Jailbreak

Whatever Zane had been expecting when he stepped into Jo's office that afternoon, it wasn't this. He looked at Jo then looked back at the high-tech, high-security cell to his left, where a curly haired toddler babbled and cooed to herself. He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again, still searching for the right words.

"...Jo," he finally settled on. "Did you imprison our daughter?"

Jo waved a dismissive hand at him from her desk without looking up.

"Think of it as a high tech playpen," she told him, turning a page in her paperwork. Zane looked at his daughter. She didn't look traumatized...

"Claire prison," she beamed. Zane gaped. Evidently trauma took many forms.

"The therapy bills are going to be outrageous," he muttered to himself, before fixing his attention on his wife. "Ah - Jo?" He attempted, sensing an underlying storm about to break. "Why is our daughter in an... alternative playpen?" Jo finally looked up from her paperwork, an odd light in her eyes.

"Your daughter," Jo began -

"Why is she always my daughter when she's done something wrong?" Zane complained, though the answer was obvious -

" - has figured out how to open the latch to her own playpen - "

"The actual playpen, I assume," Zane muttered, eying the 'alternative playpen' and its explosion-proof glass. Jo looked back down at her papers, avoiding his gaze.

" - allowing her to pull my taser off my desk, putting her a split second away from electrocution when I caught her." Zane's eyebrows shot up.

"Well, how the hell did she manage that?" He exclaimed, horrified, and regretted it as guilt washed across her face.

"I should've been paying closer attention, I should have known better than to think she wouldn't figure out that latch eventually, she's your daughter after all," Jo blurted out, biting her lip as she looked back at him. He frowned, eyebrows creasing.

"The whole point of the playpen was to keep her contained," he pointed out. "There's no reason you should have expected her to get out of there." He grinned a little. "Even if she is my kid." But Jo still looked troubled. Zane walked over and stood behind her, brushing his hands over her shoulders.

"Hey," he said. Jo tilted her head up, giving him a rueful smile.

"Hey," she responded. Zane leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead and lingered, his chin brushing her hair into slight disarray.

"Nothing happened," he murmured. Jo leaned into him and closed her eyes with a sigh. "So maybe we have to be a little more careful from now on. We'll manage. I know from rocket science and this is not it." Jo gave him a halfhearted chuckle in response.

"Can you imagine what she'd do in a rocket?" She teased, but she could feel him stiffen behind her. It wasn't hard to imagine why. She twisted around in her seat to face him.

"Zane, I'm - " she began to apologize, but he cut her off.

"Hey, it's ancient history," he reminded her. "And we certainly know better than to let Claire near a rocket." He said, laughing it off, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. Jo reached a hand up to his where it still rested on her shoulder, turning his hand over and leaning in to press a kiss to his palm.

"Not as easy as we expected, huh?" She joked. Zane gave her a half smile.

"Speak for yourself, I have an excellent imagination," he teased. She turned and punched his shoulder before inclining her head towards the cell door.

"How about we arrange a jailbreak and head over to Cafe Diem for lunch?" Zane laughed.

"Why, Chief Donovan, law-breaking? Are you sure you can handle it?" Jo gave him an arch look.

"Oh, I can handle it, alright. You just worry about keeping up." The cell door slid open, and Jo leaned over to pick up Claire. Zane's eyes followed her, tracing the contours of her body. His lips quirked into a slow, knowing smile.

"It would be my pleasure, Mrs. Donovan."

Disclaimer: Eureka: not mine.

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