Chapter Text
"So that you know, a tattoo popped, Tash-might get lumpy."
Tasha pauses in the middle of powdering her Daughter's bottom.
"You can't get hurt Reade-do you understand? I can't have that."
Check that-I WON'T HAVE IT-ENTIENDES?"
"All of a sudden you draw a blank on what we do...how we do? It's the
job."
Nat, bottom-less, squeals to re-focus her Mother's attention, Tasha responds,
expertly wrapping and pinning the diaper, without taking her eyes off of her Man.
"We both know that as A.D. you can remain in office and send your team into the
field." Reade can tell by her tone that she is very serious about this issue.
"We're down one, with you at home-if I were to stay in office, and one of them were
to get shot, or WORSE-killed? Look...I get that you are worried, and I'll see what
I can do about reducing my field time... I'm looking at some promising candidates,
but until I know that I can trust the lives of our friends-OUR FAMILY-to them..."
"I can't do it, Zapata."
[Nat says, "Papata!", which breaks the tension between her Parents. They laugh, and
after putting on the mischievous baby's one-sie, she hands the Little One to Reade.]
As she's handing Nat over, Zapata says, one more time: DON'T GET HURT."
Nosy Nat grabs tight around his neck and shouts "NO!" before Reade can respond.
Reade kisses the top of her flouncy curls; with his face against them, and his eyes
on Tasha, he murmurs, "Claro que no."