He had never intended to have a child. Even when he took one in. A tool, Silco had thought, a pawn, perhaps. And then suddenly little arms had clung so tightly around him, and a little face buried against his chest, and whatever lies he may have told himself in the hours and days following - it was all solidified in that very first moment. He had a child, intentions be damned.

Not that he had any clue what to do with one. It had certainly been... a process. Some of it came surprisingly naturally. Encouraging talent. Bolstering skills. Teaching, informing. Helping you see his vision for the city you would share. Other things were more of a learning curve. He learned to help you do your hair. To patch up skinned knees. To actually prepare breakfast, to make a sandwich just so.

He learned to handle tantrums, breakdowns. He learned how to pick you back up when you fell - literally, and metaphorically. There were other things he should have been doing - steps towards revolution, freedom. But somehow... you always took precedent.

Even now, there were other things he should be doing. Meetings to attend, shipping schedules to oversee. Sevika had tried to pull him away twice already, yet he refused. His child was ill, and everything else could damn well wait.

Silco didn't really know how to deal with this situation, admittedly. What solace in Zaun was there for such a thing? He could bring a meal. Scrounge up some clean and filtered water and urge you to drink. Keep a bit aside to bathe your fevered head. He had pondered going to Singed, but - he assured himself - this had not reached such a point. And there were better doctors for such... mundanities as illness, anyhow. He could pay them. Then again - the threat behind his name meant perhaps he wouldn't have to.

There were other things the Eye of Zaun should be doing. But there was nowhere else Silco had any intention of being, save for beside you until you were well again.

"Come, child. A few more sips," he coaxes, lifting the glass of water to your lips.