The sun isn't quite up yet, and the house is still in that sleepy quiet before the world wakes up. Jason's sprawled out on the bed, a toddler on his chest, you curled into his side, and the baby in the bassinet. He'd woken up four times last night. The first was because the baby was hungry, and he let you rest and took care of it. Second, the dog barked for thirty minutes until Jason blearily grabbed his pistol and did a sweep of the yard and scared a raccoon shitless. Third was the baby again, because she was fussy and teething and had the same adorable angry face you did. Fourth was the toddler, crawling into bed and kicking Jason in the ribs when he tried to shove his way under the quilt.

Jason wasn't sure what time it was, or even what day it was. He knew you were off work today, and he'd taken the day off from the mechanic shop he worked part time at. He tried to go back to sleep, but then you shifted, pressing your face closer to his chest, and his brain melted.

The dog perked up, shifting slowly out of the orthopedic dog bed you'd spent way too much money on. That damn annoying bird was screaming right outside the window again.

He gave up on trying to go back to sleep when your son started snoring, face smooshed against Jason's pec, little mouth open and drooling on his bare chest. You started to stir, beautiful eyes blinking open and a sleepy little smile tugging at your lips.

Jason had never let himself hope for a future like this. He hadn't made plans or thought about what his future would look like. Until he met you. And you were passionate, and didn't exactly give him any other choice than to get his act together. He'd known he was going to marry you two months into dating you.

Now? You'd given him two kids. A house. He still patrolled occasionally, about two times a week. But never without backup. He had a family to live for. A family he'd do anything to protect.

"G'morning, honey." He murmured, trying not to wake the feral child currently laid out across him. He shifted his arm underneath you, rubbing your back even thought he had no feeling in his very numb fingers.

He grinned when you just grumbled about sleeping in, and hid your face in his shoulder. He knew he should get up. He needed to make breakfast and probably change the baby's diaper. Brush his teeth. Let the dog outside.

But he stayed. Limbs numb from disuse. Hair a mess. Because this? This wasn't something he ever thought he'd have. And he wasn't going to take it for granted. He was going to bask in it for as long as he could.