Good day to you, reader. This is the first Punch-Out! fic I've written that is an ongoing series and not just a oneshot.

This story's chapters will kind of just be uploaded as they come, and will be reordered so they all occur in chronological order. As such, if you notice that a new chapter is up, you'll want to check the full chapter list to find it rather than just jumping to the last chapter.

Des traductions pour les lignes qui ne sont pas en anglais vont être sur le fin de la phrase, comme ca. (Translations for lines that aren't in English will be at the end of the sentence, like so.)

As always, I don't own Punch-Out!.


It was a dark evening with a chill in the air. In a sterile, eerily quiet hospital waiting room sat Joseph Beaufort, twenty-four years old, beginner boxer at the WVBA, and possibly a father.

It had been such a normal day; he'd just been at his home, reorganizing his bookshelf and writing down a reminder to buy milk when he'd gotten a phone call from the hospital. A nurse had, as gently as possible, explained that the woman he could barely remember having a one-night stand with over a year ago had passed away, and that she had spent her last few moments claiming he was the father of her four month old baby.

A million questions were racing through his head. What if he isn't the father? What if he is? How will he continue his career? What if the baby didn't like him?

"Joseph?"

He looked up. That same nurse was sitting in the chair next to him. "We're almost done. Just hang tight until then."

"D'accord," he mumbled. He felt a little lightheaded. Je suis trop jeune pour être père! Je ne suis pas prêt! Je suis- (I'm too young to be a father! I'm not ready! I'm-)

His train of thought came to a screeching halt when he heard a door closing. Two doctors entered the room; one wore braids and glasses and was carrying a clipboard, while the other was a tall man holding a baby.

"It's a match," said the doctor with glasses.

Oh mon Dieu. Le bébé c'est mon. (Oh my god. The baby's mine.)

The tall doctor handed Joe the baby, a little girl with big brown eyes and wispy auburn hair; his auburn hair.

"You know, I sort of suspected you were the second I saw that telltale red hair," said the nurse. "All of her mother's side is blonde."

Joe didn't answer. He was enraptured by the tiny bundle in his arms. He barely ever held babies, and now here he was! And this was his baby! All of the anxieties he'd had about being a father melted away, and he found himself chuckling. "Bonjour," he said in an airy voice. "Bonjour ma p'tite belle." (Hello. Hello, my little darling.)

The baby stared up at him. She didn't quite understand why this strange man that she'd never seen before was showing her the same amount of love and affection as Mommy did. She reached out and grabbed onto his nose.

Joe held her tight. No matter what, he was going to take care of this little girl.

He was going to be the best damn dad he could be.

"We just need you to sign the birth certificate," said the nurse, handing him the document. From this, he learned that his daughter's name was Katrina Melody, and she was born on July 7th. There was a blank space under the line left for her second parent. So there he signed, "Joseph Beaufort".

"Tu es un Beaufort maintenant, Katie," said Joe to Katrina. "Et tu vas être le meilleur Beaufort qu'on jamais vu." He kissed her forehead, and Katrina giggled. (You're a Beaufort now, Katie. And you're going to be the best Beaufort we've ever seen.)