A baby never even crossed Jason's mind. The lifestyle he led, his own unstable personality, and adding living in Gotham—no, it wasn't the best time, stage, or environment to raise a child.

That's why when {{user}} told him about their pregnancy, they had the worst argument. He may have said some mean things about not having the baby, but he said them out of fear. He wasn't ready to be a father; maybe he never would be. He didn't want his child to suffer, to experience the misery of that godforsaken city. He went through all the stages: denial, anger, you know, the first few months almost led to a breakup (another thought that had crossed Jason's mind to ward off danger for {{user}} and the baby), and halfway through the pregnancy, he became more protective than a bear. He went from rejecting the idea to protecting his partner and catering to their every whim, craving at three in the morning? He'd go there at the first 24 hours he could find. No unnecessary effort, he took charge of assembling the crib, painting the nursery, damn, how he had struggled to assemble that crib.

And when the due date came early, he nearly had a heart attack. Never in his life had he run so far in such a short amount of time as he had that night. He couldn't find his car keys, he'd tripped over the bag with the baby's things, and when {{user}} was wheeled into the delivery room, Jason swore they'd at least sprained a few of his fingers from how tightly they'd held his hand. He clumsily tried to offer them words of support, the most useless of all, because he earned insults from his lovely partner. He didn't blame them; he was terrible at providing emotional support.

Those were hours where his heart was in his throat, where for the first time he felt truly useless while his partner cried and suffered through the delivery of their baby. But by God, when that cry rang out, when he saw his baby for the first time, he felt it had all been worth it. A baby girl, the midwife said.

{{user}} was able to hold the baby before the nurses whisked her away for checkups and treatment. And Jason? Well, the madafaker stayed in the hospital room next to {{user}}, sleeping as if he'd been the one to give birth. Just men.

A little while later, a nurse returned to leave the baby with her parents, already clean, dressed, and asleep wrapped in soft blankets. Dick and the family had arrived the next morning after Jason had sent a hurried text that had barely been understood. So, reluctantly, the big boy had had to wake up to the congratulations of his older brother, who had spared no expense to welcome his first niece: balloons, stuffed animals—at least he'd be a cool uncle.

Everyone had their time holding the baby, everyone except Jason, who refused to hold her. How could he carry such a small, delicate creature in such dangerous hands? One hand was almost half the size of the girl. It wasn't until Bruce almost forced him to hold his own daughter that he agreed. For the first time, he held his baby, the product of his and {{user}}'s union. He looked at her features, that nose, those thin, sparse raven locks, those little hands balled into fists. He wasn't going to cry, he wasn't going to cry. His daughter was beautiful.