The Curious Incident of the Puppy in the Night-Time

It wasn't even the noise that woke him, but the profound sense that something was not right–a feeling that, thanks to years and years of experience, had his palm itch for a weapon. But it was also experience that told him not to jump into action right away, but to assess the situation first, so he remained still. His hand slowly inching towards the nightstand, just to make sure that the ICER he kept there was within reach, he opened his eyes, staring into the semi-darkness of the room, and listened–and he could have sworn he heard something from downstairs.

"Skye," he whispered, reaching out to shake her shoulder gently as she lay next to him, on her side, with her back to him (and feeling just a little bit guilty about waking her right away). "Have you heard something?"

"Yeah," she mumbled, pulling the sheets closer to her body, "you. Just right now. It's mighty annoying."

Despite the situation and his rising alarm, he found himself smirking at that.

"I meant from downstairs," he clarified, craning his neck, as if he could have a better look at downstairs that way. "I'm sure I've heard something."

"No, but I'll take your word for it," she replied in a tone that was somewhat equally sleepy, annoyed, and amused. "But if it's a burglar again, it's your turn to deal with it. Maybe you should sit him down, offer him a drink, and tell him about your two thousand-yard-shot. Or how you once fought off half a dozen men all by yourself. Or any mission story, really. I'm not picky."

He appreciated her humor, he really did–it was one of the reasons he loved her–, but right then he really wasn't in the mood for this.

"Maybe you should take this a little more seriously," he said a little reproachfully, his voice, without his explicit permission, rising from a whisper to normal volume. "We have two kids in the house, after all."

There was a moment of silence–complete, terrifying silence–, and then she sat up and turned towards him, one hand propping herself up, the other sliding down to her belly. Even in the near darkness, he could see her furrowed brows–a surefire sign that she was not exactly content with his behavior.

"Maybe you should remember," she said, giving clear emphasis to each word, "that next to the two kids, we also have two dogs in the house. And one of them is a puppy. And what do puppies do during the night, in a strange place, if they are alone? They make a racket."

Grant blinked and swallowed. Yeah, there was something in what she was saying–he had completely forgotten about the little, tawny fluffball his dear father-in-law had presented his eldest with earlier that day (without consulting either him or Skye, nonetheless).

"Yeah," he nodded (admitting defeat), already swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "I'd better go and check on the puppy."

Skye's lips pulled into a small smile as she lay back down, caressing her belly. "Good boy."

Barefoot, he walked down the hallway and the stairs quietly, listening, but hearing nothing, only the creaks and moans the house produced from time to time (when they had first moved in, Skye swore the old house was haunted, and they were sharing a living space with the previous owner). But this changed as soon as he got to the bottom of the stairs–down there he could hear right away the not-so-quiet whispering, punctuated by excited yapping from time to time, which seemed to come from the direction of the laundry room, where they had settled the new dog in for the night. Now smiling he made his way over there, shaking his head when he saw the tell-tale light spilling from under the laundry room door.

His daughters still had a lot to learn about being sneaky (or maybe not; for the sake of his sanity).

For a couple of moments, he just stood in front of the door, his arms crossed, listening to the muffled sounds of what was going on inside: giggling, hushing, more giggling, failed whispering, and a happy dog panting and yapping. Then, biting into his lip so he wouldn't laugh, he reached for the doorknob and opened the door.

The laundry room went mostly quiet as soon as he stepped in–the girl, being caught, froze like deer in the headlights, looking up at him with widened eyes, which actually gave him a chance to take in the scene in front of him. The girls were on the floor, both in their pajamas, Ada sitting slightly to the side, her thumb in her mouth (a habit they'd been trying to break), while Haylie lay on her tummy, right next to the dog, who, Grant could have sworn, was copying his firstborn's stance, looking up at him with her tongue hanging out of her mouth.

Honestly, if it wasn't for the fact that the girls should have been asleep hours ago, he would have found them completely adorable and photo-worthy.

After a beat or two it was, of course, Haylie who recovered first. She blinked, smiled, and looked at him with such a feigned innocence that it eerily reminded him of his very first meeting with Skye.

"Hi, daddy," she said so casually as if he was just picking her up from school. "Wanna play with us?" She smiled at him with a disarming smile (he had a feeling that this child would make his life greatly difficult in ten years or so).

"It's kind of you to ask," he said just as cordially as he lowered himself on the floor to sit in front of Haylie. The dog–Nana, that was the name the girls gave her–started waggling her tail right away, crawling forward a bit so she could lick his toes. "But I have a question on my own–shouldn't you be in bed right now?"

Haylie made a show of considering this, sitting up and rubbing her chin (a gesture Grant was sure she had learned from Fitz), while Ada quietly climbed into his lap and buried her head in his chest, showing just how tired she really was. Finally, Haylie let out a dramatic sigh.

"But Nana was so alone, feeling so lonely and scared, daddy," she said, "and you and mommy always say that nobody should be left alone, so we just had to come down to her," Haylie explained as seriously as any six-year-old is capable. "We had to."

Ada sleepily nodded against his chest, her tiny fist tightening on the material of his shirt, while Grant fought very hard not to laugh. Leave it to his daughter to turn his own words on him in a way he couldn't even argue with. He loved his firstborn to the moon and back, but he kind of hoped that the new baby would be less handful than Haylie.

"Well, she seems okay to me now–you've reassured her, I guess, that she's in a nice place, so she'll be okay until morning. Which means that you girls can go to sleep now," he said, moving to stand up, Ada, already half-asleep, cradled against his chest.

Haylie remained sitting on the floor, curling her arms around the dog's neck and looking up at him with pleading eyes. "But what if she gets lonely again? Or scared? Or has a bad dream? Hm, daddy?" she ended with an almost accusatory note, as if in the listed cases the dog's woes would be all his fault.

Grant sighed. What harm it would do, really? And it was Haylie's birthday, after all. And he had always had a problem saying his daughter no.

"Alright," he said at last, adjusting Ada on his hip and deciding (maybe a little too soon) that it was the best course of action, "then what if Nana sleeps with you and Ada tonight in your room, so you can protect her? But only tonight."

Haylie beamed up at him.

"That would be perfect, daddy."

From then on in, he had an easy enough job–he carried Ada up the stairs, Haylie leading the dog up right in front of them. He tucked the girls in without any fuss–Ada was already asleep by the time he laid her down in the bed–, laid an old blanket down on the carpet for the dog to sleep on by the bed, kissed Haylie and Ada goodnight, then, making sure that the nightlight was on, left the room. He stood in front of the door for a couple of more minutes, listening, but he heard nothing–it seemed like that, finally, everyone but him was asleep in the house.

Yawning and rubbing his eyes, he made his way back to the master bedroom, opening the door quietly, trying not to wake Skye–only, it seemed like, she hadn't fallen back to sleep yet in the first place.

"Have you found the burglar?" she asked, sleepily, without moving an inch.

"No," he replied as he slipped back under the covers. "I only found two babies in the laundry room, playing with the dog."

"Told you so," she said, sounding only slightly smug. "How did you lure them away without a tantrum?"

Grant settled on his side, lying close enough to her so he could drape an arm around her middle. "I told them the dog can sleep with them. Only tonight, of course."

He didn't have to see her to feel chuckle. "Oh, you are so naïve."

(He hated when she was right.)