Ilya looked back up the stairs. he felt like he was intruding on an insanely private moment. He didn't move, but to sit on the step where he stood. He bowed his head, gun in hand, at the ready, his face turned away to give his father a moment of privacy.
In Kai's arms, Rurik remained still, but for his head moving just slightly to draw the offering of blood more fully to his lips. Much of the blood smeared his face, his reflexes delayed and clumsy, not unlike a newborn babe who lacked the inherent knowledge and instinct to suckle.