He’d been terrified. For most men, that was perfectly normal. And if he cared to admit it, it shouldn’t have surprised him either. But as she’d disappeared through those doors, Jonathan had floundered. Follow? Stay? That was when his eyes had caught the plaque on the wall. Dr. Oliver Zappel. And he stopped short. He couldn’t go inside. The man would recognize him – he remembered his name from medical school. He’d been lucky so far that no one had realized who he was. The double doors swung closed with a sense of finality, and the man resigned himself to one of the chairs nearby, burying his face in his palms.

What if something happened? What if something went wrong? Jonathan Crane wasn’t someone who worried often, and he was unaccustomed to how to deal with it. Because he always planned things. Stuff didn’t just happen, not to him. And although he’d definitely been anticipating her going into labor, seeing her in pain was never something that settled his nerves.

It felt like he was in that little room for hours. He was alone during the majority of this time, aside from the nurses who occasionally flitted through the monotony. One of them paused and gave him a sympathetic look. “You must be Mrs. Alice’s husband. Don’t worry, dear, she’s doing fine so far.” But that was all. It was Christmas night, there were mercifully few people at the hospital, and he knew that his face wasn’t as recognizable to these people – not when there were larger criminals to worry about. If he’d had any recognizable features, like the Joker’s scars or the Riddler’s bright red hair, he might’ve had to worry, but blue eyes weren’t that uncommon.

However, it seemed like there was a long stretch of silence, longer than normal. Although the hospital was definitely quiet, something didn’t feel right. Shouldn’t someone have checked on him again, informed him to her condition? He’d waited long enough, and he was willing to risk anything by now to see her.

The brunette pushed the door open and stepped inside, eyes searching for any sort of activity. At that moment, he noticed a nurse step out of a room down the hall – she stopped and gazed at him suspiciously. His professional clothing clearly threw her off. “Can I help you, sir?”

He continued walking towards her. “I need in that room.”

She bristled protectively, not liking his assertive tone, and blocked the doorway. “I’m afraid not. Who’re you?”

“Jonathan Crane.” The name brought intimidation. He’d use it if necessary.

And she recognized it, apparently. Her eyes widened and she stretched out her arms. A good woman, it would seem, and he was going to regret it if he had to hurt her, since she was essentially protecting Alice. “I’m afraid not.”

Resort to violence? Not yet. “Please. She’s my wife.”

The look of surprise on her face gave him enough of a moment to shoulder his way into the room, gaze anxious. And that was when his eyes fell on her. She was wrapped in the sheets, her eyes closed in peaceful sleep, and there was a bundle of something in her hands. He was quite sure that, at that moment, his breath stopped. Wonder on his face, Jonathan crept towards his wife, sitting very lightly upon the bed beside her.

The movement was enough to stir her awake. She seemed tired, but her eyes lit up at the sight of her husband there with her. “Jon. I was wondering when you’d force your way in here.” Alice offered him a sleepy smile, before looking down at the child that was now tucked into her arms. “She’s beautiful.”

He leaned towards them just slightly, in total amazement. One of his hands reached out to lightly brush against the hair of the baby – it was already a deep, jet black, the same inky hue of Alice’s. But the testing movement caused her to stir, and she gave a strange expression, before her eyes fluttered open. And if he hadn’t been breathing before, his heart stopped now. Those were his eyes, staring back at him. Blue, far softer than his own, and slightly feminine, but they were his. His hand moved so that his palm rested against her cherubic cheek, his fingertips light on her tiny curls. Jonathan could find nothing to say, even though a thousand thoughts crossed his mind. She was fragile, she was delicate, she was his, she was theirs.

His eyes lifted to look at Alice, wanting to convey the strange emotions that he was containing. She smiled at him softly, understanding. “Do you want to hold her?”

Jon’s eyebrows rose and he looked down at the baby once more. “Yes.” Came his whisper. But first he leaned over and brushed his lips against Alice’s forehead. “You’re right. She’s beautiful.” And that was all that needed to be said.

-x-

Dr. Zappel had been alarmed when Nurse Walker had rushed in, exclaiming that a Jonathan Crane had forced his way into the room of a patient. Immediately he’d been out of his seat and following her down the hall, frantic. Of course he knew the name – he’d followed his old colleague’s criminal activities since he’d first became the Scarecrow. Was he going to distribute the toxin through the maternity ward? Who did things like that?

What he hadn’t expected, however, was to see the brunette cradling the newborn infant in a way that was far from sinister. The mother, a woman named Alice, had drifted asleep again, and Jonathan had moved to a chair in the corner as to not wake her. The tiny child was sleeping as well, but the supposed madman held her with astounding care, the strangest expression in his eyes.

“Crane.” His tone came out harsh and demanding – and he watched with surprise as the man lifted his eyes to him. Instantly the blue of his gaze was guarded and cold, but his grip on the small girl tightened slightly, and he turned her towards him a little more.

“I have every right to be here.”

“To the contrary, Crane. I have every right to throw you out. What makes you think otherwise?”

There was a long pause as Jonathan’s eyes lowered back onto the pink blanket. “Because, Oliver,” The gaze rose back once more to lock with his. “She’s my daughter.”