A/N: Back after my hiatus for exams! Hope you're all keeping safe. Enjoy!

February 12 - 4 years after

The sun is barely shining before Nesta has rushed out to—who else?—Zeyn's house.

She can hear him taking his time as he makes his way to the door and she bounces on the balls of her feet. It's not an emergency...yet. But she doesn't like the minutes ticking by, with Cassian home alone with the three of them.

His warm brown eyes are bleary only for a second before he realizes it is her standing before him, and then they fly open.

"Nesta? What are you—is everyone all right?"

"We need to take Ollie to see his healer," she says.

"All right, I'll get my shoes. But—you didn't bring him?"

Nesta winces. Poor wording on her part, indeed. "No," she says. "I meant...Cassian and I are taking him. I...need you to come be with Avery and Nicky."

Zeyn, to his credit, does not flinch. His concern slips into something else, something she cannot name, for only a fraction of a second before it is back. "Of course. Just a minute, yeah?"

And he reappears less than a minute later, boots laced, shutting the door behind him. They set off together.

He doesn't even ignore her. "Are you worried?"

"I'm always worried," she says. "It's not the worst it's ever been, but...it's been a while." It had been six months since Nicky had coughed badly enough to need to see a healer. She remembers holding him in the first minutes after his birth—she hadn't been given him right away, like his siblings, because even then there had been something wrong with his lungs.

Zeyn must sense where her mind has run off to, because he reaches out and squeezes her hand. "If you think it's not that bad, you're probably right. You're going to see a healer. Everything will be fine."

She shoots him a shaky, grateful smile.

"Are Ava and Nicky awake?"

"I don't think so. Not when I left."

"All right...just get them ready and take them to nursery?"

"Yes, I already packed their things...if Avery won't put on a jacket, don't argue with her, but bring it along and give it to her teacher."

"Is that still going on?"

"Don't get me started," she grumbles. They round the corner and walk up the path to the house. Nesta holds out her hand to stop him. "Zeyn," she starts. Pauses. "Thank you."

It's not enough...there's more to say, she knows. But it does it, for now. And she has more pressing matters at hand, anyway.

April 12 - Year of

With the dawn of spring came dramatic change in the shop. Whatever winter wear had not been sold was tucked away in storage, and the switching out of the clothier's merchandise had inspired Nesta to do the same in Cassian's home.

Cassian did not have much to begin with, of course. But she felt she could rearrange the furniture in her bedroom.

Not that she had done much to make the place "hers"—in fact, she was not quite sure how. The little apartment she had rented in Velaris was the closest thing she had ever had to her own home, and she hadn't done much in the way of decor there. Briefly, she wondered if it was still in her name, or if Feyre had stopped paying the rent.

She decided she didn't care much. She was never going to go back to Velaris. Even if Cassian did still take his trips there.

While it was true that she had never purchased any bedding or curtains or a vanity, the subscription Cassian had gotten her for Solstice—NightWrite—had provided her with little knick-knacks. She had thrown out anything with Night Court insignia, but kept most of it. So pushing her bed to one side of the room and moving her bookshelf to the other was also accompanied by shuffling around of these objects.

It was during this...rather useless endeavor, she could admit to herself, of switching the order of the tiny figurines on her shelf, that she found it—the old flyer she had taken from the bar in the town center. The one advertising ships to that land across the sea. Gilameyva.

Nesta sat down on the bed. This is the paper that had inspired her, all those months ago, to get a job. To save up and go.

Since she never bought much of anything, she definitely had enough to book comfortable passage. She could go. Just set sail and...never come back.

Or maybe she could go...somewhere else. On a vacation. And then she would...come back. Didn't people plan for summer holidays months in advance? She could bring it up to Cassian now. Couldn't she?

But no, that would be insane. She had to save up. Because she was not going to live in his house forever. And where would she live? Would she build herself a house here, in the Illyrian mountains?

The flyer in her hand seemed to mock her. An idyllic land far away where no one knew the name Nesta Archeron. A fresh start.

For what she could not admit to herself, but what she had just started to understand was: she did not want a fresh start somewhere else. She wanted to stay with Cassian.

When had the switch happened in her mind? When did this pull between them not become so irritating? When had she decided to make her bedroom more comfortable, make her mark more permanent?

She didn't know. The only thing she was certain of was that this current state of limbo, of living in her room in his house while waiting for him to come back from meetings with her sister...this would not do.

Romance was fun in books, but in the real world, practically always won out for Nesta, and so it was abundantly clear to her that two options lay before her: either she would leave or she would stay. And those were her terms.

So all she had to do was work up the nerve to act on her decision.

After she figured out what it was, of course.

February 12 - 4 years after

When they get to the clinic, they are not immediately rushed into a room, which calms Nesta down. Cassian, on the other hand, only gets more anxious.

"Why aren't they letting us see the healer?" he demands in a whisper, low enough so Ollie, his head on Nesta's shoulder, cannot hear him.

"Trust me, if they think we can wait in line, we're all right."

"But he's coughing!"

"The others might have some graver issue. If they pull you ahead, your situation is dire." Indeed, there had been times when Nesta had brought Ollie in; the healer had taken one look at him and announced that she would need all her appointments cancelled.

"Sit down," she tells him, lowering herself and Ollie into a chair. She presses her lips to the top of his head as she strokes his lower back.

Cassian does, but it must be wildly uncomfortable; these tiny things with no wing-accommodation. She frowns. What will that be like for her children? To live here, where even in a community of different types of faeries, they are clearly other.

"You're really not worried?" he asks her.

"I'm concerned," she says. "But I'm not nervous. I know more or less what she's going to say. His lungs haven't gotten drastically weaker. You see him play and run around. It comes and goes for him. As long as we keep up with what the healer prescribes—which we do—we should be fine."

Cassian is quiet, clearly struggling for words.

"What is it?"

"Sometimes...things don't happen according to plan," he says finally.

She actually laughs a little. "Well, I know that."

His lips quirk at her slight laugh. "How did...how did you find out? That you were...pregnant?"

She leans back in her chair, giving Ollie more room to recline on her. Lying on his stomach sometimes helps with his cough. "I fainted, actually. And they—Miri, Zeyn—they brought me to the clinic and Amorette told me."

"She was your healer the whole time?"

"Yes. That's how we met."

"And you..." he hesitated. "She delivered them?"

"She did," she says.

Nesta often recalls that day with wonder. Her whole life she had felt—everything. Just so much, all the time. And how insignificantly nothing it all appeared, compared to that cacophony of emotion in those few hours.

"He was sick, then, too," Cassian says softly.

They have never truly discussed this before, but..."Yes. He was born...he was too small. And his lungs were...weak. Not quite underdeveloped, but weak. He wasn't...ready to breathe...yet."

Recollecting that time—collapsing in exhaustion and relief against the bed, and realizing only a few seconds later that something was horribly, horribly wrong—why weren't they giving her the baby? Why could she only hear two cries?—it always tightens Nesta's throat and blurs her vision. She can barely feel Cassian put his arm around her.

"We didn't know what was going to happen, at first," she whispers, half because of where they are, half because of what she's saying. "But he's...he's strong now. This is just...we're at the healer's. He'll be fi—" Nesta's voice catches on the last word and she can't finish it. She forces her mind to go blank. She can't imagine—can't let herself think—

"Hey," Cassian's voice cuts in. He squeezes her shoulder. "Stay with me."

You stay with me, she wants to say.

But she stays silent, choosing to focus on the feel of his arm. She doesn't trust her voice now, for anything.

April 15 - 1 year after

Midway through her second trimester, Nesta was more than ready to give birth. The extra weight she was carrying was officially past flattering, she couldn't see her feet unless she was lying down, and everywhere she went, people stopped her and asked her if she was excited.

The latter was the absolute worst, because she still had not decided whether or not she was going to keep the children.

But she had never been good at being put on the spot—her preferred method of dealing with unwanted advances had always been silently staring them down, and since she was trying to get along as an average Sugar Valley resident, when Zeyn asked her if she had gotten around to painting the nursery yet, and if she would like some help...

What else could she say?

So he was there that afternoon, holding two buckets of light blue paint.

"Are you sure there's any difference between these two?" he asked, squinting.

"Sky and powder? Yes." To be fair, she probably wouldn't have registered the difference so clearly had she not grown up with Feyre, ever-obsessed with chronicling the different colors around them.

"Are we doing...stripes?"

"No." Stripes? For babies? "Just those two will be powder," and she punctuates her words by pointing to the wall front and back walls, "and those two will be sky."

"Oh. Why?"

"It's supposed to be lightly stimulating." She had read that in a book Amorette had given her. She was skeptical, but the store she had gone to had given her a good deal on the paints.

"Right. Well. Let's start, then."

Zeyn could be irritating, but his endless, mindless chatter could be comforting, as well. That was how she felt today. And she did appreciate how he kept going to fetch her things—berry juice and an extra cushion to put on her chair. Nesta felt she had not done her part at all, but Zeyn didn't seem to mind.

"Any progress on names?"

"Nothing concrete."

"Ah, well," he said. "My mother says you have to meet a baby before you know for sure if the name is right."

Nesta didn't think she'd be able to "meet a baby"—surely they would just be...the same as the rest of the small children she saw at the clinic or around town. Babies, she felt, all looked the same, and even if they were older and had developed their own features, they weren't very diverse personality-wise.

Not that she didn't like children. She remembered a vague feeling of excitement being told that she was going to have a new baby sister—Feyre, she couldn't remember Elain's birth—and she had liked to play with her, when she was a young girl. But there had not been very many babies for her to interact with during her teenage and adult years.

This was ridiculous. She didn't need to dwell on this so much. She probably wasn't going to keep them, right? That was why it didn't matter that Cassian still had not written back. It wasn't...he didn't need to know, if neither of them wanted anything to do with this. Because he did not want children either, obviously. He was...busy.

"Maybe it'll look different when it dries," Zeyn said, interrupting her thoughts.

"What? Oh, yes...sky's a bit darker."

"Hmm," he said, frowning. "You know...I really don't see it."

Nesta shrugged.

Zeyn clapped his hands together. "Well, as fun as staring at paint dry is..." he grinned at her. "Want to go for dinner? Jamal's?"

And she was certain that Sugar Valley etiquette demanded humoring the person who spent the afternoon doing handiwork at your house, so she said, "Sure."

February 12 - 4 years after

It is just past noon when Nesta sees Zeyn again, at the shop, coffee and pastry in hand.

"Hey!" he says. "You're all right? Ollie's...?"

"Fine," she says, unable to stop her grin. "The healer gave us a tonic for him to take over the next few weeks. She said that he might need it now and again, but as long as he takes it when he does, she sees no reason to expect significant deterioration. He'll probably be on par with his siblings by the time he turns twelve." Nesta's heart sings as she repeats the healer's words.

Zeyn pulls her in a hug. "Let's tell Miri and Adil. They're in the back."

"Oh, I'm actually not staying long. I just came to let you know we're all right...and give you this," she adds, holding out the food. "Thank you so much. How were Avery and Nicky?"

"Fine," he says. "We had fun."

Nesta rolls her eyes. "Don't tell me."

"I wasn't going to," he teases. "It's a secret."

"You four and your secrets," she says, rolling her eyes again.

He shakes his head, eyes still laughing at her. "Are you taking him back to nursery?"

"No, we're going to let him rest. We think it also might be nice to spend some time with just him, the both of us. We're thinking—" Nesta stops herself. Zeyn does not need to know how she and Cassian plan to spend time with each child individually, he does not need to hear this. "He's just so tired," she finishes.

But the damage is done and the warmth slips out of Zeyn's face. He looks down at the order from Samir's. "Nesta," he says, soft, slow. "Are you really doing this with him?"

She freezes. "Zeyn. He's their father. He has a right to be included in this."

"I'm not talking about that...and I don't agree with you on that matter, either."

Nesta raises an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"He wasn't there, Nesta," Zeyn says, more desperate than anything else. "He just—you had to do it all without him."

"I can't believe you're starting this right now," she says, more to herself than to him. Louder, she says, "I will not discuss this. He's here now. He's a part of their lives now. He was with me today."

"He's here when it fits his schedule."

"There's nothing wrong with having a job," she defends—defends! As if she doesn't hate that he commands the Night Court armies!

"Yours and his are not comparable," he says. "Do you remember...what it was like? What it felt like?" Zeyn stops, takes a shaky breath, before continuing. "Because I remember seeing you. In pain. Burdened. All alone."

"That's enough," Nesta snaps, crossing her arms. "It's been months, Zeyn. He's a permanent fixture of their lives. You ought to get used to it."

"Oh, I'm used to that," he says, about as close to testy as Zeyn can get. "It's his being a permanent fixture of your life I can't get behind."

Nesta tenses. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nesta. Please."

She shifts her weight backwards. If he were anyone else...but he's not. He's Zeyn. Zeyn, who has always been there for her, to the very best of his ability, who left his house at dawn this morning to feed and dress her children.

So she takes a deep breath. "I need to be getting back, Zeyn," she says.

He slumps slightly, but she knows this isn't over. "Give my love to Ollie," he says.

"I will."

"Thanks for the food."

"Don't be silly...thank you. Really."

"Don't thank me."

"Well, I will if I see fit. Thank you."

It works—he gives a short laugh. But it doesn't meet his eyes.

She doesn't have space, though, in her head or heart for that right now. Not Zeyn; not that she doesn't have any room for him. But right now...right now she needs to go to Ollie.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed that! For anyone who leaves me a review and I don't get back to them: please know it means the world to me, but unfortunately has stopped letting me reply to anyone.