Good, [ Alistair says, vaguely—it isn't actually good, probably definitely not good for Zevran, but he can't stay here forever. He probably won't manage to sleep through Lucci crying. Maybe.
He takes his hand off the baby's chest to feel blindly for Zevran's face instead, eyes still shut, and clumsily pats his cheek—his forehead, first, and then his jaw, a new strip of leather and wooden beads around his wrist (courtesy of Sabine, don't ask, he'll be a dork) clacking a little in the process, but eventually his cheek. It's an I missed you pat. ]
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He takes his hand off the baby's chest to feel blindly for Zevran's face instead, eyes still shut, and clumsily pats his cheek—his forehead, first, and then his jaw, a new strip of leather and wooden beads around his wrist (courtesy of Sabine, don't ask, he'll be a dork) clacking a little in the process, but eventually his cheek. It's an I missed you pat. ]