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Robert and Mandy were sleeping the kind of sleep that only exists after surrender.
After a whole night negotiating with a tiny dictator who refused to accept bedtime as a concept, she had finally allowed them a technical victory.
The bed was no longer a bed.
It was territory.
Diapers on the nightstand.
Two feeding bottles tilted dangerously close to the edge.
A burp cloth draped over a pillow like a forgotten flag.
And in the middle of it all—
Two exhausted parents.
Mandy had collapsed half on top of Robert at some point in the night. One arm sprawled across his chest like she had claimed him as a mattress extension.
Her hair was everywhere. Completely everywhere. A curtain of chaos covering half her face.
Robert, underneath her, looked like a fallen warrior.
Defeated.
But proud.
The sunrise had barely begun stretching pale light across the curtains when it happened.
Not a cry.
Not yet.
Just… noises.
Tiny experimental sounds from the cradle.
Soft coos. Curious murmurs. A small, determined “eh.”
Robert didn’t need an alarm anymore.
He opened his eyes instantly.
There was no confusion anymore about that sound.
His brain recognized it faster than his own name.
He stayed still for half a second, listening.
Another small noise.
He carefully lifted Mandy’s arm from his chest, moving like he was defusing something precious. She made a small protest in her sleep but didn’t wake.
He slipped out of bed.
The floor was cold.
The morning light was gentle.
He walked to the cradle and leaned over it.
There she was. Their daughter. Rebecca.
Wide awake.
Studying the world like she had important business to attend to.
—…You again, — he murmured softly.
He slid his hands under her tiny body and lifted her with practiced care.
Not perfect. Not elegant. But confident now.
She settled against him immediately.
His face, still heavy with exhaustion, tried to reconnect to reality.
— Okay, — he whispered. — Today’s a big day.
She blinked at him.
He adjusted her slightly against his shoulder.
— I’m going back to SDN.
Her eyebrows twitched like she had opinions.
— I need you to do something important.
She made a small bubbling sound.
He nodded seriously.
— I need you to take care of Mama today.
A louder babble.
He narrowed his eyes playfully.
— I’m serious. She pretends she’s strong, but she doesn't sleep too much.
From the bed, a voice—raspy and barely awake:
— I heard that.
Robert froze.
Slowly turned his head.
Mandy was squinting at him through a curtain of hair.
— What are you telling her? — she mumbled.
— Strategic planning.
— It’s too early for strategy.
He smiled faintly.
— I’m going back today.
That sentence lingered.
Mandy blinked.
Processing.
— Today?
He nodded.
— I'll be back soon.
Before she could answer, Rebecca suddenly extended both arms forward.
Demanding.
Clear.
Immediate.
Robert looked down.
— …Ah.
Mandy opened her arms instinctively, even while still half asleep.
— She wants you, — he said softly.
— She always wants me in the morning, — Mandy replied, voice thick with sleep.
— She has excellent taste.
He stepped closer and gently transferred their daughter into Mandy’s arms.
The baby melted against her instantly.
Tiny hands gripping fabric.
Tiny face pressing against her chest.
Robert stood there for a second longer than necessary.
Watching.
Something about the way their daughter settled.
Like she had found home inside a person.
— I’ll be quick, — he said quietly.
Mandy nodded, though she was still waking up.
Robert disappeared into the bathroom.
Silence returned.
Soft morning silence.
Rebecca leaned back just enough to look at her mother.
Mandy’s hair was covering half her face again.
She didn’t fix it.
She was still rebooting.
The baby stared at her.
Then smiled.
Slow.
Bright.
Intentional.
A tiny hand reached up.
Grabbed a fistful of Mandy’s hair.
Pulled.
Mandy winced slightly.
—…Okay. I deserve that.
Rebecca giggled.
Mandy exhaled.
Defeated.
She shifted her slightly and finally moved the hair out of her own face.
Their eyes met properly.
Sunlight caught her daughter’s cheeks.
The smile stayed.
Mandy’s shoulders softened.
She leaned her forehead gently against her daughter’s.
And in a voice that was still tired but completely full, she whispered:
— Good morning, baby.
And just like that—
The day began.
The kitchen smelled like fresh coffee.
Robert stood by the counter, mug in hand, staring at nothing for a few seconds between sips. Not because he was thinking deeply.
Just rebooting.
Across the room, Mandy sat with Rebecca in her arms.
Feeding time.
And somehow… the entire world slowed down for it.
Rebecca held onto her mother like gravity worked differently there. One tiny hand gripping Mandy’s shirt. The other resting softly against her chest.
Peace.
Pure, unquestioned peace.
Her little eyes half-closed.
Safe.
Mandy looked down at her with that quiet expression she only had with her. A softness that didn’t exist anywhere else.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t loud.
It was sacred.
Robert watched them over the rim of his mug.
He didn’t interrupt.
Some moments you just witness.
And somehow — perfectly, almost comically — they finished at the same time.
Robert lowered his empty mug.
Rebecca released a tiny satisfied sigh.
Mandy leaned back slightly.
Mandy smiled faintly.
Robert glanced at the clock.
—…I’m late.
He grabbed his jacket from the chair and slipped it on quickly, running a hand through his hair.
He was halfway to the door when—
— Robert?
He froze.
Turned slowly.
Mandy raised an eyebrow.
— Aren’t you missing something?
He blinked.
Looked down at himself.
Keys. Check. Wallet. Check.
Then realization hit.
He walked back immediately.
— Right.
He leaned down and kissed Mandy softly.
Not rushed. Not dramatic. Just a familiar, grounding kiss.
Rebecca, offended at being temporarily ignored, began waving her little arms wildly.
— Eh! Eh!
Robert chuckled.
— Oh, excuse me.
He carefully picked her up.
She immediately smiled at him. Wide.
Proud.
— There it is, — he whispered. — That’s my morning promotion.
Mandy watched them, heart visibly full.
Robert looked at his daughter seriously.
— One more reminder.
Rebecca blinked at him.
— Take care of Mama.
She babbled.
He nodded solemnly.
— Good. I’m counting on you.
Mandy shook her head, smiling.
— My heart, — she thought, watching them. — It belongs to these two.
Robert kissed Rebecca’s forehead and handed her back gently.
She protested for half a second — then settled again against Mandy like that was always the final destination.
Robert moved toward the door.
A pair of paws appeared beside him.
Beef.
Loyal. Alert. Ready.
— You too? — Robert muttered.
Beef’s tail answered.
The door opened.
Morning light spilled in.
Robert stepped out.
The door closed.
Silence.
Different silence now.
Mandy stood there for a second with Rebecca in her arms.
The house felt bigger already.
Rebecca looked up at her mother, wide awake now. Curious. Studying.
Mandy stared back at her just as seriously.
A long pause.
Then—
— So… — Mandy said, narrowing her eyes slightly.
— What do we do now?
Rebecca responded immediately.
— Eh!
Mandy nodded slowly.
— You’re right.
She walked to the couch and sat down carefully, adjusting the tiny human in her arms.
Rebecca grabbed her finger.
Mission accepted.
And just like that—
It was the girls against the world.
The doors of SDN slid open with their familiar hydraulic sigh.
Everything looked the same.
And somehow… nothing did.
Monitors lit the control room in blue and gold reflections. Analysts moved between stations. Keyboards clicked in steady cadence. Alerts blinked lazily on secondary screens.
Normal.
Structured.
Predictable.
Robert walked to his station.
Sat down.
Adjusted the chair.
Exhaled.
For a split second, the silence around him felt too… organized.
He reached for his headset.
Back to command mode.
— Z-Team, this is—
He didn’t finish.
Because suddenly—
Clapping.
Actual clapping through the comms.
— Ladies and gentlemen!
— Our commander has returned!
— Look at him!
— Mr. Responsible!
Robert froze mid-sentence.
He blinked slowly.
— Don’t you start.
— Oh, we already started, Mecha Dad. — Invisigal replied.
— Did you bring pictures?
— Is she cute or are we pretending?
— Is it Rebecca or are we officially calling her Becky?
— BECKY! — someone yelled dramatically.
Robert tried. He really did.
He straightened his back.
Lowered his voice.
Professional.
— Team, status repor—
— Did you cry?
— Who changed the first diaper?
— Did you pass out during labor?
Five seconds of silence followed.
Just five.
Long enough for him to pretend he was unaffected.
Then someone added:
— Blink twice if you haven’t slept.
That broke him.
A quiet laugh slipped out before he could stop it.
Then another.
He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.
— You’re all insufferable.
— But you love us, — someone sang.
Robert rubbed his face, still smiling despite himself.
— Yes, — he sighed. — Unfortunately.
Before the teasing could escalate—
An alert cut through the channel.
Sharp. Urgent.
Another one followed.
Then two more.
And just like that—
The tone shifted.
Clapping vanished.
Laughter dissolved.
Professional mode activated.
— Alright, — Robert’s voice changed instantly. Clear. Centered. Precise.
— Flambae, downtown fire response. I’m sending coordinates.
— Copy.
— Phenomaman, traffic collision on East Bridge. Possible structural damage.
— Coming for rescue!
— Invisigal, medical priority call, residential district. Move.
Affirmatives echoed back.
Movements synchronized.
Chaos organized.
Robert’s eyes scanned screens with razor focus. Fingers moved across the console with muscle memory.
He wasn’t the newest dad now.
He was command.
Within minutes, the city’s pulse stabilized under direction.
When the last dispatch was confirmed, the room quieted again.
Controlled silence.
Robert leaned back slightly.
Just for a breath.
Then, instinctively, he reached for his phone.
Unlocked it.
There it was.
A picture Mandy had sent earlier.
Mandy on the couch. Hair messy. Rebecca in her arms. Both looking slightly confused at the camera.
He smiled.
Not wide.
Not dramatic.
Just… anchored.
For a moment, the noise of SDN faded.
Then he locked the phone.
Set it face down.
Straightened.
Back to the screens.
Back to the city.
But now—
There was something different in his posture.
He wasn’t just protecting a city anymore.
He was protecting a world his daughter would grow up in.
And that changed everything.
Mandy sat on the couch, Rebecca balanced on her lap like a tiny queen inspecting her kingdom.
The apartment was quiet in that rare, fragile way mornings sometimes are.
Rebecca lifted one determined little finger.
Pointed.
— Ah!
Mandy followed the directions.
— The lamp, — she nodded seriously. — It gives us light. Very helpful when someone refuses to sleep at three in the morning.
Rebecca blinked.
Another finger twitch.
Point.
— The bookshelf, — Mandy stood carefully, adjusting the baby on her hip.
— Full of stories. Some heroic. Some embarrassing. We’ll skip those.
They began walking slowly through the apartment.
Rebecca pointed at everything.
The window.
— The city. Loud, complicated, dramatic.
The couch.
— Where Mama may or may not fall asleep randomly.
The kitchen.
— Where Papa makes coffee like it’s a science experiment.
Rebecca squealed.
Then pointed toward a framed device sitting on a high shelf.
Mandy froze for a second.
— You're a curious little baby, aren't you?
She smiled.
— Try not to be too curious around Aunt Brainbook, okay? She already thinks she’s the smartest in the room.
A tiny babble answered her.
They kept walking.
Simple objects became complex ones.
Rebecca pointed at Mandy's cellphone.
— That connects to Papa, the Z-Team and everyone else.
Then—
Her tiny finger aimed somewhere more specific.
More deliberate.
The Amulet.
Mandy’s steps slowed.
She returned to the couch.
Sat down carefully.
Rebecca was still staring at it.
Curious.
Mandy followed her gaze.
— That, — she said softly, — is very powerful.
She leaned back.
— Very dramatic.
Rebecca blinked.
Mandy smiled faintly.
— Your father is the pilot of a big metal armor. A giant that flies through the skies.
She lowered her voice conspiratorially.
— He thinks it makes him scary.
She looked at her daughter.
— It doesn’t.
A tiny bubble of laughter escaped the baby.
Mandy’s eyes softened.
— Your Papa helps protect the city. With the Z-Team. With SDN.
Her fingers gently held Rebecca’s hand.
— That’s where Mama and Papa built something important.
Rebecca stared at her.
Completely unaware.
Completely present.
— You’re part of that too.
The baby babbled as if she was arguing a point.
Mandy gasped dramatically.
— Oh?
Rebecca babbled louder.
— You disagree?
Mandy leaned closer, nose almost touching hers.
— Don’t tell your father…
She whispered like it was classified information.
— But you’re going to be the strongest one of all of us.
Rebecca blinked slowly.
Mandy’s tone softened.
— Not because of powers.
Her thumb traced the baby’s tiny knuckles.
— Because you’ll know who you are.
The room felt warmer somehow.
The Amulet sat quietly.
The city hummed outside.
And in the middle of it all—
A mother teaching identity before language.
Rebecca reached up and touched Mandy’s cheek.
Like she approved.
Mandy smiled.
— Yeah, — she whispered. — Exactly.
Night settled slowly over SDN.
Robert closed the last report, removed his headset, and leaned back for half a second longer than usual.
Different.
Everything felt different.
He went to the locker room to get some things. On his way back, something caught his attention.
A small box.
Neatly wrapped.
A note taped to the top:
To: Becky
From: Z-Team
He stared at it.
Suspicious.
Touched the lid.
Paused.
— Nope, — he muttered. — I’m not dying over curiosity.
If he opened it, a very small human would file an official complaint.
He grabbed his phone instead.
At home, Mandy was sitting cross-legged on the floor with Rebecca in front of her.
A colorful book was open between them.
— This, — Mandy pointed gently, — is blue.
Rebecca blinked.
— Buh!
— Yes! Blue!
— And this is yellow.
— Eh!
— And this is grey.
Rebecca babbled louder, as if she had mastered the entire spectrum.
Mandy laughed softly just as her phone rang.
She answered.
Robert asked what they were doing.
— Color class, — Mandy replied proudly.
— Dinner was successful. Minimal casualties.
He told her about the Z-Team’s reaction. The clapping. The interrogation. The nickname.
— Becky? — Mandy repeated, amused.
Rebecca froze when she heard her father’s voice through the speaker.
Then—
Immediate protest.
Urgent babbles.
Small outraged sounds.
Translation: Return immediately, large human.
Robert laughed quietly.
— I think I’ve been summoned.
— You have, — Mandy confirmed.
He told her he was on his way.
She hung up.
Rebecca was still muttering her complaints.
— Yeah, — Mandy nodded seriously. — He’s late. I agree.
Dinner had gone well, but Mandy decided to restore order to the apartment.
Rebecca was placed gently in her cradle.
From there, she issued commentary.
Little sounds. Determined ones.
Mandy responded while stacking dishes.
— Oh, I see. That goes there?
— Eh!
— Yes, ma’am.
They were absolutely having a conversation.
The door finally opened.
Robert stepped in, Beef right behind him like a loyal shadow.
Mandy was back on the couch, Rebecca on her lap, pointing at colors again.
As soon as Rebecca saw him—
Both tiny arms launched forward.
Urgent.
Demanding.
Mandy stood and carefully transferred their daughter into his arms.
Rebecca grabbed onto his jacket like he had been gone for years.
Robert smiled down at her.
— So, — he said seriously, — tell me everything Mama talked about me today and I’ll give you something.
Mandy crossed her arms.
— That is not fair. You cannot bribe her.
Robert laughed.
Rebecca smiled at both of them like she approved of the corruption.
They had their dinner.
Mandy fed Rebecca while Robert told exaggerated stories about the Team’s interrogation.
Rebecca eventually grew quiet.
Heavy-eyed.
Milk-drunk and safe.
Mandy laid her in the cradle.
Soft blanket.
Soft kiss.
Lights dimmed.
Later, the apartment was calm.
Just the TV murmuring in the background.
Mandy leaned against Robert’s shoulder, her hands resting on his chest.
They talked.
About patrol routes.
About baby sounds.
About colors learned.
About whether “Eh” meant agreement or rebellion.
Every detail mattered.
Because now every detail belonged to three people.
After a pause, Mandy tilted her head.
— So… what did they get her?
Robert reached for the box.
Opened it carefully.
Inside—
A small blue plush robot.
Simple.
Soft.
Stitched with uneven enthusiasm.
Mandy’s face melted instantly.
— Aaaawwwnn…
She took it like it was her own gift.
Turned it over in her hands.
Then looked at Robert with a mischievous smirk.
— Well.
She held it up.
— Now she has a mecha suit of her own.
Robert burst into laughter.
Rebecca’s future was already chaotic.
He leaned in.
They shared a slow, grateful kiss.
The kind that says:
We built this.
The news kept playing.
The city kept moving.
The Amulet remained still at the apartment.
Back in the lab bay, the armor stood silent.
And on the couch—
Two exhausted, proud parents.
Not heroes.
Not commanders.
Just partners.
Tired.
Happy.
Living the dream they once fought to protect.
TO BE CONTINUED…