Unconditionally
“Hello,” Steve whispers quietly, carefully brushing some of the tears away from the baby's cheeks.
Giving a sniffle, the baby latches on to Steve’s hand, then whines unhappily, hiccuping wetly.
“I don’t know how to, you know,” Steve explains helplessly, making something that vaguely resembles a cradling, rocking motion with his free arm. The baby is less than impressed with that, though, and takes a noisy, stuttering breath. Steve’s eyes widen in alarm. “Oh, no. No, ssh, no. Here, c’mon, it’s all right.”
Very gingerly, Steve slides one hand under the baby’s back, cups its neck with the other, and slowly lifts the squirmy bundle out of the crib, and against his chest. “There, ssh. That’s better, isn’t it?”
In answer, the baby tucks its damp face into Steve’s neck, apparently content to stay where it is. Steve glances around the room, a little lost, but the baby just gurgles, and doesn’t start crying again, which he decides to count as a success.