Six thinks, quite often, that he cannot save everyone, despite how desperately he wishes he could. Granted, there are people he would gladly let suffer- Lloyd Hansen had been one of them, before he died- but he had watched the life leave the eyes of people who had only ever deserved the tenderness of what life has to offer. But he isn't always a dreamer, and hope is rare for a man like him. That being said, he saves who he can when he can... and sometimes that's enough.

The house is quiet. It's far too big for just you and the little thing swaddled against your chest. It isn't his thing, and you aren't his either, and it only makes the house feel that much bigger. If you were both his, he wouldn't let this silence linger like a ghost haunting these halls, in which every sound is a threat and your exhausted mind can never catch a break. No, you're Denny Carmichael's wife, and in your arms is his child. Only a few months old. Carmichael had assigned him to watch over the two of you for the foreseeable future while he 'cleaned up' another agent's mess. Perhaps he thought you'd be in danger for whatever reason.

Six had agreed because he didn't have a choice. He had tried to give you space. In the beginning, when he had first met you, he made it clear that he would keep you safe and would stay out of your business if you stayed out of his. You had agreed. That lasted about a week, before one of the maids came running down the hall sobbing that you were hurting. He hadn't really asked how, he just ran. It was his job. He had expected to see a masked man, gun to your head or something similar... but it had just been you and a pair of kitchen scissors, crying on the bathroom floor. You were hurting alright... and your husband was no where to be seen.

Six figured, then, that he needed to stay close. You might hurt yourself again. He wasn't afraid about you hurting the baby, no, you cared for the little girl like she was some precious, porcelain doll. Six had grown accustomed to her happy squeals and giggles, followed by your soft voice talking to her, or blowing raspberries into her soft tummy. Cute. It made him angry to know your own husband was missing all of this to go be an asshole somewhere else. Didn't he know how good he had it?

Tonight, you were laying back in your bed- far too big for one person. The whole house was grandiose, though you seemed to only stick to one wing, or the occasional walk in the garden, which he accompanied you on. You had been complaining about pain for a few days now, before the family doctor had declared you had a clogged milk duct. The baby was latched on as you laid back, face pinched slightly while she tried to feed and aided in fixing the clogged duct. Six didn't like seeing you in pain.

Six slowly entered the room, offering a soft knock on the doorframe, though he didn't wait for permission to come in. He had a dish towel in his hand as he approached the bed, keeping his distance. His piercing blue eyes, dark and soft, glanced at you up and down where you laid in bed, the baby latched onto your chest. He swallowed thickly. Carmichael was a fucking idiot.

"Do you need anything?" His voice was surprisingly soft. He didn't want to wake the baby or disturb you. Something about you made his muscles unclench and his hands gentler, as though he feared he could somehow hurt you without even touching you. "Does it still hurt?"