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"Would you like to hold her, Fry?"
So far, Fry had played a mostly passive role in his daughter’s life. He had held Leela’s hand as she brought her into the world, not even letting up when she squeezed so hard she almost broke off his fingers. He had cut the umbilical cord with trembling, achy hands and then spent the next hour hovering around Leela’s hospital bed as their baby - Lyra! - slept comfortably in her mother's strong, stable arms, occasionally working up the courage to brush her tuft of purple hair with his finger or gently tuck her little pink foot back inside the hospital-issued blanket.
"Uh, I don't... know. I don't think I should," Fry admitted. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hold his daughter. He was just… afraid. A baby that tiny and that delicate shouldn't be anywhere near his stupid hands.
Leela raised her eyebrow. Her cheeks were still pink from the exhaustion of giving birth.
"Of course you should hold her,” she said. “You're her Daddy.”
Fry took a deep breath and started to reach his arms out. As soon as his fingertips brushed against the blanket, he exhaled and withdrew. Leela looked bemused.
“She’s not going to bite you,” she said soothingly, stroking the baby’s cheek with her finger. “She doesn’t even have teeth yet.”
"I'm just worried I might hurt her, you know?” Fry admitted. “I can't even hold a delivery package without dropping it, you know me."
"You're not going to drop her,” Leela assured him. “She's your daughter, not a box of Neptunian crystal glassware. Come on, sit down next to me."
Leela carefully shifted to the side of the bed and nodded to the empty space next to her. Fry reluctantly kicked off his shoes and slid into bed next to her.
“Just support her head,” Leela said softly as she carefully placed the tiny sleeping infant in Fry’s arms.
Baby Lyra was a lot heavier than Fry had been expecting her to be. He and Leela had been practicing with a plastic baby doll in the months leading up to the birth. He’d gotten pretty good at changing diapers, though that was probably going to change now that he was going to be dealing with two little wiggly legs ready to kick him in the face instead of the stiff lifeless body of the plastic doll.
Lyra shifted slightly and her hand brushed against Fry’s finger. Leela was right. As she usually was. Now that he was actually holding her, he wasn’t afraid at all. He knew he wasn't going to drop her. Not even Super Saiyan God Super Saiyan Superman himself could pry Lyra from his arm. Fry couldn't quite explain it, but it just felt right. He hadn’t felt this comfortable in a long, long time.
“Isn’t she beautiful,” Leela cooed, gazing down at Lyra’s scrunched up sleeping face.
“She’s perfect,” Fry breathed, unable to take his eyes off of his daughter. Their daughter. “Ten little fingers, ten little toes.”
“Apart from the hair, she really looks like yo- Wait!”
Leela leaned over and carefully inspected the baby’s hands, each balled up into a tiny fist. She frowned and looked under the baby blanket to inspect Lyra’s feet.
“Fry, you’re right!” Leela’s voice was low and quiet to avoid waking the baby, though she sounded panicked. “She does have five fingers on each hand! And her feet. I mean, her toes. She has ten toes too!”
“Yeah, I noticed as soon as she came out,” Fry said proudly, tearing his gaze away from Lyra so he could grin at Leela. “It’s cool, right? Think of all the awesome shadow puppets she can make!”
“But what if she gets bullied at school?” Leela asked, her voice quivering. “You and I both know how cruel kids can be to people who are different. What if they call her… Fivey? Or… Pokey? Or... something!”
“So what? That’s their problem,” Fry said, pushing away thoughts of some snot nosed little eight fingered brat teasing their precious baby from his mind. “We’re going to teach her to be proud of her mutant heritage.”
“Oh, Fry.” Leela’s expression immediately softened. She kissed him on the cheek and laid her head on his shoulder, reaching out to hold one of the baby’s little hands. “Lyra and I are lucky to have you.”
“And if the other kids have a problem with that, Lyra can just say that her mom can beat up their mom.”
“Fry!”