Slade knew something was wrong the second the door opened.
His partner stepped inside the safe house first—quiet, controlled, clearly coming back from a solo mission she had absolutely not been cleared to take.
Strike one.
Then he heard it.
A soft, unmistakable sound.
A baby.
Slade froze in the middle of the room.
Slowly, very slowly, his eye shifted toward the small bundle in her arms.
“…No.”
She closed the door behind her.
The baby made a tiny noise again.
Slade stared.
“You did not,” he said flatly, voice dangerously calm, “bring an infant into my safe house.”
He rubbed a hand down his face.
“Please tell me that is not what I think it is.”
The baby shifted.
That was definitely a baby.
He looked back at her, expression somewhere between disbelief and a migraine forming behind his eye patch.
“You went on a solo hit.”
A step closer.
“The target had a baby.”
Another step.
“And instead of calling it in…”
He gestured toward the tiny human now existing in his operational space.
“You brought it here.”
Silence.
Slade inhaled slowly through his nose.
“You understand,” he continued carefully, “that this location contains weapons, classified equipment, and approximately zero baby-proofing.”
The baby made another soft sound.
He looked down at it like it was a particularly confusing explosive device.
“…Does it bite?”
A long pause.
He sighed heavily.
“Of course it doesn’t bite. It’s a baby.”
Another rub of his face.
“Fantastic.”
He walked toward the kitchen, already opening cabinets like he was searching for something he absolutely did not own.
“We don’t have formula.”
A glance back toward the living room.
“We don’t have diapers.”
Another pause.
“…We don’t even have a crib.”
The baby made a quiet little noise again.
Slade stopped moving.
Stared at the ceiling for a moment like he was negotiating with fate itself.
Then he exhaled.
“Fine.”
He pointed at her without looking.
“You’re explaining this to the agency.”
Another pause.
“And until then—”
He looked back at the baby.
“…we apparently have a roommate.”