AN: Sorry for the delay. I've been studying for the last part of my boards and that's usurped most of my time. Plus, honestly, although most of this chapter was written soon after posting Adalind's POV, I hit a wall with tying this up. I hope you like it though :)

Leaning his head in exhaustion against the back wall of the elevator, Nick braces himself feeling the wariness of the day settle deep into his bones.

He's usually a patient man, but the ride up to the loft is taking far too long for his liking right now.

He's frustrated and hungry, but more than anything he misses his family.

He'd promised Adalind that he'd be on time tonight. When she'd texted earlier, he was finishing up a report. Another hour and he'd have been home.

But then he'd been called out on a triple homicide and his best laid plans went to hell.

Years of training had taught Nick how to disassociate himself from crimes, especially those involving death. But, when he'd arrived on scene to find that a man, his wife and their young son had all been brutally murdered in their own home, it triggered one of his biggest fears. At the time, all he'd wanted to do was make an about turn and run home to hold tight to what is his.

The doors of the lift finally opened and he toed off his boots right outside of them making sure to put them up on the shoe rack away from little hands.

Now that Kelly was crawling, Adalind had suggested that they begin taking their shoes off at the door to prevent the spread of germs.

He figures his lighter tread is why she doesn't call out to him immediately.

Hanging up his jacket, he walks to the kitchen, dropping his keys on the counter. Intending to get a drink of water, he pauses when his ears are assailed by the loveliest of sounds.

Tu peux me tenir

Jusqu'à ce que le soleil se cache

Et embrasse-moi doucement

Jusqu'à ce qu'il revienne

Her voice is low and husky as she sings. The sound like a siren's call beckoning him towards the bedroom.

She's sitting in the rocking chair looking down at their baby tenderly. A small smile gracing her lips. With one leg flexed, she uses her toes to engage the chair in a leisurely forward and backward motion, one finger gently tracing the slope of his tiny nose while he nurses against her breast.

Her nightgown strap dangles around her upper arm and he can just make out the blush of colour surrounding her nipple. Freshly showered, her skin is dewy and soft and his hands ache to touch her.

It's been days since they've made love and while it was more life than lack of lust that displaced his wants, tonight of all nights, he knows he must have her. He needs it to settle the unnatural nature of his thoughts.

Her long hair is still clasped in its ubiquitous clip, although damp tendrils of it have escaped to dangle loose around her face. A strand of which he notes, Kelly clasps in his hand, as enchanted by the locks as his father.

He watches as she gently unwinds her hair from his fingers, slipping one of her own into his minute fist. She lifts the hand to her lips, kissing it sweetly. A milky smile gracing the infant's face in return.

Under the dim light cast by the bedside lamp, they look soft and ethereal. The scene playing out like that of a dream.

Nick thinks it is the most beautiful thing that he's ever seen.

He moves closer, leaning against the doorway now. He continues to listen to her honeyed melody; the staccatic nuances ebbing and flowing with the emotion of the lyrics.

He's surprised she hasn't noticed him as yet, but she seems thoroughly engrossed in the moment and he's reticent to break her concentration.

Instead, he watches in silence. His heart aching with affection as he looks upon his whole world.

He doesn't' know what he's done to deserve it, but he thanks God that this is what he gets to come home to.

Hank was right.

What he has right now. What he has with her, is beyond enviable.

His feet begin to take him closer before his brain even acknowledges the movement. It's as if he's tethered to some imaginary string that only she controls.

She looks up at him finally when he's mere steps from her.

Smiling, her eyes sparkle with warmth.

"I love, I love you, I love you," his conscious screams at him.

The words are on the tip of his tongue, almost cloying in their need to be said even as his chest seizes in unbridled anxiety.

"Is it wrong that I'm jealous of my son right now," he asks, hoping his attempt at humour masks the high tide of emotions currently rolling through him.

Her responding mirth gently washes over him as he bends to kiss Kelly.

He loves that sound, especially as it's so rare to come by with her.

He'd mentioned it once and her response that her life rarely had moments that warranted it, hence the scarcity, had gutted him. It's why he allows his innate mischievous nature to shine around her.

Juliette hadn't been keen on it, complaining that she found it a bit juvenile. But his Adalind loved it and it pleases him whenever he can do or say something that elicits a giggle from her.

To that end, he knows she has come to expect a kiss from him upon returning home, but instead he drops one right above where their child nurses.

He revels in her receptive laughter.

He nibbles on his son's toes in mock discipline at the infant's annoyed kick, informing him that his proprietariness over his favourite eating establishment is temporary and that he, Nick, is the rightful owner.

Adalind doesn't say anything at his remark, but he notes the light colouration that dots her cheeks. He wants to ask her if she'll allow it. If she'll let him have them, have her for eternity. She'd agreed when he'd asked something similar weeks before, but he wonders if her answer was real and not just an acquiescence to the emotional state that she'd been in.

'Baby steps,' he tells himself.

For right now, all he wants to do is to tell her that he loves her to start.

It took him a while to put a name to what he'd been feeling. Part of him still in awe that after everything they'd done to each other, they could find this. It's astonishing really, how far they've come.

And now?

Now he feels like he's finally found where he belongs.

Truth be told, he's known for a while. He's just been fearful about admitting it. Past hurts plagued his mind, imparting doubts on his conscience that he logically knew had no merit. Learned behavior is a hard thing to shake though and his love for her scares him with its intensity, paralyzing him in those moments when all he wants is to hold her tight and never let her go.

He's been wanting to tell her how he feels for some time now, though he's not sure his vocabulary is sophisticated enough to explain it all. But, it's been eating away at him steadily; this need to confess, as evidenced by his slip of the tongue this morning.

Trying to be careful, he'd been wanting to plan a romantic evening for them where he would finally tell her, but with their jobs and Kelly and Black Claw running amok, he simply hasn't had the chance.

It's why he'd planned on coming home early. He'd even asked Rosalie if she and Monroe wouldn't mind looking after the baby so that he could take her out for dinner instead of her having to cook.

Glancing behind him, he notes that she already did as the dish rack is full and there's a covered plate, undoubtedly for him, on the counter.

He makes his way over to his side of the bed. Taking off his watch first and then emptying his pockets. He can feel her eyes on him and he turns slightly to wink at her, amused at the slight blush that rises in her face at being caught.

He loves that after all their intimacy; that after his hands and lips have scoured and pleasured every single inch of her that he can still make her blush.

He notices that Kelly's eyes are slowly drooping and he makes his way to the bathroom to wash his hands so that he can take him from her.

Idly glancing at the sink's counter top, he smiles at how even the random objects in their lives have become so intertwined. Their toothbrushes sharing the same cup, his comb pressed into her hairbrush, her bra hanging over his towel on the hook. There is very little that is his or hers, just merely theirs. It cements the fact that she is his and he is hers.

He reenters the bedroom, stooping to scoop the baby from her arms. Wiping the residual milk from his lips, he raises him to his shoulder, gently patting his tiny back. When he feels more than hears the responding belch, he transfers the baby to the crook of his arms, cradling him.

Standing, she pulls the strap of her night gown back onto her shoulder and he makes a noise of consternation at her. Smirking, she stands on tiptoe, kissing his cheek warmly before heading to the bathroom herself.

He looks down at the baby and grins.

'Milk drunk,' he thinks, as the infant smiles in his sleep; remembering the term Adalind had coined to express Kelly's lethargic and happy countenance after his night feed. Nick's not sure what to call his own similar expression after he feasts on her flesh as well.

Swaying softly so as not to wake him, he bends to place a kiss on his son's head before laying him in the crib.

He takes a moment to just look at him.

Logically he knows that time has passed and that the baby would get bigger, but he can't believe just how much in such a short span of time. Like every parent, he has his moments where he feels like he's missing everything when he's away, but getting to see the big things, like him crawling for the first time, definitely make up for it. He'd always wanted children, had always liked them on a whole, but he was neither prepared for the dramatic impact nor the overabundance of love that his little one would bring to his life.

Initially he'd thought that a large part of why he fell for Adalind was because she gave this gift to him. That she allowed him to feel an emotion that he'd never felt before. That he thought he might never have the chance to.

He recalls an incident years ago where for a small moment in time Juliet had thought she was pregnant. She'd relied on him to provide protection as she had a history of adverse reactions with the more female targeted birth control. He had no issues with it really, though remembering to grab a condom while in the middle of a heated session, did tend to dampen the mood a bit.

On one such occasion, both slightly tipsy from a night out, they'd fallen into bed in a rush. Within a hair's breath, their clothes had littered the floor and he'd been inside of her. He was only a few thrusts in when she'd tensed up, pushing him off. Confused at the sudden shift in her demeanor, he'd rolled over, watching as she immediately opened the bedside table fiddling around until she'd found what she'd been looking for. They'd continued on that night, though with the spontaneity gone, some of his lust had waned. The next morning, in the sober light of a new day, she'd been upset at their forgetfulness.

Weeks later, he'd found her pacing the kitchen when he'd returned from work. She was late, she'd told him and where he'd beamed in joy, she'd been tense and anxious, reiterating that this was the reason why they needed to be more responsible.

He'd told her that she was overreacting and that the possibility was small that she even could be- but, even still, "A baby, Juliet," he'd said with reverence. "How amazing would that be?" He smiled, pulling her into an embrace.

But, she'd shaken him off and told him that she wasn't ready to be a mother as yet.

"And if you already are?" He'd questioned.

"Well, I guess… we'll have a baby then," she'd exhaled unhappily.

She'd waited for him to take the test and as they sat on the bed the ticking of the nearby clock was the only sound that broke the tense silence.

"We could name it after your dad if – "he began, before she cut him off with a raise of her hand.

"Don't," she'd simply replied.

When the test came back negative, she'd sighed in relief. A later trip to the doctor only confirming the fact further. The irony being that stress over possibly being pregnant had delayed her period even longer.

Her palpable delight caused a ball of terror to settle in him though. He had no one in the world lest she and he longed for the day that he would have children bearing his name, carrying his lineage on, being the family that he longed for.

Seeing her distressed reaction at even the thought of a child made him dread that his visions of little hands and dimples were nothing but a pipe dream.

In hindsight, he was almost grateful now that they hadn't had a child together then. He imagines that she would have come to resent it after a while, knowing that she had him or her simply to please its father. He could be wrong of course, maybe actually having the baby would have been the shift she needed to see herself in the role of a parent.

Something tells him that wouldn't be the case though.

Shaking the melancholy that lingered with the memory, he runs a hand over his son's soft hair. Knowing that if he had to endure the heartache all over again he would. Especially if it led him to this moment- right here with the baby he's always wanted and with a woman that was the kind of mother (and lover) that he'd always dreamed of.

Speaking of lovers, he realizes that Adalind hadn't returned as yet, so he descends into the main room heading for the bathroom.

Peaking in, he observes her going about her nightly routine.

Stepping inside, he can't help but touch her when he sees how her nightgown rides up as she leans over the sink. At least that's what he tells himself at the flush of lust that over powers him temporarily at the peak of her lacy underwear. Grabbing a handful of her bottom, he squeezes the flesh lightly, feeling a responding pump of desire down below.

Even her little squeak of surprise turns him on, making him look forward to the myriad of noises he plans on drawing from her later.

While he waits for the hot water to turn on, slow in a building this age, he moves to stand behind her.

He breathes her in, bathing the side of her neck in warm presses of his lips. Nipping here and sucking there, he can feel her softening under him. He knows she can feel the press of his hardness against her behind and she pushes back in return, grinding just enough to make him see stars.

He's distracting her he knows and it's not until he has her nightgown bunched around her navel that she breathily asks about what has gotten into him.

He's loathed to tell.

As much as she has become his whole life, there are parts of it, especially where his job is concerned that he wants to protect her from. How can he tell her that being at that crime scene today nearly made him weep? That sometimes he has this overwhelming fear that something similar might happen to this little family that they've created and that he'll lose them.

It's because of this, he needs to feel connected to her right now. The imperativeness causing his blood to burn hot in his veins. He needs the assurance that she is his and that she isn't going anywhere and though she teases him with her impertinence, he knows she wants this as much as he does.

He sweeps her nightgown off, depositing her in the steamy shower, before stepping in behind her.

"I'm sorry I was late," he apologizes, bending to place a peck on the tip of her nose. "I missed you today," he continues softly.

It's a vulnerability he rarely shows others, but somehow she brings it out in him.

Even this apology.

He can never make excuses for his job; crime does not fit neatly in a 9-5 time frame, but he feels guilty every time he's later than he intended. He tries to think if he ever felt that way with Juliet. She tolerated it he guesses and was understandably upset whenever work forced him to miss certain events, but he rarely if ever felt the immense remorse he does now at disappointing Adalind with his tardiness. It's as if he's disappointing himself as well.

Her response that she understands. That she knows how important his job is. That he's a great detective, warms him in a way that makes him feel ten feet tall. He knows that others liken him to a hero and while he rarely takes the moniker on, he'd gladly wear it for her.

His love and his need for her are overwhelming right now though and isn't long before he has her pinned against the wall of the shower as he satiates his hunger for her over and over again.

He's not sure if she's privy to the words he whispers into her skin about how perfect she is and how he wants her forever, but he knows that no words are truer than they.

Her repeated, 'I love you's,' mixed in with her cries of pleasure, tell him that she may just feel the same.

An hour later, limp from his repeated ministrations, he lifts her from the shower, briefly stopping to towel dry them off before continuing to the bedroom.

He lays her on the bed, quickly running to the kitchen to place his plate in the fridge when she reminds him, before making his way to her once again.

Her eyes are already starting to close and he knows it won't be long before he joins her.

Drawing her to him, he basks in the feel of her petite frame snuggled up against him and the mild flowery scent that is inherently hers. He nuzzles her gently and he's so at peace in the moment that although it's unlikely, he wishes that he could end every day like this.

As his body relaxes from the stress of the day and their love making, his heart decides to seize the opportunity before his brain can intervene and he whispers, "I love you" into the still air.

He mildly registers a shift in her position just as sleep pulls him under.

He awakens what feels like hours later, although one look at the bedside clock tells him that it's just after one in the morning. He's comfortable and he's warm and he'd gladly go back to sleep, if not for the roar of his stomach. Lunch was more than twelve hours ago and now his body was craving sustenance.

He gently eases out from under her where she'd fallen asleep with her head upon his chest. Hoping she won't feel his loss and wake, he places his pillow under her instead.

As quietly as possibly, he pulls the doors of their room closed, leaving a small gap open in the event that Kelly stirs.

He makes his way to the kitchen.

Taking his plate out, he pulls the cling wrap off and snags a piece of chicken, biting into the cold meat as he opens the microwave to warm the rest.

Tapping his fingers on the counter as he waits, his eyes wander around the main room.

The 'Fome' as they'd likened it, had really become home to him these last several months. He'd never intended for it to be a permanent situation. It was more a temporary answer to their pressing safely concerns. Plus, he wanted something that was the antithesis of what he'd left behind.

That charming 2 bedroom bungalow on its quiet tree lined street had meant to be a starter home for him and Juliet. A place where he saw them starting their married life together and then bringing their first born home to. Now all it held was the image of his dead mother's head and Juliet's arrow riddled body. In the days following the losses, when he was consumed with sadness and rage, he'd wanted nothing that resembled homey.

Looking around though at the baskets overflowing with Kelly's toys, the colorful pillows and blanket on the couch, the pictures on the wall, he appreciates that Adalind has tried to turn the grey and sterile unit into a home rather than simply a place to sleep. That while he'd been caught up in all the blood and death, she'd been trying to give him a measure of comfort.

Even in those early days when their truce was still so new and tentative, she'd been trying- in as much as he'd allow her, to make the best of their situation. She was showing him that she was all in when it came to trying to make this work for them and for Kelly.

Now he can't imagine his life without her.

Taking the plate from the microwave, he makes his way over to the couch planning to put the T.V on low to catch up on the news. It's on commercial when he turns to the channel and as he waits, his eyes catch his freshly pressed clothes that she laid out for him for tomorrow.

He can't help but smirk remembering how Hank had called him out one day for it.

She'd started taking clothes out for him because he'd get home exhausted and would be in a rush the next morning to get dressed in an attempt to leave on time.

She'd nervously asked if he wouldn't mind if she did it for him. He'd assumed she'd offered as his harried mornings tended to wake Kelly up, but now he knew that she wanted to be useful to him.

He waltzed into work that first morning and Hank had looked at him quizzically for a while before stating that there was something different about him.

"No. Not really," he'd offered.

"You sure? New haircut maybe?"

"Nope."

It wasn't until they were out in the field that Hank had pulled up short, laughing.

"What?" Nick had asked.

"Dude, you're wearing a button down shirt."

"So?"

"You never wear those. And it's ironed!" He'd chuckled.

"And?"

"Mhmm, sounds like someone's little wifey's taking over their closet?"

"She has not. I just make too much noise in the morning rushing around to find something so she took this out for me."

"Ahh, and so it begins."

What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just know that it'll only get worse from here on out."

"Says who?"

"Says the guy that's been married 3 times."

"Doesn't that mean I shouldn't take advice from you?"

"Do with it what you will, but don't think I didn't notice that you didn't correct me," Hank added.

"About what?"

"About me calling Adalind your wife."

While he'd been startled at first, he realized that he wasn't altogether put out by idea. Especially as the months went on and more and more people began to apply the appellation to her. He'd supposed it was because they shared a child, but even Monroe had pointed out that it was something deeper than that.

"People don't just see you and Adalind," Monroe had said. "They see a couple in love. The intimate way you are with each other speaks volumes. Add raising a baby that you both adore; assumptions of titles tend to come with that."

"Well what would you say if I said I was starting to contemplate that kind of future with her?"

"I'd say it's about time."

"Really? You don't think it's too soon?''

"Nick, the fact that you're thinking about marriage six months into this relationship as opposed to the four years you were with Juliet should tell you something."

And it did. Tell him something that is, because he's sure that he's never felt this way before.

He was lovesick, he was sure of it. No other term fit as well. If she'd still had her powers when they'd gotten together, he might even have thought that she'd hexed him, but what he felt could not be conjured. It was too pure, too real. It over shadowed what any 'magic' could create.

It was the very definition of love.

And while Juliet was his first love, Adalind, he surmises, may just be the love of his life.

A soft whimper from the bedroom startles him from his ruminations and he moves as quickly and as quietly as possible into the room.

Kelly stares up at him wide eyed, a sheen of tears glinting in the moonlight as he gums his fist. Nick picks him up and with the same pace escapes, soothing him so that his soft cries don't turn into full blown screams.

"Shh, shh," he calms. "Let's not wake your mama up."

Walking to the fridge, he opens the freezer and pulls out a frozen pacifier. Placing it in the infant's mouth, it soothes his sharp little cries almost immediately.

"That better?" He asks, as he returns to his seat on the couch.

He lays Kelly in the crook of his legs, head resting between his knees and he watches as his son sucks fiercely on the pacifier. He'd recently started teething and while the days had been rough on Adalind, Nick's attempts at taking over once he got home were profusely denied as Kelly preferred his mother when he was in pain. Nick had felt helpless and it's why he took to the internet for solutions. The pacifier trick he'd found seemed to be working quite well so far.

He jostles his legs lightly, trying to create a lulling motion, hoping that it'll help the baby fall back asleep.

While he has a captive audience, he decides to use him as a sounding board.

"Hey buddy," he whispers down at the baby. "How would you feel if I asked Mommy to marry me?"

Kelly simply looks at him, brows furrowed, but then as Nick continues to rub a hand over his tiny belly, he passes gas. Loudly.

Giggling at his own antics, Nick can't help but laugh in return.

"Should I take that as your permission?" Nick questions. "You know what? Either way. I'm gonna take it as a yes."

With the words out in the open, he realizes that with it went his anxiety. He can do this he tells himself. And although they'd put the proverbial cart before the horse, who said that he couldn't legitimize their relationship and confirm what the world already sees.

He watches the news for a couple of minutes waiting to see if they'll cover his homicide case, but by the time he forks the last of his pasta into his mouth, they haven't.

With the infant asleep once more, he turns the T.V off, gathering both the baby and his dishes and heads for the sink.

Kelly begins to fuss as he rinses the plate and so he quickly turns the water off, not wanting to disturb him further.

As he cradles their child, he takes another glance around and a sudden realization hits him.

The manifestation of his love for Adalind was very much like how this loft became a home.

Piece by piece.

Where a pillow here, a stuffed fox there had added life to a once dull space, she had ingratiated herself into his heart with her own small gestures. There was never an epic 'aha' moment where all of a sudden his emotions coalesced into a unified thought. It was more a coming together of parts. An ironed shirt here and a shoulder to lean on there that made him fall in love with her.

And although their pasts were filled with volatile emotions, their love was quite gentle and kind and it didn't just happen overnight. Instead, it slowly grew, wrapping its delicate tendrils around him, infiltrating his senses, finagling its way into every thought and action he performed until she was imbued in everything he did.

Until she'd become the very air he breathed.

So perhaps he didn't need a grand gesture after all to tell her that he loves her. It's not as if flowery expressions of love were something that either them were prone to anyway. More importantly, he doesn't want her to think that he's doing it because that's what she wants or expects. He knows her better than that.

The most important thing to Adalind was to be wanted and loved and it dawned on him that in all his over complicated theorizations on how to proceed, he'd failed to grasp that simple concept.

That maybe what he needed to do was to merely start telling her he loved her every day. To quietly slip it in to their everyday life as if it was always there. He needs her to know that these past few months, when in reality his life should have been falling apart, she'd kept him steady. That somehow along the way, she'd become the kind of life partner any man would be proud to call his.

He wants to show her that she is precious to him, and that he was here to stay and that he wanted this life with her. He never wants her to feel like she's an obligation to him or that he doesn't appreciate every little thing that she does for them, for him.

So he begins to formulate a plan.

'Six months', he tells himself, is the time frame that he's allowing for everything.

He'll begin tomorrow.

Days will now start and end with him professing his ardor. He'll also make a concerted effort for them to spend more time together- both as a family and as a couple. Then, just as Kelly's first birthday approaches and she is all romanced up… BAM! He'll pop the question.

Of course, he has no idea of the life altering events that would unfold in the coming weeks. That on the day he comes home with her engagement ring in his pocket, his worst fear would come to fruition. That he would nearly lose his mind in grief when his family is stolen. That she would die right in front of him. That they all would and he would be left in shattered pieces on a cold forest floor. That when the time came, he would literally give up piece on Earth to hold her in his arms again.

So for now, he plots in innocent delight of all the ways he plans to woo her. He looks forward to the look on her face, that shy, sweet smile she gives him sometimes to become a mainstay at his actions.

The next morning, when he kisses her goodbye, he stops to whisper into her ear, "I love you."

He is rewarded with exactly what he hoped for.

Her smile isn't wide and dazzling as one would imagine at his words. In its place, a small up tilt of the corners of her mouth, a slight misting in her eyes that he knows not to draw attention to, before she gently cups his cheek and replies, "I love you too."

He's not quite sure he's ever had a better day in his life.

AN: The song that Adalind sings is called Sacred Heart by The Civil Wars. You don't need to listen to it for the story's sake, but I would recommend listening to it just for the beauty of this duo's voices. The song is quite sad, but beautiful.

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