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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"Hey, what can I tell you, our get-well gifts take a well-rounded and multifaced approach." Serene.

Naomi gurgles. One flailing hand connects with the frog, purely by accident, and immediately latches on.

"Oh! You've got me! How can I withstand such a forceful assault?"

Says the Auror.

Bernard rolls his eyes fondly and slips his arm around her. "Hopeless."

Wash sets his chin in his hand and, for a second, just grins.

He suddenly feels weirdly young, sitting here and watching them.

It's easy to pick out bits of himself and Zoe in Naomi (Zoe more often than not, because, like he said once, even his wife's genes can beat him up in a fair fight); some of his mom and dad, too, here and there. There's none of Bernard and Tonks, as far as he can tell -- but, hey, it's got that five hundred year gap to contend with.

And who knows? Maybe it'll show up eventually.

The sun crawls across the sky and sinks lower, as they talk, and eventually Naomi gets sleepy, and so does Bernard, the both of them settled against 'Dora with droopy eyes and a contented expression.

And eventually it'll be time to go, and Naomi will wake and be a little fussy, and Wash'll take her, acting more like a dad than even Bernard thought he would, and Bernard will try to smile even in the face of another night on his own.

But it's all right. Really.

He'll be home soon. They've got all the time in the world.

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