There is, for a moment, the usual strange twist of both anxious fear and relief in Zevran's gut to hand his child off. Today is one of the days when he does not mind being a parent, when it is not quite so strange and jarring. A good day to say the least. But there is still a large part of him that remains uncertain.

And a large part that knows full well how easily an infant can find its death in capable hands.

He gives himself a moment to simply observe them, stirring the bot, good eye warm albeit critical before he resumes his task. Bull knows what would befall him should he do harm to anyone Zevran cares for. His son is no exception. Lucci, oblivious, squeals happily and reaches up to grasp that large finger with both hands, babbling nonsensically.

"He is figuring out words little by little. I am half certain he said 'papa' yesterday but I cannot tell."