"Oh-- God." Hamilton is mortified, from all of it -- the biting, the scent-marking, covering Burr in it while he was asleep. "I--" Theo lets out a whine, a prelude to a full-on wail. "I'll get water," he volunteers, desperately, "to wash. I'll be back." Going for his trousers, shirt, and on the way scooping up the baby and passing her to Burr, who probably needs her to nurse. He's out the door in record time, and down to the bottom floor of the inn, where he, disheveled, is directed to the well behind the building. Pulls up a bucket. The baby isn't crying by the time he gets back, but that doesn't mean that Burr is happy. Hamilton cringes, castigating himself -- how could he? Without permission, without -- ugh.

He pushes open the door, and pours water into the available basin. Soaks a cloth. "Do you need me to help clean you up?" He is of service -- good alpha, good husband, see?