Chapter Text
Kate’s level of stress reaches astronomically high levels when she opens the front door to find her entryway completely marked in watercolor paint.
One. Two. Do not murder your wife.
A giant mark of runny blue on the wall. One small pair of yellow palm prints on the wall and one bigger pair of orange palm prints. Red paint splashes on the hardwood floor, and a trail of green footprints that lead her to the living room.
It's a mess. A colossal mess.
A mess she can't even tell if it was the toddler's fault — despite his amazing pouting superpowers, she knew her wife well enough to know not much convincing would be needed to talk her into doing this.
Three. Four. You're a federal agent. Don't.
Rushed steps sound from upstairs, and then a desperate, “Theo, you have to get washed up before your momma gets home, come back here!”
“But momma likes my paintings!” The little boy tries to argue, giggling and sprinting towards the living room. “She’s gonna love our– Momma!”
Theo runs to her arms almost immediately, and as a reflex, Kate bends forward to scoop him up in her arms.
“Hello, my angel.” Momentarily forgetting about the fact he probably stained her suit — and the unholy amount of paint he has on his hair — Kate kisses his forehead, rocking him slightly. “I see you had a lot of fun today!”
“Yeah! Mommy let me try the paint uncle Kai gave me.” He replies, excitedly.
At that moment, Lucy slowly walks into the room — also covered in paint — with a guilty smile on her face.
“Babe, you're home early.” She scratches the nape of her neck. “It’s only four.”
Five. Six. She's a good mom, just a terrible adult sometimes.
“The meeting with the informant went smoother than I expected, and ASAC Curtis said I should come home for the day.”
“Good… good! That's great!” Kate narrows her eyes at her. “So… the house… we got a little carried away with the art set Kai got him.”
“A little?” She quirks an eyebrow. Lucy looks away.
“Okay, a lot.”
Seven. Eight. Theo would miss her. You would too.
“Momma, do you like my art? I used many colors.” The little boy asks, catching Kate's attention.
“I saw that, darling. But maybe we could use a canvas next time? So we can keep it. Even hang it in your room.”
Theo gives her a big smile, eagerly nodding. (He has small droplets of paint on his brows and dimples. It makes him even more adorable — it prompts a smile to bloom on her lips, making her fall for him all over again.
“ Otay !” He agrees, placing his hand on his wild curls. “My hair is hard.”
“ Stiff, dear.” Kate corrects him, walking towards her wife. “How did he get purple paint on his hair?”
“ Hm , he had paint on his hands. And his curls were making his nose itch, so he just…” Lucy moves her hand above her head, sliding front to back. “Then it got like that.”
Nine. Ten. She makes great pancakes. And you love her.
“And how did you get paint in your hair?”
“I did the same.”
Eleven. Twelve. Actually, do you love her that much?
“Where else did you two play with paint?”
Before the shortest could answer, Theo jumped in. “Everywhere! It's a big painting!”
Thirteen. Fourteen. Everywhere. I might even murder Kai as well.
“ Everywhere ?” She parrots, the muscles of her jaw tensing slightly.
Lucy shrugs, sheepishly. “We got excited… And… Theo has great ideas. He made a good painting in the hall. Cows and stars–” Kate frowns at that. “He said his cows were astronauts.”
And she sounds so serious — so serious — Kate brows relax immediately; a chuckle falls from her mouth.
“So, no pouting superpower was needed to convince you?”
“Oh, he had me the moment he said ‘pwease’ .”
Fifteen. Sixteen. Maybe Jane will cover for me.
She shakes her head. Lucy continues.
“We were playing in his room, but then I needed to go to the bathroom. When I came back, he had run out of our room.”
She purses her lips. “Our room? There's paint in our room?”
“Actually, there's a NASA bovine team there too.”
Seventeen. Eighteen. Maybe she would help.
Kate repeats her words, trying to understand the semantics behind it, regarding her wife closely. She’s trying to give her a smile, but the tension on her temples are visible, and her eyes keep switching between Kate's and the small stains Theo transferred to her peach blouse.
Nineteen. Twenty. It's very much justified murder. Yes.
“Am I sleeping on the couch tonight?”
“Depends on what I find when I get upstairs.”
Lucy nods. Praying that the last straw won't be the smiley pigs they made on the bathroom tiles.