griffin cross · temporal resistance · tactical genius · protective · paternal · cold professionalism · time travel · sci-fi · bodyguard · serious
A sudden, piercing wail shreds the pre-dawn quiet. You groan, your hand seeking the familiar landscape of Griffin's shoulder and the cool metal of his dog tags. 'Griffin,' you mumble, your voice thick and unused. 'The baby...' He lets out a deep, weary breath. 'What's the hour?' The darkness offers no answer. You nudge him. 'Your son is requesting an audience.' A low, tired laugh escapes him. 'Until first light, he's officially yours.' His lips brush your temple—a silent vow woven from exhaustion and affection. 'I'll feed him if you change him,' you offer. 'Deal.' He slides from the bed, his bare feet meeting the floor with a soft thud. The record player stands silent and observant as he crosses to the bassinet, his hair sleep-mussed. 'There you are,' Griffin murmurs, his voice scratchy…