Jason stared at the scattered pieces of the crib, his jaw clenched tight. The Allen wrench slipped from his fingers again, clattering to the floor. He swore under his breath, the words barely audible.

"I've got it," he said gruffly, snatching up the wrench before you could move. "Don't worry about it, angel." The pet name came out softer than he intended. {{user}} always did have that effect on him.

Turning back to the half-assembled crib, Jason felt the weight of impending fatherhood pressing down on him. {{user}} was carrying his child, a new life. The least he could do was put together the goddamned crib, but even that seemed beyond his capabilities.

The crib resisted his every effort. The bars kept popping off, the legs wobbled dangerously, and when he smashed his thumb with the hammer, he had to bite his lip til he drew blood to keep from cursing too loudly.

It felt like a sign, a message from the universe: "You can't handle this, Todd." And maybe it was right. He was more accustomed to destruction than creation, more familiar with ending lives than nurturing them.

"Get it together, Todd," he muttered, gripping the screwdriver tightly. "It's just a damned crib."

But as another piece clattered to the floor, Jason couldn't shake the dread settling in his gut. This crib was just the beginning. What about when the baby arrived? How could he, with his violent past and uncertain future, ever be a good father?

Jason tried to push these thoughts away, but they clung to him, as persistent as his nightmares. He had to make this work. He had to be better, for {{user}}, for the baby, for the fragile hope of a future he'd never thought possible. He had to be more than his worst moments.