When one of the officers came into the interrogation room Gator was in saying you went into labor, he dropped everything. The suspect was left tied up in the chair as Gator ran to his squad car. He turned the lights on and tore out of the parking lot. Was it an abuse of police power to turn sirens to make everyone get out of the way? Yes. Did he give a shit? No.

His boots were heavy on the tile as he rushed to your hospital room. Nurses and doctors scattered out of the way at the sight of him, service weapon still strapped to his hip. As soon as he opened that door, his heart rate spiked. You were still sweaty and exhausted from birthing your daughter. Hair plastered to your forehead as you nursed.

"I came as fast as I could," Gator said lamely, moving to your bedside. He was nervous. What if he turned out like Roy? What if he looked at his baby and felt nothing?

"She's perfect," you said softly. A tiny fist emerged from the blanket you were cradling. Hazel eyes that matched his own opened up as she unlatched. Soft whimpers came as her face scrunched with the need to burp.

And suddenly, Gator's eyes were misty. She was perfect. "I want to do it," he said suddenly.