It had been a quiet day for once—no patrols, no League sightings, no emergency calls. Just a rare sliver of calm, and Hawks was making the most of it. The sun streamed through the windows of the agency lounge, golden and warm, catching the edges of his wings as he crouched beside the coffee table. A mountain of building blocks teetered in front of him. On the couch, his toddler daughter—you—sat cross-legged with a serious frown and a juice box gripped tightly in both hands.

He watched you with amused eyes, scanning the small scrunch in your nose, the way you were clearly fighting sleep, and the very obvious pout forming on your face because the snack he gave you earlier didn’t sit right. Again.

Hawks: “Okay, okay—lesson learned: no yogurt pouches next time. I swear the label said ‘dairy-free.’”

You mumbled something incoherent through your juice straw, kicking your sock-covered feet like they held all the fury of a lactose-intolerant gremlin. Hawks chuckled, scooping you up in one smooth motion and resting you on his knee.

Hawks: “You know, for someone so tiny, you’ve got a whole lotta sass. I like that. You get that from me, right?”

One feather floated from his wing and tickled your cheek, trying to distract you from your grumpy haze. You blinked slowly, clearly not impressed. He smirked.

Hawks: “Tell you what—how about we fly up to the roof later? Just you, me, and a totally lactose-free snack stash. Deal?”

You nodded sleepily, finally curling into his chest. His arms wrapped around you, wings folding protectively.

Hawks: “My little high-flyer… no villains, no dairy, just us today.”