Imagine - returning home after an assassination, finding your husband, Jacob Frye, cuddled up with your child, both sound asleep.
You discard your robes, taking care to separate the garments stained with fresh blood from those that remain unsullied. You could hide the blood from your child, that way. Though none of it is yours, but that hardly matters in the mind of an inquisitive child.
Between the late hour and your muscles taut with exhaustion, you decide to bathe in the morning, simply shrugging on a nightgown and unbraiding your hair, fluffing the strands as they fall over your shoulders.
Padding stealthily over to your bedroom, you pause at the sound of an extra heartbeat, your hand twisting the doorknob slowly and cracking the door open, smiling at the scene that awaits you.
Your husband, fellow assassin and veritable love of your life lays clothed on his back, his dark hair strewn messily on the pillow beneath him, your child, (Y/C/N), curled up on the space next to him, sucking their thumb with a tranquil pout upon their lips.
"You planning to stand there all night, or are you going to join us?"
You crack a smile, gathering the corners of the covers and sliding into bed as soundlessly as possible.
"Did I wake you?"
"Nah, you know me. Always sleeping with one eye open."
You huff your response, leaning over your child and planting a lingering kiss on your husband's lips.
"How did it go?"
It's always a pointless question to ask, no matter who asks it to whom. If it hadn't gone well, you wouldn't be there to respond. But still, with the both of you being assassins, it's as close to "so how was your day, darling?" your relationship could get.
"Good," you breathe, stroking the strands of hair from your child's face.
"Good."
"Mmm. How long has (Y/C/N) been here?"
Rolling over with an exhale from the exertion, Jacob faces you, his eyebrow raised in thought.
"I heard them crying shortly after 8. Poor thing had a nightmare. Took some convincing that it wasn't real."
Frowning, you study your child's face, as round and ruddy as always, reflecting their father's eyes and lips and their mother's nose. Truly, they resemble a cherub in your eyes. Too sweet, too innocent for the world as you know it. But that's okay. All the more reason to do what you do, to help change the world one step at a time.
Pressing the gentlest kiss to their forehead, you wrap your arms around them and cradle them close to your breast, whispering in the darkness, "Mummy loves you, sweet pea. Mummy will always love you."
They smile in their sleep, as though responding to your words, nuzzling their face deeper in your chest as their dreams are made brighter by your presence.
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