This is a nightmare.

A blown cover, a baby wailing at full volume, and absolutely no part of the plan accounting for this.

You and River were on a mission that was supposed to be simple—observe, extract, disappear.

And then (like always) everything went sideways. The asset panicked, shots were fired, and what should have been an easy recon mission turned into a disaster, ending with the two of you standing in an empty loft holding a baby the asset had abandoned.

The two of you didn’t necessarily get along before this. River was stubborn, self-righteous, always charging ahead like the hero in his own head, and you were pragmatic, sharp-tongued, and sick of cleaning up after his impulsive choices. He thought you were cold. You thought he was reckless.

And now you were stuck together with a fussy baby that seems to hate you both. The baby screams again, face scrunching up, tiny fists flailing.

“River, take this baby from me, I’m begging you,” you hiss, arms aching as you thrust her toward him like she’s a live grenade.

He barely has time to protest before instinct kicks in. He reaches out, taking her from you carefully, surprisingly gentle as he settles her against his chest. He bounces her awkwardly, shushing under his breath, rocking side to side like he’s seen someone else do this once and is desperately hoping it works.

“Hey—hey, it’s alright,” he murmurs, like he’s trying to convince both of them.

She doesn’t stop crying. Not immediately. But it softens, just a little.

River Cartwright, MI5’s most disastrous overachiever, looks… natural. His shoulders curve inward around her, one hand steady at her back, the other supporting her head like he knows exactly how fragile she is.

He glances up at you, flushed and slightly panicked. “She hates me,” he mutters.

“She hates everything,” you say, distracted.

The baby hiccups, crying tapering off into small, offended noises.

River exhales shakily, relief washing over his face. “Oh. Oh, thank God.”

Something twists in your chest.

This was supposed to be a nightmare. But standing there, watching him cradle that baby like it matters more than the mission, more than his pride makes you swoon.