“She sounds like a velociraptor,” Gunner muttered in distress. “Make it stop. Everyone in the store will look and take notice of us.”
“Honey, nobody will stare at a toddler screaming. It’s what they do.”
“Still. Make her shut up, will you?”
“If only magic spells were real, eh? You could swish and flick a silence spell at her,” Chas commented, amused out of all proportion at Gunner’s freak-out.
They turned a corner into the baby section, and Chas grabbed a stuffed toy off a shelf and passed it to Poppy. She hugged the plush blue elephant close and quieted.
Gunner let out an audible sigh of relief.
“Don’t get too comfortable, buddy. That’ll keep her quiet for about sixty seconds, and then she’ll be wanting something new to entertain her.”
“Sixty seconds?” The horror in Gunner’s voice was palpable.
Chas laughed aloud. “Oh man. Breaking you into parenthood is gonna be fun.”
“You can fuck all the way off,” Gunner muttered.
“Language,” Chas said mildly, his attention on the shelves beside them. “Diapers. Let’s see. Do we go for the twelve-to-eighteen-months size or the eighteen-to-twenty-four months size?”
“Just get them both,” Gunner grumbled, clearly disgruntled at Chas’s amusement.
“I think the smaller size. She’s actually fairly petite. Bottles, pacifier—I don’t know if she uses one, but it could help keep her quiet in a pinch—baby wipes, lotion, bib, sippy cup, bowl, spoon, baby bag.”
“Why do we need one of those bags?” Gunner demanded.
“Have you seen all the gear we’re buying?” Chas argued. When Gunner continued to look skeptical of the pink polka-dotted bag in the grocery cart, he added, “Think of all the guns you can hide inside it.”
Gunner looked mollified at that.
Chas pulled out his cell phone and did a quick internet search.
“What are you looking up?” Gunner asked suspiciously.
“What foods kids this age eat.” He read from a list. “Finger foods. Avoid added sugar and salt. No artificial colors or preservatives. Oh, interesting. She should still drink milk or toddler formula. See if you can find that, Gunner.”
“What the hell does that look like?”
“Amateur. It’ll be a container of dried powder. Bigger than a soup can and smaller than a coffee can.”
“Here’s infant formula,” Gunner announced.
“Great. Now look for a picture of a kid about Poppy’s age on one of those containers.”
“I’m not a complete moron.”
Chas grinned. “Had me fooled there for a minute.” As Gunner opened his mouth, he added, “And you don’t have to tell me to fuck off again. I already got that memo.”
A mother with a little boy about Poppy’s age was passing by and threw him a dirty look. “Sorry,” he mumbled guiltily.
Gunner grinned. “Hah. Busted.”
Chas glared at Gunner. “I’m picking out the girliest clothes for her I can find so you’ll have to carry around a kid decked out in pink lace and bows.”
“Hey. I have nothing against girls.”
“Yeah, except sleeping with them,” Chas added under his breath.
“I’ve slept with plenty of women, thank you very much,” Gunner declared.
The mom with the kid was passing by again and threw Gunner the dirty look this time. Chas slapped a hand over his mouth to hold back the laughter as Gunner glared at him.
“How many outfits, do you think?” Chas asked Gunner.
“Not many. I’m getting rid of her at the first opportunity.”
“Six, maybe?” Chas picked out a couple of dresses, some rompers, matching stretch pants and shirts, a one-piece winter snowsuit, and an adorable pink pajama onesie with a hood, bunny ears, and a fluff-ball tail on the butt.
Gunner eyed the armload of clothes. “That looks like serious overkill.”
“She may go through several outfits a day. Little kids make messes all the time.”
“Oh God.”
“I don’t know about you, but I left home with the clothes on my back. I could use a coat and some clothes of my own. Maybe a change of underwear? Oh, and a phone charger. I’m just lucky I had my wallet in my pocket.”
Gunner rolled his eyes. “I’d kill for a field kit right about now.”
“What’s a field kit?”
“It’s a prepacked bag with everything I’d need to survive in the field for several months.”
“Does it include weapons?”
“You do know what my job is, right?” Gunner asked dryly.
“Yes, dear. I’m aware of what you do,” he answered in his best television-mother voice.
“Fu—”
“Don’t do it. That mom with the death-ray stare is at the other end of this aisle.”
“Fuck her too,” Gunner breathed.
Chas chuckled under his breath.
Their cart was shockingly full by the time they were ready to check out.
“Oops. Forgot one important thing,” Chas added.
“What’s that?”
“Car seat.”
“Come again?”
“Poppy needs a car seat.”
Gunner rolled his eyes so hard, Chas wondered how they didn’t pop out of his head. They duly returned to the baby section, grabbed a car seat, and returned to the checkout line.
“This kid is costing a fortune,” Gunner complained when he saw the rung-up total. He pulled several hundred-dollar bills out of his wallet.
“Let me charge it to my credit card, then—”
“No,” Gunner said sharply. The clerk looked up, startled.
When they left the store, Chas held out the long receipt. “Here. Charge the US government for it if you’re so freaked about me not charging it.”
“This isn’t an official operation.”
“Fine. Send me a bill. I’ll pay you back.”
“I can afford it,” Gunner snapped. “It’s not like I ever take any time off to spend my salary.”
“Really? You never take vacations?”
“Where would I go?”
“Home? To visit friends? Someplace pretty and relaxing, perchance?”
“I don’t speak to my parents, I work with my only friends, and I don’t do ‘relaxing.’”
“Dude. You have to get a life.”
They reached the car, and Gunner tore open the cardboard box with the car seat in it.
Chas said drolly, “Because I know you pride yourself on being a lone wolf, I’m gonna let you figure that out and install it while I load everything else in the trunk and put a diaper on Poppy.”
He laid the toddler down in the front seat and dressed her from the skin out in a proper diaper, new outfit, and a cute pair of tiny running shoes. By the time he put her arms into the windbreaker he’d bought for warmish fall days like today, Gunner was swearing freely in the back seat.
“How’s parenthood going back there?” Chas called.
“Don’t. Even.”
“Need some help?”
“No. I need decent instructions in actual English.”