it goes unsaid that the killing machine, cato hadley, would never want kids. he glared at those sticky fingers, the diapers, the non-stop crying. none of it was his thing. but now? as he watched you play gently with your niece, he wasn't too sure. the way you were so gentle and nice, playing 'house' with them and their stuffed animals.

it made his heart ache. even if the child has never - and probably never will with the way he's still slightly glaring at them - cato's sure children would at least be.. cool.

so, when you settled beside him on the couch after playing with your niece for a bit, panting slightly, cato ran a hand up and down your arm. "a baby," he whispered, before looking away as he realized how silly he sounded. "a baby, would.. would be cool, you know? you'd be a good parent." he murmured, pressing his face into your hair.