Ares
I've never liked kids. They're obnoxious and loud, and they like to cry at the top of their lungs in the most inappropriate times.
Oh, and they're godawful soldiers.
I lived a happy, children-free life for twenty-two years – no siblings, preschool friends, cousins, or irresponsible friends procreating while they were still in their teens. Some people would say my childhood was lonely; for me, it was heaven.
But then it all changed, in two little words I'd hoped I'd never have to hear.
"I'm pregnant."
That statement was followed by a medical report in heavyweight paper, with the Erudite seal on it and everything, and an ultimatum. Katie, my then-girlfriend, was determined to keep the baby, and no one would change her mind about it. So I could either embrace parenthood or walk out of her life – and whatever choice I made was final.
Ares was born on the last few minutes of March 31st – his timing was impeccable, like he'd decided, while still in the womb, that he'd dedicate his life to making me proud. The moment he wrapped his little hand around my finger, I knew I was irrevocably in love with him.
Katie loved to say that he looked exactly like me, except for the fact that he had her bright green eyes. I pretended to agree with her, although I couldn't really see the "uncanny" similarity between our noses, chins, eyebrows, or whatever other body part she came up with.
In other aspects, however, it was hard to deny how much we were alike. His first word was "fuck", and his favourite toy was a Nerf gun. At the age of three, he'd already learned to mimic my eyebrow raise, and on his fifth birthday, we gave him his own miniature punching bag – two years later, I took him to the training room for the first time, and I swear that my seven-year-old son learned some things faster than some of our initiates.
But my personal favourite thing was telling him to pick his outfit for the day and watching him come back dressed in tactical pants, boots, and a jacket, asking me to do his hair "like Daddy's".
More often than not, Katie would roll her eyes at that, jokingly saying that she wouldn't be caught dead walking around the compound with a pair of stegosauruses. Our reply always came in the shape of matching annoyed glares at her reflection in the mirror, followed by me adding another handful of gel to his hair – out of pure spite.
A/N: After Kitten, we all need some fluff, don't we?
This plot was prompted by a discussion on Tumblr about Eric's hair. murmelinchen came up with the idea of Eric styling his baby's hair like his own, and beautifulramblingbrains is the mastermind behind the "stegosaurus hair" thing.