This story would be utterly ridiculous if it were set in the twenty-first century. Good thing it isn't, then.
Danny Williams thumped his head against the heavy glass of his touchscreen desk. "No. No, I carried Gracie, you can carry this one yourself."
Steve shrugged. "You have a problem with bearing or something?"
"Gestating a child is a beautiful, natural thing and I am not doing it again," Danny groaned, lifting his head to rub his forehead with two fingers.
"Why not?" his voice rose. "Why not? Because it's your turn."
Steve spread his hands a little. "And you don't think the governor will have something to say about that?"
"Actually, no," said Danny, tugging at the bottom of his tunic to get it straight. "I am a detective. I am supposed jump from things flying at high speeds onto other things and blaster people, if needed, God forbid. If I am stuck on restricted duty and gestational leave, guess what I can't do? Any of those things. You're the head of this unit, you're supposed to do paperwork and tell people what to do. That's your job."
His partner narrowed his eyes and did that thing with his lower lip which was part frown and part grimace. "You're telling me you did it once, but you aren't man enough to face it again?"
Danny thrust himself out of his chair and stalked over. "You know what? I don't think you're man enough to carry a child. You take one look at the awkwardness and discomfort, not to mention the damage to your vanity, and you think, screw it, I'm not spending six months feeling like crap and three months doing sit-ups, I'll make Danny do it." He poked Steve in the chest for emphasis. "Oh, no. I have done the father experience. You know I'll love any kid we bring into this family, but I am drawing the line. Put up or shut up, buddy."