There isn't time in their lives for a dog, let alone a daughter.
Correction; there isn't time in Jim's life for a daughter. She deems there to be plenty of time in Sebastian's life, however. He disagrees. He even disagrees to her face, and all she does is laugh.
"Oh Sebastian," she giggles, running a finger over his lips, "haven't you learned by now that what you think doesn't matter? It's my way, or they'll never find what's left of you on the highway."
After the fourth night with no sleep, he suggests giving the kid up for adoption. If it had been anyone else's kid, he'd have ditched it anywhere by now. But she's his, and he can't. The thought makes him sick. Giving her away to someone who wants her is a perfectly acceptable option.
Jim shoots this option down. "I have plans for her."
"Then how about her loving mother looks after her sometime?"
"I do, occasionally."
But the majority of the time, it's him and a bottle of formula, and the baby girl who seems eternally hungry.
The fifth night, he pretends to sleep through the crying coming through the walls as well as the monitor.
Jim doesn't. "Sebastian, she's crying. Deal with her."
He doesn't move, but his grip on the pillow tightens just a bit. "You know what? It's your turn, Jay."
"No, I don't believe it is. Go. Don't make me threaten you; I'm not very creative when I've been woken up and I much prefer to be creative." She turns on to her side, away from him. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll have her trained to sleep through the night in no time."
Bitch.
The baby too.
The latter he tells to her face.
"You're a little bitch, you know that?" He tells her, lifting her out of her cot. Tessa curls up against him, quieting for a moment before screaming once more.
When he agreed to take the job as an assassin, he never thought he'd end up with a daughter. Had he known, he probably would have turned the job down. No, he would have turned the job down, would have never spoken to her ever again and would have lived the rest of his life in disgraced mediocrity. Booze, sex, shitty flat somewhere…. It wouldn't have been the glamorous life he has with Jim, but he wouldn't be trapped.
He certainly wouldn't be sitting in a nursery, unwillingly feeding a baby who owns more clothing than he does.
"You are a bitch," he continues on, "just like your mother. You've apparently got her eyes and hair, but you've got her fucking demanding personality as well. You two will be quite a team someday, I'm sure. Once I have you trained well enough."
Tessa wriggles in his arms, her tiny hands flailing and folding about as she frantically sucks down the formula. She hasn't figured out how to use them yet. Funny; he'd had the notion that any child of Jim's would come out knowing advanced mathematics, but Tessa seems so… normal. One of her hands finds the one of his that's holding the bottle, and her tiny fingers lay against his.
Sebastian sighs and takes her hand, holding it with his against the bottle. "This is how you feed yourself. Do me a favour and learn this quickly so I can actually get some fucking sleep. I shoot people for a living, I need to be somewhat rested." Her eyes look up at him as he talks. "You're going to have me wrapped around your finger, aren't you? I'm going to bend over backwards whenever you want something." He shakes his head. "What'd I say? Just like your mother."
Just like her mother.