The first week of Bianca's life has been a whirlwind. He'd held children before, but never his own, and there's something so wonderful about knowing that he was going to keep this one. It was terrifying too. She was so small, so breakable. There were nights when he couldn't sleep right, restlessly sitting up to watch her breathe. She was adorable. Her eyes were open now, and she was slowly learning to use her legs. Most of her day was spent sleeping or at Honeyguide's side, making these soft noises of contentment that tear his heart open every time. Walking into her nursery and knowing that she knows him, recognizes him — she squirms up to his paws and rests there when the effort gets to be too much, and it's moments like this that he'll remember until he's old and grey.
For however much he adores her, though, children can still be pains in the ass.
Wash knows that he's been slacking this last week. For a good reason, certainly — one of the best, really — but it still makes him antsy. Since Honey is out doing his own job as well, between rounds keeping Bee's stomach full, he somehow has to balance his work and the squirmy bundle of fur that's becoming more and more adventurous. He'd set a blanket out in the grass, something from their room to give her a familiar smell outside, and for a while she'd just napped as he sorted through his supplies. A little low on bandages but alright, a little low on poppy seeds, not quite alright — and on and on through his entire satchel as Bee begins to wake up. By the time he glances at her, the sneaky little bugger is at the edge of the blanket. This is what he gets for marrying an assassin. "No don't do that," he whispers, picking her up by her scruff and returning her to the center. "I'll get in trouble."
She probably knows that. Wash goes back to sorting his herbs and for a moment she seems to listen to him, those bright eyes of her on what he's doing. Then, because of course, she squirms closer. He can't push her away quickly enough to keep her little mouth from chomping down on borage root. At least it's not dangerous, he supposes, but the lion is still quick to pull her away from the rest. "Bee, sweetheart, these aren't toys. Are your teeth troubling you? Is that it?" He cradles her with one large paw and sighs, rough tongue smoothing over the top of her head to her squeaks. "That one's only for bellyaches."