course, knowing him, he's going to be doing that anyway with pretty much every major milestone this kid hits.

"You up for holding her?" he asks Bernard.

Bernard bites his lip and rotates his wrists experimentally. "Reckon so."

To 'Dora, sotto voce. "Be ready to catch."

Her grin widens. She's ready, but she's confident he won't need it.

Better every day.

Between their respective injuries, it takes some maneuvering, and a bit more time than the other baby hand-offs he's done since June.

But soon enough, Naomi's settled in her great-great-great...

Well. Lots of greats-grandfather's arms.

She bats the air with one tiny fist and makes a face at him.

Bernard makes a face right back, and lets her catch his finger in a tight grip.

"Ready to kick my ass already, I see," he chuckles.

He doesn't have an issue with cursing in front of children.

"Well, a person's gotta be tough to live in space," 'Dora says solemnly, meeting Naomi's still-unfocused gaze. "And I think she fits the bill."

"Of course she does." A teasing smirk at Tonks. "If she takes after my wife that much."

"How is Zoe?" Bernard queries, his eyes flickering away from Naomi for only a second. "Everything went okay?"

"Shi a." Wry, but proud. "I think I ended up more terrified of the whole thing than she did -- which is not to say that I didn't end up with this whole hand black and blue and other fun and unnatural colors."

He holds up his right hand and wiggles it in demonstration.

Bernard snorts, and Naomi's mouth forms a tiny, round O.

"'Dora hexed me accidentally." He notices Naomi's fascination, and mimics her, his voice going all funny like it does when you talk to infants. "What? What? What is so shocking, young lady?"

Naomi just gapes.

"Oh, as if that mug of yours isn't enough of a shock," she teases, and runs a finger down Naomi's cheek. "Look at those pretty eyes. You are gonna be such a knockout. I can hear my son's heart palpitating already."

Then she straightens, and blinks, as what she's just said sinks in.

"Er. I mean. No, no palpitating whatsoever. None."

Wash chokes.

With dignity.

...Okay, with nothing resembling dignity whatsoever.

"Can we maybe enact a few safeguards to ensure that I don't end up my own grandpa?" he splutters.