Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time Nesta broached the subject, he was leaning against a wall in her bookstore.

It had been a nice routine, for them. He loved watching her work, and he loved the small frown on her face when she looked at books she was trying to replace, and he loved the way her lips parted slightly whenever she was too concentrated to care; and so he’d come by her bookstore often.

She usually ignored him, pretended she was too busy to talk to him, but there was no mistaking the small smile tugging at her lips or the way her face brightened, just a little, when he appeared.

So he’d come often, usually at the end of the day, when Emerie was already gone, and waited silently for her to finish working.

Most of the times, he’d pick up a book from a bookshelf, and flip through it.

He didn’t really care what book he was picking—didn’t really look at the book anyway, too busy observing her quietly instead.

And that’s exactly what he was doing when she asked him, voice soft and direct,

“Have you ever thought about having kids?”

Cassian almost dropped his book on the floor.

Almost.

He straightened, trying to keep his composure and not show that his blood had run cold in his veins, and that his heart had skipped a beat.

Gently, he cleared his throat, feigning disinterest as he closed the book.

“I have,” he said slowly, “thought about it before. Why?”

Her eyes, still trained on the multiple books in her hands snapped to his momentarily, before they snapepd back down.

“No reason,” she answered, her voice still as guarded.

There was a beat of silence, and Cassian could swear he heard her mind reeling even from the other end of the room. She turned around and away from him, still holding her books carefully.

He closed the distance between them in a few long strides, quiet on his feet even when he gently set the book he’d been holding down on her counter.

“Why?” He repeated when he was just behind her.

She was startled by his voice—probably hadn’t realized he’d come this close—but hid it quickly. Nesta wouldn’t admit to being taken by surprise often.

“No reason,” she echoed her previous words, a little stiffly. “I was just wondering.”

The hand he placed on the back of her neck was gentle—yet he knew she couldn’t resist it, never.

“Nesta,” he said, almost a warning in itself.

And they both knew what it meant.

They’d argued—more than a couple of times, now—that communication was something they needed to work on.

Communication on her part, especially—though he knew better than to tell her in so many words.

Nesta was many things—she was blunt, and she was cold and she was guarded.

At least, she was with everyone else.

Cassian liked to believe she wasn’t with him—not entirely.

They’d been together for a little while, now. Enough for him to know he would be spending the rest of his days with her—no matter whether she had admitted it to herself yet or not.

And in this time they’d been together, he’d seen the change in her. Seen the way she’d slowly—so, so slowly—allowed him to creep his way in her life.

It had been small things at first.

Baby steps.

It was always baby steps with Nesta.

And Cassian couldn’t even say he was surprised—not with how difficult it had been for him to get her to agree to one date.

So—baby steps.

Tiny, tiny baby steps.

She didn’t turn to him, not with his hand still on her neck, but he was quite certain she was glaring at the bookshelf pretending it was him.

He didn’t think he should be as turned on by the thought as he was.

“Nesta,” he said again, with a sigh. “Talk to me.”

“I was just wondering.” She slid a book in it’s dedicated spot very slowly.

“Liar.”

Another book joined the shelf, but no words left her mouth.

So she was going to pretend.

Good.

Two could play at this game.

And Cassian was usually the one winning—losing a battle to win the war was his favorite game to play.

Slowly, Cassian lowered his mouth to her ear. His palm was still splayed on her neck, warming the back of her throat, when he whispered,

“Aren’t you gonna tell me?”

And just like he knew she would, she stayed silent.

“Nesta,” he breathed against her earlobe, drawing a shiver out of her. “Tell me.”

From his position, he saw very clearly the way her throat bobbed with her swallow, and he resisted the urge to bury his head in her neck and suck gently at the skin he’d found there.

He wouldn’t give her the pleasure just yet.

“I was just wondering.”

Her voice was foreign, with how weak it sounded—so unlike hers.

And maybe it was this, that made Cassian give in.

Nesta didn’t like to be vulnerable. And no matter how much they were working on their communication, he would never put her in a position he knew she despised.

Or maybe it was the way her throat bobbed and her arms were covered in goosebumps.

Or maybe it was simply the fact that he was totally, completely, irrevocably in love with her.

He said, low and quiet, “I would love to have children.” She tensed under his palm, just for a second but he felt it all the same. He continued, “And I know you do, too. So why so shy, sweetheart?”

For a second, Cassian thought she wouldn’t answer. And he wouldn’t have even been surprised, exactly. But then she turned around very slowly, his hand leaving her neck but finding her jaw in the motion.

She was still holding books in her hands, but her skin was flushed and she was looking up at him through her eyelashes in a way they both knew would bring him to his knees.

“Do you mean that?”

Cassian smiled at her—a soft smile he usually reserved just for her.

“I do,” he confirmed.

He barely had time to process what was happening before she was throwing herself at him—all lips and tongues and lust thrown into a kiss that made him forget his own name.

The books fell on the floor but it only gave Nesta more access to grip his shoulders, and maybe they should have cared. Maybe they should have gone to a more private place—instead of the middle of her bookstore.

None of them paid it any mind.

They didn’t talk about it for a few weeks after that. And they weren’t even trying, per se. Nesta was still on the pill, and they were both content just like that. For now.

But Cassian felt a shift in himself, too.

Ever since they’d mention it, he’d think about it—all the damn time.

He’d catch himself paying attention to the kids he crossed paths with in the streets, and the crying babies he once complained about now made him want to soothe them. He felt a little in awe every time he saw Nyx and Elizabeth, and tried not to be obvious, even as they ran toward Rhys or hugged Feyre. Cassian would try to ignore this feeling in his chest at the sight.

And then, there was her.

Nesta was always in his thoughts, brightening his mind, and this wasn’t exactly new—she’d been on his mind since the moment they‘d met.

But now, he’d think of her holding a child’s hand, or cradling a baby in her arms, or—and these were the thoughts that usually undid him and broke him at the same time—pregnant.

Cassian had always had complicated feelings about pregnant women. He’d never been close to any—Selene had given birth to Lyra long before he ever knew Rhys anyway. And perhaps it was due to the fact that his own mother had been taken from him—too soon, too fast, too unfairly.

Either way, he’d always had complicated feelings about pregnant women because he didn’t know anything about pregnant women.

But seeing Nesta pregnant with his baby, one day—

There were no words for what the thought made him feel.

They were lying on the couch one night—he was watching some dumb show he used to watch with Azriel, half a lifetime ago and her feet were on his lap while she was reading a book. That frown was on her face again—and yeah, of course it was, because she was concentrated on the pages in front of her.

He usually knew better than to disturb her while she was reading.

He usually knew better, because just one wrong word—or one wrong timing, interrupting a particularly good passage she was reading—could earn him a glare for the rest of the night.

Tonight, he didn’t care.

Tonight, he needed to let the question pass his lips before he deflated and lost his momentum.

“Did you have a time in mind?”

She cocked her eyebrow even as she didn’t lift her head to him. And he knew she was already annoyed at being interrupted when she didn’t answer, didn’t look at him, didn’t stop reading.

He squeezed one of her feet to get her attention.

“Nesta,” he said, a little amused. “Did you have a time in mind?”

Her tongue clicked in annoyance, but he saw her place her palm flat on the book to keep her page before she finally—painfully slowly—lifted her head to him.

Her eyebrow was still raised, and Cassian didn’t think anyone had ever glared at him before—at least not like she did.

“What are you talking about?” Her question came out annoyed, a little resentful, and it only made him fight another smile because irritated Nesta could very well be his favorite Nesta.

“Kids,” he merely said, as if he was talking about the wether and not about their future.

Their future together.

He continued, “Do you have a time in mind? Of when—you’d like to have kids?”

And—yeah. She was taken by surprised. By his question, by his casual tone, by his seriousness, too, maybe.

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn’t answer. The only thing Cassian wanted to do was kiss the answer out of her.

“No, because,” he continued, turning his head to the TV again because he knew it’d rile her up even further. “I was thinking if we want Nyx and Eli to have cousins, then maybe we shouldn’t wait too long.” He paused, started massaging her feet as if everything about this was normal. “Also, I’ve heard May is a good season to conceive. Means you give birth around January, and so you don’t have to face the heat of summer with a belly ten times your size.”

She was very still beside him, and he knew, even without looking at her, that she was giving him her whole, undivided attention.

Long gone were the frown on her face and the daggers in her eyes. She was so taken aback that she was forgetting to be mad at him, and for that, he could only be proud.

“Plus,” he continued, “if I’m correct, Rhys and Feyre will get to it soon, too. I can’t be sure, but I feel like they’d want another kid. What do you think?” He didn’t even give her the time to answer. “And think about it, how cute would it be if you were both pregnant at the same time? And our babies could grow up together, and—“

“Cassian.”

His name was like a warning on her lips. Like an order. He turned toward her, a saccharine smile on his lips.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“What are you talking about?”

Again, he had to fight the urge to smile—to smile and devour her whole because he was just so damn in love with her furrowed eyebrows and her cold gaze and her narrowed eyes.

He moved, then. Gently, he removed her feet from his lap, just enough to place them very gently on the couch and made his way toward her. Both his knees found their place on either side of her and he hovered above her. He lowered himself a little until both his palms rested on either sides of her head on the couch.

“Kids,” he said. “Babies.”

She was still looking at him with wide, inquiring eyes.

Did he mention he was in love with her?

No, because it was all he could think about. All he could feel when she was looking at him like that.

With one of his hands, he caught a loose strand of hair that had fallen from her braid—she rarely let it loose, and it was a shame, really, because he loved her hair.

“Our babies,” he amended in a low voice. “I think there’s no need to wait.”

Nesta was silent in front of him—he only smiled wider.

“We don’t need to wait until we’ve been together for five years,” he said, “or until we’re married, or—“

“I’m never getting married,” she interrupted him flatly.

“You’re cute,” he informed her, amused. “We’ll get back to that.” She rolled her eyes at him as he continued, “but anyways. We both established we wanted kids. Why wait?”

“Because—“

He silenced her with a kiss. She didn’t move at first. But as soon as he started kissing her deeper—taking her lower lip between his teeth to nibble gently and sliding his tongue between her lips—she kissed him back, just like he knew she would.

“I want to have babies with you,” he murmured against her lips, no matter that she tried to chase after him. “What are we waiting for?”

“We’ve barely been together for—“

“I love you,” he said, cutting her off. “I’ve spent too long trying to get you in the first place. I’m not letting you go just yet, Nesta.” The hand that had been holding the strand of her hair came to cup jer jaw, sliding a little upwards until his thumb caressed her lower lip. “You’re a fool if you think I’m not spending the rest of my life with you. I don’t care about what is socially acceptable or not—“ he shook his head sliglty. “If we both know we want kids and we’re both ready… I don’t see why we should wait any longer.”

And apparently, Nesta didn’t either.

They agreed to stop taking the pill that night.

And what followed was weeks and weeks of pure bliss, of giddy excitement and lovesick tenderness.

Cassian didn’t remember of a time when he’d felt like such an idiot in love.

And quite frankly, he was sure Nesta felt the same. She was smiling more often—those unguarded smiles that seemed to be only for him. And her eyes were sparkling more, too.

She had always been the most wonderful creature he had ever encountered. But this Nesta—excited and hopeful and confident—this one was a whole new something.

He swore he fell in love with her all over again.

“Do you know how long it took Feyre to get pregnant with Elizabeth?” He asked her one night.

They’d been lying silently for a few dozen minutes—her splayed on his chest while he was tangling his fingers through her loose hair.

“No,” she murmured. “We never really talked about it, but uh—I don’t think they were trying, per se.”

He hummed an answer, though he didn’t reply.

It was July, and Nesta’s cycle was still as precise as a clock. And it wasn’t weird, really. At least not as far as he knew.

On his chest, she shifted, propping herself on both her elbows to be able to look at him.

“Emerie says it’s normal,” she offered quietly, “that it can take up to six months—or even a year.”

Surprised must have shown on his face when he asked, “You told Emerie?”

His hand was still tangled in her hair, almost touching her scalp now.

She shrugged—a small movement of her shoulders as she nibbled her lower lip.

“I—yeah? Was I not supposed to?”

At that, Cassian snorted. “Since when do you ask me what you’re supposed to do or not?”

She rolled her eyes at him but didn’t answer.

“No, really,” he laughed. “Is it the—pre-pregnancy hormones messing with your head? No, because last time I checked—“ she was already shifting away from his chest but her face betrayed the smile she was trying to hide. “—you didn’t need my approval for anything.” He caught her wrist gently as soon as she was lying on the mattress beside him. “The woman I love only does what she wants, and will only listen to herself.”

She tried to free her wrist from his hold, but the only effect was that he rolled over, caging her in on the bed.

“Must be an awful woman you’re in love with,” she said dryly, rolling her eyes again—and he wasn’t sure there was a gesture that was more Nesta than that.

“Awful,” he confirmed, lowering himself to her until he could kiss her lips. “The worst, actually.” Another kiss. “That’s why I can’t love anyone else. And why I want to have a couple of babies with her, actually.” The kiss he rewarded her with, this time, was a little deeper. A little more meaningful. “I don’t care how long it takes,” he breathed against her lips. “As long as they’re healthy when they’re here. I know they’ll be perfect anyway.”

Nesta was the one to capture his lips with hers this time, and he had no choice but to kiss her back.

“Plus,” he murmured. “I’m more than happy trying and trying and trying until it works.”

She giggled against his lips, and the sound was a little rare, coming from her, so it felt like a balm to his heart. He felt it resonate all within him—in his chest and his heart and his entire soul.

“Cass?”

He didn’t lift his head—he was a little busy at the moment, and had barely registered her words, really.

“Cass.”

He was aware, in the back of his mind, that her voice was growing a little urgent.

But he was just staring and staring and staring at this sheet filled with numbers and graphs and all kinds of things that made his head ache. He couldn’t notice anything else at the moment.

“Cassian.”

Nesta’s tone was snappish this time, and perhaps it was the reason he finally heard her.

He loved when she was snappish.

“Mh?”

Cassian still didn’t lift his head—instead, he was narrowing his eyes at his computer screen, trying as hard as he could to make sense of what was displayed.

Overall budget.

And, profit.

And, operational costs.

And—

“Fucking hell, Cassian, I think I’m pregnant.”

He whirled around in his chair so fast he almost knocked his computer off the table.

When his eyes landed on Nesta, she was standing a few feet away, and looking at him with big, wide eyes—glittering with a quiet hope.

“What?”

She chuckled—a soft sound that went straight to his heart. Both her hands were pressed to her chest, just above her heart, and Cassian couldn’t help but think she’d never looked more innocent. More like Elain, in fact.

Vulnerable.

That’s what she looked like to him right then.

When she didn’t answer his question, Cassian stood up, and in a few long strides, he was standing in front of her.

He saw it then—the small wetness in her eyes and the way her lip was almost trembling. She had tracked his steps until he was in front of her, and now she had to crane her neck up to be able to look at him through her lashes.

Cassian brought his hands to her arms immediately.

“You’re pregnant?”

For a moment, she just looked at him—nibbling her lower lip in an almost anxious motion and staring into his eyes like they held the truth. She was breathing a little heavier than usual—not quite panting but almost.

“I—” she finally said slowly. “I mean, I don’t know. I can’t be sure. But I—” she shrugged a shoulder, the ghost of a smile dancing on her lips. “I’m late. And I’m never late. And I think, maybe, I—”

She never got to finish her sentence. Or at least, Cassian never let her; he crushed his lips into hers in a harsh, rough kiss that she reciprocated with all she had. Her hands had left her chest to find his instead, and he was quite sure she could feel the way his heart was beating way too fast in his chest, but he couldn’t be bothered.

If she was right—and damn how he wished she was—it’d be beating fast for a few more months, he was sure.

It was only after a few more long minutes of kissing that she pulled back, just enough to peer up at him, both her hands still splayed on his chest.

“I’m not sure, Cass,” she breathed softly.

And—right.

He nodded. Perhaps more for his sake than hers.

For his own understanding.

“What do you need?” he asked. “You want us to go get a test?”

She seemed to think about it—but only for a moment before she answered,

“Yeah. A test would be good.”

They both nodded again, but none of them moved. They just stared at each other again, and then broke into two, matching grins.

Cassian kissed her again before she could get anywhere.

The test was hanging off the edge of the bathroom sink, and they were both too focused on it to look at anything else. Cassian hadn’t been able to get out of the bathroom, and so Nesta had joined him on the floor, sitting against the hard and cold bathroom tiles silently.

They had been holding hands, at first, but then Nesta had pulled hers away and Cassian hadn’t even complained. His mind was reeling a little too much for that.

5 minutes.

It was 5 minutes until they knew.

Cassian didn’t think he’d ever felt time tick so slowly before.

“Fuck.”

Nesta got up abruptly, and he probably wouldn’t have turned his head toward her if she hadn’t sounded so alarmed—so alert. He furrowed his brows.

“You forgot something?”

But she was already leaving the bathroom, and when Cassian joined her into the bedroom she had just entered, she was pacing the floor. Fast.

“Nes?”

She wasn’t listening. Wasn’t even looking at him, wasn’t even noticing him here, it seemed.

“Nesta,” he said, chuckling a little at how cute she seemed, like that. “Sweetheart, you—”

“Don’t,” she said through gritted teeth. “Say a thing.”

Cassian was a little taken aback by the tone of her voice. She hadn’t used that tone with him in a long while, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

But he also knew better. He knew her better.

Whatever it was that she had in mind, it was best to let her untangle it—at least for a minute before he’d be able to push her a little.

So he waited.

He waited, watching silently as she paced the floor, drawing circles on the carpet of their room and clenching her hands into fists. She was breathing a little hard, and sometimes, would stop in her tracks, close her eyes, before she’d start walking again—usually faster than before.

He waited for maybe a dozen minutes, before he decided he had waited long enough.

He had given her enough time.

His steps were slow as he approached, and it was deliberate. He wanted her to see him coming. He wanted her to know what was coming.

He placed a hand to her elbow as soon as he was within reach.

“Nesta,” he said, his voice soft. “Talk to me.”

Her only response was to press her eyes shut tight. As if she was trying to forget whatever she had been thinking about and ignore him and his questions. Almost imperceptibly, Cassian brought her a little closer—his arms hovering around her but not quite touching. Ready to catch her if she wanted to collapse.

“Nes.”

His voice was very quiet, this time. And somehow, he was sure this was exactly why she pressed her eyes shut tighter.

Finally, she whispered,

“I’m so dumb.”

Cassian knew better than to ask why. He knew she’d get there eventually. Instead, he finally allowed himself to place his gentle hands on her hips and gripped her a little firmly when she didn’t jerk away.

“I’m so, so fucking dumb,” she said. He could have sworn there was a hint of a sob building in her throat and he hated the sound of it.

It was rare, seeing Nesta cry.

It was rare, and heartbreaking—absolutely unbearable to his eyes and his mind and his heart. And his soul, too.

He swore he lost a little part of himself every time he saw her cry.

It hadn’t happened often. Only three times, really.

The first time had been when Elizabeth had been taken by Tamlin. After she’d been taken, to be exact, and only when they’d both been back home—it was still her home at the time. They had barely crossed the threshold before Nesta had crumbled into his arms and cried every tear in her body. She hadn’t even been able to speak for a while, with how erratic her sobs had been.

The second time had been when she’d told him about her ex. Her fucking, undeserving ex. And those tears had been very different, then. They’d been quiet. Resigned. They were angry tears, more than anything. She had seemed even stronger—more determined—than ever, even as she was shedding them.

And the third time—the third time, he found he hadn’t minded her tears as much. Because those had been happy tears. They were the tears she’d cried the first time he’d told her he loved her. And they had been few, but they had been true, and Cassian had kissed them all away.

But the tears that started streaming down her face right now—escaping from her closed eyelids and slowly trailing down her cheeks—Cassian wasn’t sure those were happy ones.

He lifted a gentle hand to her face, and started brushing them away. The wetness left small marks on her cheeks, but she didn’t seem to care.

“I don’t know how I thought I could do that,” she breathed—another sob in itself. “I don’t know how I could be dumb enough, I—”

She trailed off, and Cassian saw her swallow, before she opened her eyes to find him. Almost violently, she took a step back, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed and—angry?

“I can’t believe you convinced me to fucking do that.”

Cassian slowly, so slowly, cocked his head to the side.

And he wasn’t angry, per se. He wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t even surprised.

He knew Nesta. He knew her more than he knew anyone else. He probably knew her better than he knew himself.

And so, he knew that what was getting out of her mouth right now wasn’t spite. It wasn’t anger—not exactly.

It was worry. It was fear. It was anxiety.

She was only expressing in the only way she knew how.

“I can’t fucking believe—” she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and opened them on him again. “I can’t do this,” she said, a hint of finality in her tone. “I cannot fucking do this.”

“Having a baby?” He guessed.

“I can’t,” she repeated—almost screamed at him. “I can’t be a mom, oh my gods!”

Slowly, he closed the distance between them again as he asked—he knew he was allowed, this time, “Why?”

“Why?” she scoffed. “Why? I’ll tell you why,” she shook her head, and he only noticed tears were still in her eyes because the motion made them fall a little faster.

He waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. She only closed her eyes again, and took a few breaths that were shaky and weak.

Cassian placed his hands on her waist again.

“You’d be an amazing mom, Nes,” he murmured. “You’d be—”

But she was shaking her head in front of him, and he knew he had hit true.

He knew this was exactly what was plaguing her mind.

“You would,” he insisted. “You’d be the most caring, and loving, and—”

“Aweful,” she breathed. Her eyes slowly opened, wetter than ever this time. “I’d be the worst,” she shook her head again. “I don’t know how to be a mom, I—” She swallowed with difficulty, and Cassian thought her body was shaking a little, too, but he held her strong. “I didn’t even like my mom,” she continued. “I don’t know what a mom’s supposed to be, I don’t even know how to—to act with kids, I—”

“You’re very good with Eli,” he tried, his voice as soft as he could make it. “And Nyx, too. You love spending—”

“But they’re Feyre’s,” she said, uttering her sister’s name with what sounded almost like disgust. Resentment, maybe. “They’re Feyre’s.”

“So?”

“So they have a mom,” she said quietly. “They have an amazing mom and I’d just be a fucking failure.”

“No, you—”

She sighed a heavy sigh and escaped his hold. Cassian didn’t let her go very far, though, reaching her as soon as she sat down on the bed. He kneeled before her.

“Nesta,” he sighed—heavily. “You don’t have to have children, you know that right?”

Slowly, she nodded. He continued,

“But I—I think you do. I think you want that. And I think you’re only freaking out right now because it’s a possibility and it scares you.”

She didn’t answer. It was as much of a confirmation as he needed.

“You know I never knew my mom, right?” He didn’t wait for her to answer this time. “I never knew her, but I know she would have been the best mom—just because of what I’ve heard about her,” he smiled a soft, sad smile. Nesta must had heard the emotion in his words because she placed a hand on his cheek—a quiet support he bathed in. He didn’t let himself linger too long on his pain, though.

He cleared his throat. “What I’ve heard about her was everything I found in Selene,” he said. “Everything I see in Feyre, and—” He covered her hand on his cheek with his. “Everything I know you will be, too.”

Nesta tried to take her hand away from his hold, but he held her close.

“There’s no one way to be a mom, Nes,” he continued. “There’s no one way, but there are a few things that should be there, in my opinion.” He pushed on his knees to get closer to her, and let go of her hand with the motion.

“Safety,” he said, kissed her left cheek. “And care,” he kissed her nose. “And love.” He kissed her lips, before letting his forehead meet hers. “I have never—never—met someone who loves as much as you do, Nesta. You love fiercely, you love without demanding anything in return. You love until you forget to love yourself.”

She made a low sound at the back of her throat, and he knew how much it cost her. To have herself be splayed, stripped bare. To be understood, even in the worst of her fears.

He loved her all the more for it.

“Nes,” his voice was quieter than ever. Softer. Gentler. “Do you want to be a mom?”

The move of her head was small. Almost imperceptible. Hesitant.

But Cassian saw it all the same—a nod. A confirmation.

He smiled lovingly at her.

“Then we’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it out together and maybe we’ll be the worst parents in the world,” A small smile was fighting its way onto her mouth—a twitch of her lips more than anything but he knew. “Maybe we’ll make all the mistakes and we’ll be laughed at, but we’ll love those kids.” He brushed her hair behind her shoulder. “More than anything in the world.”

He was met with silence, but he didn’t really care. He couldn’t feel the quiet of the room—not when she was looking at him with so much hope in her eyes, and so much love in her heart.

“How can you be so sure?” she asked. “How can you—”

“Oh,” he snorted. “I’m not. I’m not sure at all. I’m freaking scared and losing my shit, too. But I saw Rhys do the same, and try to figure it out, and,” he shrugged a shoulder. “He didn’t turn out too bad, don’t you think?”

Nesta rolled her eyes, but her smile was fond.

“He’s an overprotective ass.”

“Oh, yeah,” Cassian snorted, shifting again to sit beside her on the bed. She turned to face him. “But he’s the best dad. And his kids love him more than anything. And yet—believe me, he’s made his fair share of mistakes.”

For a moment, Nesta fell silent again. But she took a few deep breaths, and Cassian knew she was musing over his words.

Accepting them as her truth.

When he felt like he had given her enough time, he dropped a kiss to her shoulder.

“Well,” he said. “I believe the five minutes have long passed, now.”

The test was negative.

And Nesta’s smile was a little pained, when she dropped it in the trash.

That night, he held her closer than usual.

5:43

From Cassian : I’m taking Feyre to the hospital. Might be there for a while.

5:54

From Nesta : What’s going on? Everything okay?

7:21

From Cassian : Sorry. Got crazy here. She’s getting checked up.

From Cassian : How are you?

7:22

From Nesta : What happened?

7:29

From Nesta : ???

7:40

From Nesta : Cass…..

9:40

From Cassian : Fuck

From Cassian : Sry

From Cassian : She ws havig stomac ain an a li

From Cassian : gottago

11:12

From Cassian [Incoming call]

“Shit, Cass, are you—”

“Gods,” he knew his voice was heavy. Strained and weak. He had tried—as best as he could—to keep it together for Feyre. It was harder to do it with Nesta’s voice in his ears. “It’s so good to hear you.”

Nesta fell silent for a beat over the phone. And when she spoke again, her voice was softer,

“Is she alright?”

Cassian swallowed. Was she?

She certainly said she was.

But of course he knew better.

“She’s—” he trailed off, swallowed, and finally settled on, “She’s safe.”

Again, it was a few minutes before Nesta spoke again. “You mentioned stomach pain?”

“Yeah she—” He clenched his jaw—hard. “She had a miscarriage. She just lost a baby.”

Silence.

Cassian knew, even before Nesta answered, that a few tears were leaking from her eyes.

“Fuck.”

Cassian swallowed.

“Fuck,” he agreed.

And indeed—Fuck was everything he was feeling at the moment.

It was the culmination of it all. The only thing capable of expressing everything he felt within him.

Grief and hurt—Feyre didn’t deserve any of it.

Sadness and pain—He wanted a baby. And now the universe was taking babies away and he wanted to throw up at the injustice.

Relief and guilt—He never wanted to experience this kind of pain for himself.

“Rhys isn’t there this week, right?”

Even though she couldn’t see him, Cassian found himself nodding. “Right.”

“Stay with her tonight, okay?”

And Cassian wanted to. He wanted to.

He didn’t want to leave Feyre alone right now—wasn’t sure he’d be able to.

But he also couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Nesta alone. Not right now. Not when they’d been trying for months and hoping for months and been deceived, for months.

Not when she was alone in their too-big house and he was with her sister.

He had never wanted to be able to clone himself more.

“Come by their house,” he offered instead. “We’ll stay there together.”

For a minute, he almost thought she’d accept.

She didn’t.

“Stay with her,” Nesta said instead. “She’ll need you.”

Cassian closed his eyes. he was already leaning against the hospital wall—just outside Feyre’s room.

“I love you, Nesta,” he whispered—the only thing he could offer her in the moment. “I love you so, so much.”

“I know,” she murmured back. “I love you too.”

For a moment, they stayed quiet on the phone.

And when he felt a presence approach and open his eyes on a nurse, he said softly.

“I have to go, Nes. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Please.”

“I love you,” he repeated. “I’ll get home as soon as I can tomorrow.”

“I don’t get it.”

There was a heavy sigh leaving Nesta’s lips, and Cassian hated everything about it. The sadness. The pain. The frustration.

Everything he wasn’t able to make better with a few kisses or a gentle embrace.

“The doctor said it’s—”

“It’s literally been nine months, Cass,” she sighed. “There’s something wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing—”

“There’s something wrong with me,” she insisted, a little harshly. When she remembered where they were, she turned her head, checking for any curious glances she might have gotten from her loud voice, before turning back to him. “Maybe my mind’s doing a—mental block or something.” She frowned, her face almost turning into a grimace. “Maybe I’m not ready and my body’s trying to tell me.”

Cassian sighed. “You’re not doing a mental block, Nes. You—”

“Then I have a disease. I learned somewhere that diseases can stop you from getting pregnant. Your body is already fighting a war of its own, so it can’t get—”

He snorted. “Where did you hear that?”

“I don’t know,” she tried to shrug it off, but from the look on her face, and from the way her eyes darted a little to the side, he knew.

“One of your books again, mh?”

A slight pink blossomed on her cheeks and Cassian immediately wanted to kiss it out of her skin. Or kiss it into her skin, he wasn’t sure.

“Or maybe I can’t have children,” she said, a little quieter now. “Maybe the universe knows how aweful I’d be and has decided that I—”

Cassian didn’t let her finish. He got up from his side of the booth and slid into her side, immediately bringing a hand to her chin and tilting her head toward him.

“Stop,” he murmured. “Don’t say that. It’s not true.”

Beside him she blinked. Once. Twice. And then again.

“Then why?” she breathed. “Why wouldn’t it work?”

He leaned in to kiss her cheek.

“I don’t know, Nes.” he moved to her temple this time, and let his lips rest there—not quite kissing. “But the doctor said we have nothing to worry about. We’re both healthy. We’ll only start to get concerned if we—”

“If we’re still not pregnant after a year of trying,” she sighed. “I know.”

Her tone was resigned, but a little sharp, too.

Disappointed.

She was worried, and she was anxious, and she was sad.

He knew, because he felt all the same.

“Hey,” he murmured. “We’ll get pregnant. We just have to be patient.”

Her head slowly turned to meet his eyes.

“You think so?”

He offered her one of his fond smiles.

“I know.”

Nesta leaned in to kiss his lips—as much a love gesture as a reassurance she needed.

And when she pulled back, she seemed a little more confident. A little more relieved.

A little more herself.

And so he said,

“Plus,” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively even before he continued, “I think Feyre and Rhys are trying, too. Think we can beat them to it?”

She snorted, but he captured the sound with his lips.

“I’m sure we can”, he said. “I won’t stop until we do.”

“I want to go get tested.”

Cassian hadn’t turned away from the bag he’d been punching for the last hour. But at the sound of her voice, he turned immediately.

Nesta was standing a few feet behind him, her arms folded across her chest and a slight frown on her face—the one that always betrayed her annoyance and determination.

“It hasn’t been a year yet,” he said instead of a greeting, breathing a little heavily.

She didn’t care apparently. She merely lifted her chin a little higher and repeated,

“I want to go get tested. Make sure.”

And Cassian couldn’t even blame her.

It hadn’t even been a year. Hadn’t even been long enough for them to worry, and yet—and yet he found himself worrying too.

This… longing, he was feeling it, too. It was clouding his mind and entering his every thought and making him sick to his stomach, sometimes.

He was always the positive one, the blissful one, the easy one. The hopeful one.

And even he felt his hopes start to drown a little with each passing day—which was exactly why he had been punching a bag harder than necessary for longer than he’d care to admit.

His chest was heaving a little with the exhaustion, but he slowly made his way to her.

“Okay,” he said finally.

A flash of surprise crossed her face. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Okay.”

Nesta searched his face—blue-grey eyes narrowing on him as if trying to unravel his every secret.

“It’s not supposed to be that easy,” she said—her frown only deepening with her words. “You’re supposed to tell me we’re fine, and we’re both healthy and I have absolutely nothing to worry about.” She placed a hand on his chest when he tried to get closer. “Why aren’t you doing that?”

He shrugged. “You’re going to worry either way. We might as well do what you want so you can get this out of your head.”

And so he could, too.

He could stop worrying and stop feeling overwhelmed with this feeling, deep inside of his chest.

Nesta narrowed her eyes at him.

“You’re worried, too?”

“I—” Cassian tried, but he failed to lie to her. He ran a hand through his hair. “I just figured we’d both be a little more—relaxed. If we know for sure we’re okay.” He paused, offered her a weak smile. “It’s only a couple of weeks before it’s officially been a year, so we might as well do it now.”

He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw Nesta’s determination come back at full force.

It had always been a wonder, to him, how she was able to take over whenever he couldn’t do it anymore. When he was too far gone to be the strong and positive one, and she just stepped into the role as if it had always been hers.

She gripped the hem of his shirt with a hand.

“We’re both healthy,” she said, with a little more ferocity than he had expected. “We’re both perfectly fine. It’ll only give us the confirmation.”

He huffed through his nose at her—

At her strength, and at her will, and at her determination.

At how much he loved her, too, because he didn’t think this was healthy. Loving someone that much.

To be willing to do anything and everything for them.

He wasn’t sure he should be feeling all of this.

He certainly did anyway.

“I think Feyre’s pregnant.”

Cassian hadn’t meant to say it, exactly. He hadn’t, but the thought had been circling and circling and circling in his mind all day, and so the words slipped out faster than ever.

Nesta’s eyes snapped up to his.

“Oh.”

“I just—” he offered her a half-smile. “She hasn’t said anything so I can’t be sure. But—I think she is.”

Slowly, Nesta nodded, and he was pretty sure she was blinking a little more than the usual.

He approached her and kissed the top of her head. She was sitting in a chair at their living room table, so he had to bend down to do it, and he didn’t straighten right away.

“Just in case she tells you,” he said softly, “you know what to expect.”

“It’s—” she took a deep breath. “It’s good for them. Great. They deserve it.”

Cassian gently nuzzled his nose in the crook of her neck—and he knew she must have been really distraught if she didn’t fight him on this. He knew she loved it, but he also knew better than to do it just about any time.

He agreed, “They do. But we do, too.”

Nesta was silent, so he placed a kiss where his nose had been caressing.

“It’s okay to feel—weird things about this,” he murmured—an admission as quiet as it was shameful to admit. “It’s okay if you…” he encircled her with both arms. “If you don’t know how you feel.”

He was wrapped around her like a blanket, as if he could protect her from the whole world—and how he wished he could—which meant he had a front row seat to her difficult swallow and her shaky breathing.

“I—” she started. “I am happy for them.”

“Me too,” he agreed quietly.

“But I—”

Cassian tightened his hold around her as she trailed off. It wasn’t exactly comfortable; wasn’t soft or gentle. It was a little rough—almost enough to hurt, but not quite. And Cassian knew she liked it. She’d admit it to him, once. She loved the reminder. That this was real. That he was there.

“You feel like it’s a punch to the gut?”

Her head turned toward his—as least as much as it could since he was still behind her. She nodded.

“I know,” he murmured, half smiling. “Me too.”

Later that night, they were lying in bed—pretending they were both perfectly undisturbed with the news. Nesta was holding a book that he knew she wasn’t reading, because she was turning the pages faster than she did when she actually read. He didn’t mind. The woofing of the pages anchored him. Made his mind focus on the present, instead of their tomorrow, and it was as good as it could get right then.

Nesta closed her book with a sigh, placed it on her nightstand and shut off the light—despite the fact that he was still holding a book himself.

It didn’t really matter, though. He wasn’t really reading, either.

He gave up, and for once, opted to lie on his back instead of holding her close.

She was the one to break the silence eventually,

“What do you think they’ll look like?” Cassian didn’t answer. But he didn’t even need her to elaborate to understand who she was referring to. “Their kid.” She paused, the only sound in the room his aching heart, beating a little unsteadily. “Eli looks like Feyre,” she said. “Save for the hair, maybe. And Nyx—you’d think Rhys had him all by himself with how much they look alike.”

A small smile spread on Cassian’s face at her words—because, yeah. She had a point. And oh, how he wished he had had him all by himself.

Nesta continued,

“So if they have a kid together… What do you think they’d look like?”

But Cassian didn’t humor her.

He wasn’t interested in humoring her right now.

He moved, shifting on his side and giving her no warning before pulling her close to his chest, enveloping her as best as he could. She didn’t protest.

“What do you think ours would look like?” he asked instead.

And that’s what was really on her mind, right?

A hopeful thought.

One she was too scared to voice.

He kissed her neck softly.

“I’d like a girl,” he said. “One who is just like you—save maybe for the frown. I could do without the frown.”

Nesta huffed a small laugh.

“But she’d have your strength. And your fierceness. And your—”

“You wouldn’t survive it,” she snorted. “If we had a girl.”

“Oh, I know,’ he agreed. “But I can’t wait for you to gang up on me.”

He kissed the smile dancing on the corner of her mouth, his lips lingering a little longer than necessary.

“I’d like a boy,” Nesta admitted quietly. “I… I don’t know. Seeing Nyx with Feyre… I think I’d really like a boy.”

Cassian moved to kiss her hair then, before he tucked her head below his chin.

“We’ll have both,” he said. “We’ll have as many kids as we want.”

Nesta didn’t answer, and for the first time in a long while, Cassian couldn’t really make his voice sound convincing.

They both fell quiet, though their thoughts were the same.

They were going to the doctor’s the next day.

They’d learn if something was wrong with either of them.

They weren’t sure they wanted to know.

The doctor was stalling. Her face was a little too gentle and a little too kind. Her hands were clasped together a little too tightly, too, and Cassian knew, even before she started to speak, that he wouldn’t like the words that would come out of her mouth.

“There is not only one way,” she said in that infuriatingly soft voice, “of having children. There—“

“Just tell us,” Nesta snapped, a little too harshly for what would be deemed acceptable, but Cassian couldn’t even blame her. “Just tell us what we already know.”

The doctor seemed surprised. By her tone, by her closed-off face, by her words, maybe. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Opened again, closed again.

Nesta was growing more and more irritated by the minute, he knew, so he gently took her hand in his. She removed her hand immediately.

“Tell us,” she repeated, folding her arms over her chest and leaning back in her chest in a carefree manner that was the exact opposite of what she felt, “I can’t have children, right?”

Against his better judgement, Cassian wasn’t able to utter a single word. To be fair, he wasn’t even sure he was still breathing. His chest was tightening with every passing minute and his palms were sweaty. He tried to ignore the fact that he only wanted to hold her close—that he only wanted to go back to the day before, and the night before, where they could still have careful hope and quiet happiness.

Across from them, the doctor seemed to hesitate. Her eyes lingered on Nesta, before they glanced quickly at Cassian, then back at Nesta again.

“No,” she said flatly. And maybe Nesta had infuriated her, because long gone were the niceties or the carefulness. Or perhaps she simply knew neither of them wanted this kind of care. “You can,” she said, her eyes solely trained on Nesta.

There was a beat of silence, during which all Cassian could feel was his heart beating and pounding and bursting. During which he felt air leave his lungs in a sigh—a relieved and happy and—

“You, on the other hand,” the doctor turned toward him this time, “I am very sorry, Sir. You can’t have children.”

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

The room was quiet. So quiet for his mind. So quiet for his heart. And for his soul.

It was as if they were all holding their breaths. The doctor didn’t tear her eyes away from him—and the gentleness was back again on her face and he hated it. And Nesta was still as a rock beside him. Unmoving and unbreathing and absolutely frozen in place.

Nesta, who had wanted children even before they’d met.

Nesta, who had first broached the topic because she wanted, no matter how much she feared it, to have a family with him.

Nesta, who had freaked out about becoming a mom, but had cried even harder when she’d learned she wasn’t pregnant that day.

Nesta, to whom he would never be able to offer what she desired.

He felt sick. Sick to his stomach, sick to his mind, sick to his heart.

You can’t have children.

So this was it.

He was the one to ruin it.

Nesta was the very best thing that had ever happened to him, and he was the thing that would ruin them.

He had always known he would be.

Slowly, Cassian closed his eyes.

He knew the doctor had started speaking again—about other options and other couples and other ways to, and maybe you can—

But it didn’t matter right now.

Nothing mattered.

And they weren’t moving, but he swore he could feel Nesta drawing back and away from him.

Or maybe it was him—causing the gap between them all by himself.

Retreating into himself because there was no way he was holding her back from what she wanted.

From what she deserved.

The buzzing in his mind was still loud when he opened his eyes again.

And he managed to school his expression into neutrality for the remainder of the appointment.

After a few moments of watching but not listening to whatever nonsense the doctor was uttering, he felt Nesta’s cold hand take his.

But the hold was burning him and tearing his heart apart. He removed his hand from hers and clasped both hands together.

He wasn’t sure he could do that.

Wasn’t sure he could live through the hole in his heart, only widening with every passing second.

The sounds of their footsteps were like a ticking clock in his head as they made their way to the car silently.

He took the keys, didn’t ask, didn’t offer anything.

Nesta didn’t either.

And they stayed like that, driving in silence and both screaming internally for a few moments until Nesta said, her tone flat and cold and—dead, almost,

“It’s okay.”

It wasn’t.

She said, “We’ll be fine.”

They wouldn’t.

She said, “I don’t want to have children if it’s not like that.”

But he couldn’t give her that.

He couldn’t give her what she wanted.

Chapter Text

When the car finally came to a stop next to their house and Nesta started unbuckling her belt, Cassian didn’t move. His hands were still gripping the steering wheel—a little too hard. His knuckles were turning white from the strength with which he was holding it and the only thing he could focus on was the way he couldn’t even feel it. He couldn’t feel his hands hurting or his palms feeling a little numb.

He couldn’t feel any of it.

“Are you coming?” Nesta asked, when she noticed he hadn’t moved a single inch. She was already half outside, glancing over her shoulder at him.

“No.”

“Cassian, you—”

“I have to go to the gym,” he mumbled before she could finish her sentence.

For a moment, she observed him, but he couldn’t see this, either. He could only see the inside of his mind right now.

And it wasn’t exactly a nice place to be at the moment.

Maybe Nesta could see how much he needed this, or maybe she could guess. Maybe she simply knew, because she knew him that well.

He had no idea.

No matter what it was, she nodded—only a tip of her head—before she said, “Alright.”

He felt her hand on his bicep, squeezing lightly in a move he guessed was meant to be reassuring.

For once, it was anything but.

“See you later?” she asked.

He didn’t answer.

And he knew he was unfair, too. He knew all she wanted was to be there for him, and all she needed was for him to talk to her.

But he just couldn’t do it.

He had no other choice right now.

She closed the door gently behind her, and Cassian didn’t wait for her to disappear inside of their house before he was driving away.

Despite what he had told her, he didn’t go to the gym.

It was still early in the afternoon, and he wasn’t near ready to see faces and smiles and to play nice right now.

Instead, he drove to the outskirts of the city. The drive was long—one hour? two? He didn’t notice. He wasn’t thinking, wasn’t really able to focus on anything at the moment.

It was weird, this feeling. Like everything inside of him was silent. And yet, everything inside of him was so, so loud. He didn’t think he’d ever felt like this.

He’d been down before. He’d been lower than down, had seen lower than down with Rhys, too.

But this was different.

This was him. This was his failure. This was his disappointment and despair.

This was all his.

He only stopped when he found a quiet, secluded place. He’d came here in the past—at least somewhere around here. The wild, almost a forest with how many trees bordered the city.

It was empty and busy at the same time. It was full of life and full of death, too.

Full of noise and full of quiet.

Just like him.

At first, he’d thought he just needed the peace—whatever he could find right now. He was desperately seeking the feeling of being alone—really, truly, alone.

He had thought this would suffice.

It didn’t.

And when it was too much to bear, Cassian did what he did best—he threw punches.

It was probably bad, he thought, to throw punches at a tree that had probably existed far longer than he had. And perhaps he would have stopped, if only he was able to hear his thoughts. To process them.

But he couldn’t.

He could hear nothing in the quiet of his mind and in the buzzing of his thoughts. It was only a tangle of screams and a bundle of emptiness.

It was everything and nothing at the same time.

So he threw punches, and chose not to feel the burning of his skin as it collided with the bark. He threw punches and chose not to listen to his heart screaming inside his chest. He threw punches and chose not to see the tears blurring his vision.

His chest was heaving. His breath was catching in his throat. His jaw was clenched and his teeth hurting with how much he was gritting them.

I think I’d really like a boy.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t stop for a single minute. Not when he was barely catching his breath, and not when he was barely seeing anything. Not when he was missing more and more his target, with how slippery the bark was getting—and why the hell was it getting slippery right now?

I am very sorry, Sir. You can’t have children.

He punched harder.

And it was perfect, he thought, that he had come here instead of the gym because no punching bag could have taken his anger right now. No punching bag could have taken his agony.

I don’t want to have children if it’s not like that.

Cassian closed his eyes, and punched and punched and punched.

He punched until he couldn’t punch anymore. He punched until he was forced to catch his breath, chest heaving as if he’d been running a marathon and he was losing his mind (and maybe he was) ; eyes burning as if they were aching with tears and with emptiness and with this feeling in his chest threatening to swallow him whole (and maybe they were) ; hands burning as if he’d torn them apart with all the punching he’d been doing (and maybe he had).

For a minute, he just breathed. As best as he could. As little as his chest was allowing him to. And if he couldn’t open his eyes yet, it was okay.

If he couldn’t hear anything other than his memories and his failures yet, it was okay.

If he couldn’t feel anything other than his fucking misery yet, it was okay.

It had to be.

It was late when he came home. And if he was being honest, he had almost not gotten back home at all.

He could have gone to any of his family’s house, or to his gym, or absolutely anywhere to avoid facing Nesta and her pained eyes and her deceived stare. To avoid disappointing her again.

He wasn’t even strong enough to do that.

Despite the late hour, she was sitting on a couch when he came back, curled up under a blanket. Cassian didn’t even notice that her cheeks were a little wet with tears or that she wasn’t holding any book, like she usually did. He didn’t, because he made a beeline for the kitchen, and didn’t offer anything to her at all.

“What happened?”

Cassian didn’t answer. He didn’t turn toward her, even as she stepped closer and took one of his hands in hers. Very gently, she turned it with the palm down to reveal the blood, mixed with bruises and shards Cassian had barely noticed himself.

“Fuck, Cass,” she breathed.

He tried to pull back his hand but she held strong, and he had no other choice but to give in when he had no strength left in him at the moment.

She made a low sound in her throat, but didn’t offer anything. Slowly, she pulled at his hand until she could place it near the sink, before she opened the spray of water and let it splash over his skin. He let her, only focusing on the reddened water slowly disappearing with each passing second.

If only his problems could disappear as quickly, he thought. If only his feelings could, too.

After she did the exact same thing with his second hand, she led him toward a stool at their kitchen island.

“Sit,” she said flatly. “I’ll be right back.”

Cassian had absolutely no strength to fight her on this.

He had absolutely no strength at all.

He almost wondered how he had gotten back home at all.

Like she had promised, Nesta was back only after a few minutes, an emergency kit in one hand and a towel in the other. She placed all of the items on the counter before coming to stand between his parted legs, and slowly—diligently—started working.

The alcohol he assumed she was applying to his skin was burning (at least he guessed it was burning—it’s not like he could feel it) and the soft pads she placed on top of his knuckles were barely soothing it. But her hands were gentle, assured and Cassian couldn’t pinpoint why, exactly, this made his eyes water all over again.

Or maybe he knew exactly why.

He had let her down.

Repeatedly.

And here she was, taking care of him as if he’d barely done anything wrong at all.

“Where have you been?” she murmured after a few moments of silence.

She had started enveloping one of his hands in a white gauze. When he didn’t answer, she said, “I know it’s not the gym. I called and they told me you weren’t there.”

In a very slow motion, he opened his eyes to find hers. She was already looking back at him. Her hands on his had stopped moving by now, and the pain in her eyes was too much to look at.

“Cass,” she murmured. “It’s—” She trailed off, swallowing with a little more difficulty than she should, and he wondered if she had stopped lying to herself, too.

It’s okay, she’d told him in the car.

Only it wasn’t.

It wasn’t fucking okay.

She had probably realized it, too, by now.

Instead of finishing her sentence, Nesta turned back her attention to his hands, finishing the wrap with more care than he deserved. She secured it before she did the exact same thing with his other hand, and only when she was done, did she look up to him again.

She placed a hand on his cheek and brushed her thumb over it—once, twice, thrice. Cassian wasn’t able to tear his eyes away from hers even if he tried.

“It’s not your fault,” she breathed, her own eyes glinting with tears.

He deeply wanted to disagree with her. Deeply wanted to tell her exactly why yes it was absolutely his fault. All his fault. Solely his fault.

Only his fault.

He was the reason they wouldn’t have a family.

He was the reason they wouldn’t have a little girl with her eyes or a baby boy with his.

He was the only reason.

Nesta brought her other hand to his opposite cheek just as her forehead met his.

“Cassian,” she said—almost a plea in itself. “This is not your fault. You did nothing wrong you—” Softly, she shook her head against his. “You have nothing to feel bad about.”

But he couldn’t believe that.

He couldn’t believe that for one second.

When he still kept silent, still didn’t offer anything and still didn’t move, either, Nesta said,

“I love you.”

And for the first time in his life, he hated the sound of that on her lips.

He hated it with all he had.

That night, Cassian didn’t sleep. As soon as Nesta’s breathing evened out, and as soon as he knew she was asleep, he untangled himself from her—she hadn’t let him stay away after she’d dragged him into bed.

He settled on the couch and let his eyes—wide, opened, unblinking and unable to close for too long—stare at the ceiling of their living room. At all the little details he could find there—all the small holes and the few spots and every single thing he could focus on that would give his mind the smallest reprieve from the words and the sounds that had played on repeat on his mind for the last hours.

(You can’t have children.)

(I don’t want to have children if it’s not like that.)

(Nesta crying. Nesta sniffling.)

(Worse even, Nesta laughing. Would she ever be able to laugh again after that?)

(It’s not your fault.)

(I love you.)

Cassian didn’t remember drifting off to sleep. To be quite honest, he had thought it impossible, after the evening he’d had—after the day he’d had.

But when he woke, he was still lying on the couch, and Nesta was sound asleep next to him, nestled in his arms.

Apparently, she hadn’t been too happy about waking up alone, then.

Gently, he pulled her closer, breathing her in and allowing himself this moment. She was peaceful.

He found comfort in that.

He, on the other hand, felt as restless as the day before.

His head was aching and his breaths felt shallow.

And yet, for a moment, he managed to pretend. He managed to pretend it was all okay. It was all alright.

He managed to pretend he could forget all about it, as long as he kept holding Nesta close; as long as he kept her protected with his arms.

Cassian began to observe every inch of her face. He’d always found her gorgeous. But there was something, with Nesta asleep, that made his heart melt every single time.

The frown on her face was nowhere to be seen, and the glare she so often had was hidden by her closed eyelids—everything that made Nesta… Nesta.

But her face was relaxed and he could spot each freckle on her skin.

He could see the delicate lines of her face and the slight pink on her cheeks. He could see the way her eyebrows—always perfectly shaped—were designed to enlighten her beautiful eyes.

He could look at every single inch of her and never get bored with it.

Eventually, when she started frowning a little—brows softly furrowing—and when her eyelids pressed tighter, he knew. She was starting to stir. She would be awake soon.

“Hi,” she murmured in her sleep after a few moments.

Her eyes were still closed, and her voice heavy with exhaustion, but her breath was hot on his skin. He brought her closer to his chest in response.

“You weren’t in bed,” she breathed, her head finding that place under his chin as if it had always been its home.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“You were sleeping here,” she countered.

Without meaning to, Cassian huffed a small, almost nonexistent laugh. It wasn’t that her words were funny—not at all. But there was just something in her tone. Something that told him how much she was determined to call him out on any of his bullshit, today.

Slowly, he moved his head to be able to kiss the top of hers. He lingered there, mouth pressed to her scalp without moving, for a few minutes.

And it was another few moments before he offered, very quietly,

“I wanted to be alone.”

“No,” she said, very simply.

Again, Cassian couldn’t really suppress his small—even smaller, actually—laugh.

“No?”

“No,” she repeated. “You don’t get to do that.”

If her tone sounded snappish, he knew better. She was determined. She wasn’t letting room for anything other than her certainty.

“You don’t get to wallow in self-pity, and believe you’re alone in this, Cass,” she said.

He closed his eyes.

Already, he was feeling his heartbeat start to quicken and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that. Not right now. Not in that small bubble of reprieve he had found.

Not when she was in his arms and he didn’t want to let go.

Ever.

“It’s bullshit,” she said, her breath sending a burning feeling on his chest that was almost too much to bear by now. “It’s absolute bullshit but there’s nothing we can do about it.”

Nothing we can do about it?

But Cassian could think of many things they could do about it.

He had spent the night thinking of every single thing he could do about it.

He had almost made his decision before drifting off to sleep—before he’d woken up with her in his arms and had not been able to resist his selfishness.

“It’s okay,” she continued—her voice still as ascertain. “We’re gonna keep being happy, just like that.”

It was funny, Cassian thought. He didn’t recall ever hearing Nesta admitting she was happy.

Sure, he believed she was—believed she had been, maybe. And sure, a part of him had, once, thought he was part of that happiness.

But Nesta wasn’t someone to communicate easily. She wasn’t someone to offer such information—especially information that would make her feel vulnerable and… seen.

And yet, here she was—openly admitting to how happy she was (had been?).

Now, of all times.

So—yeah.

It was funny, Cassian thought.

That it’d take something like that to hear this from her mouth.

After what was probably too long, Cassian said, his voice rough,

“I think,” he swallowed. “We should—”

“Don’t you dare,” she interrupted him. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“You don’t even know—”

“Of course I know what you wanted to say.”

She pulled away then, only to glare at him, probably even worse than she ever had before.

“I know what you wanted to say,” she repeated. “And I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear any of it.”

Cassian sighed, a little defeated, but he had no other choice but to listen to her, really, when she was talking to him like that.

“We’re not breaking up because we can’t have children, Cassian,” she said firmly.

And he would have laughed, if only he weren’t feeling so sick to his stomach.

We can’t have children.

But it wasn’t exactly true, was it?

He couldn’t have children.

Her, on the other hand—

“Stop it,” she scolded. “Stop this right now.”

He blinked, not even surprised she knew where his thoughts had been.

“I just—”

“No, Cassian,” Nesta interrupted him—again—her voice even firmer. “Don’t you dare.” Her eyes were brimming with tears, now, and if he had thought he’d felt like a failure before, he was now realizing how wrong he had been.

Because those tears, and the hurt he could see on her beautiful face—it was him. He was the one causing it and there was absolutely nothing he could do to make it better.

Nesta shifted. She straightened on the couch without looking away from him and cupped both his cheeks with her hands.

“Cassian,” she said, her voice steady even when her breaths weren’t. “I need you to listen to me.”

He didn’t answer, and didn’t nod, either, but she had his full attention.

Of course, she did—she always did.

Had always managed to captivate him, ever since that very first day. Ever since that very first kiss.

Always.

She swallowed, and leaned in until her face was only mere inches from his.

“I love you,” she said. “I love you, and I don’t—” She paused, closing her eyes for a minute and taking a breath—shakier than the others he had heard her take. “I don’t think you realize,” she said, “what it means for me to say that. What it means for me to feel that way, I—”

Again, she swallowed. And this time, Cassian recognized it for what it was.

She was trying to swallow down her emotions, trying to swallow down all the feelings coursing through her body and making her feel things when she wasn’t able to process all of them.

“I’m not the best communicator,” she said. “I have trust issues, and—parents issues, and—relationship issues, and—”

She trailed off, shaking her head slightly.

“Gods, I don’t even know how you can be with me, when I come with so much baggage.”

Had it been any other time, any other moment, Cassian was sure he would have laughed. He would have chuckled, and teased her (probably something about always loving the challenge, or being a heavy lifter anyway) and wrapped her in his arms. He would have kissed her everywhere, kissed her senseless, kissed her until she was sick of it—and then kissed her some more. He would have told her he loved her, told her he’d been in love with her for much longer than he had ever admitted, and he would have loved to see her eye roll at the admission.

As it was, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do any of it.

All he could do was listen to her, wait for her next words—wait for what he needed to hear from her, even when he didn’t know exactly what it was.

“Anyways,” she breathed. “I have issues. I’m not the easiest person to be with, and yet you’ve never made it feel like it was…” she shrugged, and settled on, “hard.”

Cassian furrowed his brows, just a little because he couldn’t imagine loving her in any other way.

It had always been easy, loving Nesta. Always been easier than should be possible, perhaps. Easier than breathing, sometimes.

“I would have loved to have a family, Cass,” she breathed after a few moments. “But I think…” she took a shaky breath, and as she did, a tear slowly trailed down her cheek. “I think there’s something you don’t understand.”

Her hands, still splayed wide on his cheeks, moved a little. One of them trailed upwards to tangle in his long hair and brush, very softly. He didn’t think he had ever felt anything more soothing.

“I didn’t just want a family, Cass,” she said. “I wanted a family with you. I don’t—I don’t want to do this—any of this—if it isn’t with you.”

“But you—”

“No,” she shook her head again, the movement making her tears trail and trail and trail down. Again and again and again. “You don’t understand,” she repeated. Her voice wasn’t loud—in fact, it was so low and so soft it could have been a murmur. But her tone was so firm she could have been yelling, for all he knew.

She paused. Her eyes snapped closed but it did nothing to keep her tears from falling, and all Cassian could do was track their movement. He found it excruciatingly painful, but he found it captivating, too.

“I wanted to be a mom,” she said softly after a few moments of silence. “I wanted to get pregnant, and I wanted to give birth, and I wanted to have kids.”

Both her hands slid downwards to find his heart—his stuttering and wailing heart. He wondered if she could feel the way it was beating unevenly. The way it was hurting him with each beating.

“But I don’t want any of this if it’s not with you,” she whispered. “None of this is worth it if it’s not with you.”

“You—”

“Cassian,” she sighed—more heavily than she had since the beginning of their conversation. “You’re not listening—”

But he was. He was listening to each of her words and tucking them neatly in a corner of his mind. In a very deep place in his heart. In a parcel of his soul.

He was listening, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to believe.

“I want to be with you,” she said—and this time, her tone was louder. “I want to be with you no matter what. In sickness, in health, in any in-between we can find. I want to be with you when we’re happy and I want to be with you when we’re sad and miserable. I want to be with you and I will be with you until the fucking world blows up because I know I’ll survive it. I’ll survive anything—” she paused, swallowed. “I’ll survive anything if we are together. If you stay with me.”

“Nes,” he breathed, the only broken sound he could manage. He closed his eyes, trying to fumble with his words when he didn’t even know what he was thinking. When he didn’t even know what he was feeling. “You—I don’t—”

“I want to get married.”

His eyes snapped opened.

Because—what now?

“I want to get married,” she repeated. “Because your silly ass won’t understand me and how serious I am until we are tied together.”

Cassian swallowed.

“You don’t believe in marriage.”

“I never said that.”

“You said Rhys and Feyre were ridiculous for crying this much over—”

“I said,” she corrected pointedly, “That there was no need to get this emotional over a fucking wedding when they’ve been through that much. I said if I were them, I wouldn’t need this to know I found the right person.”

Instead of answering, this time, Cassian paused.

There were words, on the tip of his tongue—threatening to pass his lips, but he couldn’t let them right now.

Apparently, Nesta could hear them anyway, as she said—voice softer than ever,

“Yes, Cass,” she leaned in until her forehead met his gently. “I have. I have found the right person and I’m not letting you go, just because you think you’ve fucked up for something you have no control over.”

His hands found her waist and dragged her a little closer as if on instinct. He wasn’t sure he could really breathe if she wasn’t breathing alongside him—breathing the same air as him—and he wasn’t sure he wanted to anyway. Nesta came willingly, almost splayed on his chest though her head found the crook of his neck instead and his hand cradled the back of her head.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed, allowing a few tears to spill out of his eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry, Nes.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” she placed a kiss on the skin of his neck. “Nothing.”

He strongly wanted to disagree. Strongly wanted to tell her how much he felt like all his life had been leading up to this moment—making all the wrong choices to lead up to this disappointment.

He didn’t.

He guessed she wouldn’t like that anyway.

Instead, he took a few deep breaths and tried to focus on everything he could find comfort in at the moment.

Her body in his arms.

Her face in his neck.

Her heartbeat just above his own.

Cassian wasn’t sure something could soothe him more than this.

More than the reassurance.

More than the knowledge that despite everything, she wanted him. Despite everything, she felt happy with him. Despite everything, she loved him.

“I was serious, by the way,” she murmured after a few moments of silence.

“About what?”

“About getting married.”

He couldn’t help it—Cassian snorted. And in response, he only pressed her tighter to his chest.

“I’m not getting married to you, Nes. Not like that.”

“You—”

“I’m not getting married just because you can prove a point.”

“I’m—”

“No,” Cassian interrupted her.

For the first time that morning, his voice had found its usual strength.

And it was a wonder, too, he thought, that this woman had managed to bring him back to himself, with a few simple words.

Simple, but precious.

That she’d managed to drag him out of his head and to warm a part of his soul he had torn apart yesterday. Repeatedly.

Softly, he used his thumb and forefinger to grip her chin and gently tilt her head up so he could meet her eyes. His hand was still carefully wrapped in the bandage Nesta had tucked them in yesterday and the thought only made his heart beat a little faster for her.

“When I marry you, Nes,” he said, “It’ll be because we are so in love and so happy we have no other choice but to throw an outrageous party you would usually snort at.”

She rolled her eyes at him but he ignored it and leaned in for a small kiss.

“When I marry you,” he repeated. “I want it to be as sappy as possible, and as ridiculous as possible. You said Rhys and Feyre were ridiculous for crying that much?” He didn’t wait for her to answer before he continued, “When I marry you, I’m gonna be crying like a baby because I’ll be marrying the woman I am desperately in love with.”

She huffed softly against him.

“I’m not marrying you just so you can prove me I was wrong in reacting the way that I have,” he said with finality. “I’ll marry you out of pure and unconditional love, or I won’t marry you at all.”

Nesta rolled her eyes at him, and something about the gesture healed a part of his soul.

He smiled his first real smile that day.

“I love you,” he said softly. “I love you, Nesta Archeron.”

“I know,” she replied, a hint of mischief in her eyes, even under the pain fighting its way with all the other emotions he could read there. “I love you, too.”

Life went on.

Of course it did.

Cassian kept going to his gym, kept training Feyre—kept suspecting she was pregnant, even though her smile seemed a little tight sometimes and her eyes a little pained. He kept training with Rhys, too, and joining Azriel for coffees.

He kept showing up at Nesta’s bookstore, and kept showering her with kisses every time he saw her.

Her usual attitude was nowhere to be found—at least not with him.

He noticed it, though—how she was acting different with him. How she was less irritable than usual, with him. Less snappish, with him.

But only with him, he knew.

He noticed, too, that for all the way she was less with him she was more with everybody else.

And the pain in her eyes—it didn’t fade away like the days did. It didn’t disappear like the coldness of winter.

It didn’t leave her—ever.

He was the one to tell her Feyre and Rhys were, indeed, pregnant.

That day, as soon as he’d learned the news—had confirmed the news with Feyre, really—he told Nesta.

He didn’t want anybody else to be the one to tell her.

He didn’t want her to face the hurt without expecting it, either.

And that night, he realized how she fell silent.

He couldn’t blame her.

He fell a little silent, too. Locked inside of his own head—with thoughts of things he probably shouldn’t have thought about.

But life went on.

Life went on, and Cassian convinced himself this was okay.

Life went on, and Cassian convinced himself he didn’t have to talk about this.

Life went on, and Cassian convinced himself they could live, just like that.

They could pretend and act as if they were happy, when really they were screaming. They could make love, and they could have sex, and they could fuck and somehow not talk about anything that mattered. They could live on, and move on with their lives—and not talking about it wouldn’t change a thing anyway, so why would they?

He convinced himself they could do it.

And Nesta didn’t say anything, either, so he guessed she had convinced herself of it, too.

Life went on.

And so did they.

Or—did they?

Cassian still thought about it.

More than he was willing to admit.

Every time he saw Feyre, he could admit to a little pinch in the heart.

A little punch right in the stomach.

A little tear through his soul.

Every time he saw Rhys, he could admit to feeling helpless, and frustrated, and jealous.

And what did it make him, really, when all he had ever wanted was for his brother to be happy?

When all he had ever wanted was for Rhys to have the life he deserved?

Every time he saw Nesta, he could admit to feeling like he had failed the better part of himself.

Like he was missing something, and he wasn’t sure there was anything he could do to make it better.

So life went on, and they wanted to believe they did, too.

But they didn’t.

Of course they didn’t.

Neither of them really thought they could.

Chapter Text

“Get up.”

Cassian lifted his head to Feyre, a cocked eyebrow, but didn’t budge.

She was standing right in front of his desk, hands on her hips and he would have probably told her how funny she looked—all bundled in a sweater too big for her to hide the bump so evident underneath—if only his eyes didn’t linger a little too long on said bump. And if only his heart didn’t sink down to his stomach along with it.

“Get up,” she repeated. “Don’t make me drag your ass over here.”

This time, Cassian huffed a laugh. And it wasn’t even fake.

He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest.

“I don’t know what makes you believe you could, Feyfey,” he said with the best detached voice he could muster.

“Oh, I could think of many ways to drag your sorry ass right here,” she said, finger pointed down to where she was standing in emphasis. “And believe me, you don’t want to know any of them.”

Cassian snorted, but this time, he decided to humor her. Slowly, he stood up and rounded his desk to join her in the middle of the room.

He had never noticed how smaller she was.

And he didn’t know if he was noticing now because she was, indeed, or if maybe it was the fact that she was now carrying a baby, and it was all he could think about, somehow.

Especially now that she could no longer hide it.

“Yes, ma’am?”

For a minute, she observed him, eyes narrowed on him—and he had never realized, either, how she could look alike with Nesta.

She said, “You’re a dumb fool.”

Cassian huffed a humorless laugh. “Nice. Thanks.”

“I mean it,” she said, frowning a little, now. “You’re a dumb fool, and I need you to fucking wake up.”

“I don’t—”

“No,” she interrupted him, her tone scolding. “Don’t you dare say anything. I don’t want to hear it.” Cassian opened his mouth to speak again—to ask, really, what the fuck this was about—but the glare she shot him was enough to silence him.

She continued, “You’ve never let me down,” she nodded, as if convincing herself with her own words. “Not once, Cass,” she said, “And I’m not going to let you down either. So we’re going to talk about this, whether you want it or—”

Oh.

Well, perhaps she had been right, then.

Perhaps he was nothing more than a dumb fool, indeed, because somehow he hadn’t thought she’d be talking about this and—yeah.

He really didn’t want to talk about this.

He had managed not to talk about this for the last month, and he definitely didn’t want to talk about this now.

Especially with a pregnant woman.

A pregnant—angry—woman.

“This fucking sucks,” she said, with a little more force and sharpness than would be appropriate for her words. “And you don’t deserve this. But you deserve more than to let yourself, and Nesta drown in guilt, too.”

Cassian clenched his jaw.

“We’re not—”

“You’re fucking miserable,” she almost shouted at him. “Fuck, Cassian, even Nyx asked me what was going on with you two, you don’t think people notice?”

Clenching his hands into fists was not near enough to contain his rising—raised?—anger by now. He was fucking tired of talking about this. he was fucking tired of thinking about this, every second of every day, and not having a second of reprieve.

His mind wouldn’t let him.

The least he could hope for was for his best friend to let him.

Apparently, she wasn’t planning on it.

“I am sorry,” she continued, her voice breaking on the last word. “I am so, so sorry for you two, but don’t drive yourselves—”

He didn’t let her finish. He couldn’t really care less about being nice right now.

“What,” he said flatly. “You’re allowed to get depressed, and to cry all day, every day for weeks and to have a meltdown and to—” he clenched his jaw. “And to fucking not say anything to anyone because you had a miscarriage, but we’re not?”

“I’m not—”

“You don’t have a monopoly on pain, Feyre.”

He was being unfair. He was being the worst fucking asshole he knew of, and somehow, he didn’t care.

He couldn’t, right now.

“You’re not the only one to have a shitty life,” he said, “or a shitty experience with being pregnant, or a fucking shitty past. You got to be happy,” he nodded toward her stomach with a little more disdain than he meant to, and he couldn’t even care about this, either. “Good for you. I’m glad you get to have a perfect little family. Not everybody can. Get over it.”

“Bullshit.”

Cassian blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“Bullshit,” she repeated. Her eyes were brimming with tears—tears he knew he was responsible for—but her voice was firm and unwavering. “You get to be angry, and you get to be hurt, and sad, and you get to be an asshole all you want,” she said, “but you don’t get to accuse me of anything. That’s not you.”

He wasn’t sure she was right.

He wasn’t sure he knew himself right then.

“You never once gave up on me,” she managed to say through the tears trailing down her cheeks. “You made me train in the middle of the living room even when I didn’t want to talk to anybody and you pushed me through it until I was ready to open up again. Now it’s my turn to do the same.”

Cassian rolled his eyes, just as she raised both her hands, palms open facing him.

“You need to let it out.”

“I don’t know what you expect me to do here,” Cassian muttered through clenched teeth. “I’m not training with you right now.”

“No,” she agreed. “I’m not training. You are. You’ve taken my punches too many times to count. My turn to take yours.”

The scoff that left Cassian’s lips was absolutely uncontrollable. “I’m not punching you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“I don’t care,” she retorted, unimpressed.

“Because you’re pregnant.”

“I can take it,” Feyre moved her hands in emphasis, face absolutely serious. “Go on.”

“I’m not—”

“Do it,” she snapped, “Or I’m gonna start punching you and you’ll start freaking out and have to deal with Rhys when he learns about it.”

Cassian made a show of rolling his eyes. He didn’t move though, only appraised her with a stare he hoped conveyed every inch of his annoyance.

Because—yes. He was entitled to this. He was entitled to being annoyed, and being pissed, and being upset. He was entitled to it, and no one could convince him otherwise.

But Feyre was determined, apparently, and Cassian probably should have known better, too.

For she was an Archeron, after all, and no matter how different she could be from Nesta, determination was definitely something they both shared. She took a step forward and shoved at his chest—hard.

Harder than he thought possible. Harder than he thought she could while being pregnant.

And when he did nothing—only blinked at her, and blinked again—she did it again.

And again.

And again.

And—

“Shit,” he hissed when she raised her fist, this time. “You—”

“Fight back,” she ordered, not lowering her fist for one second. “Fight back right now.”

“I—”

“Fight back,” she repeated, and this time she launched her punch at him, aiming it right for his stomach—exactly like he had taught her. Cassian had no other choice, he countered her move—as gently as he could—but didn’t suppress his groan.

“Fuck, Feyre,” he said through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to fight with you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Slowly, she took a single step backward, appraising him with the same expression on her face.

“In that case,” she said, “You just have to punch at my hands.”

She raised her hands in emphasis, much like she had done a few minutes ago before she’d started punching him herself, and Cassian thought she must have known exactly what she was doing all along, because of course, she’d ended up getting what she wanted.

He sighed softly, a little defeated, and said very carefully, “I’m not gonna go hard.”

“Perfect,” she shrugged a shoulder. “I just want you to move.”

His jaw ticked once, twice, before he decided the finality in her expression wouldn’t let him do anything other than what she had planned. He swallowed, and slowly—so, so slowly—raised his fist. He let it collide with her opened palm, though the motion was way too slow, way too soft, way too gentle.

Feyre knew it, too. But she didn’t voice it and for that, he could only be relieved.

She was still watching him expectantly, not budging, so he continued—throwing gentle punch after gentle punch at her hands. It was nothing like he usually trained. Nothing like he usually needed to get things out of his system. But there was something about doing it—doing it with Feyre, doing it under her scrutiny, doing it because she had made him do it—that made him keep punching and punching until it actually felt good to punch.

He had probably been at it for a few dozen minutes silently when Feyre said, her voice soft and quiet, but certain all the same,

“You have options.”

And Cassian didn’t even mean to, but his fist collided with her hand harder than it had before.

“You could get a sperm donor,” she continued, her voice still as soft. He knew her gaze was trained on him, but Cassian couldn’t get his own eyes to look at her. He didn’t want to see the worry and the pity on her face—let alone hear her voice. But he couldn’t even get himself to tell her to stop.

He couldn’t even get himself to stop his own hands, now that they had started throwing fists and now that it felt so fucking good.

“I’ve also—” he could hear the little hesitation in her voice as she paused. “I’ve read about something. It’s called.. IUI. They basically take your sperm and—” Feyre didn’t even flinch when his first met her palm a little too hard. He clenched his teeth to try and calm his rising anger—the last thing he wanted to do was to hurt her—but he also wasn’t sure he was able to calm down when she was saying things like that. “I don’t know, they kinda… wash it,” she continued with a small laugh, as if whatever the hell she was saying was laughable. “You’d have to talk to a doctor to check if that’s possible for you, though, but—”

Feyre didn’t finish her sentence. And Cassian couldn’t tell if it was because she didn’t even know how to finish her thought, or if was because he retreated all at once. He took a few steps away from her, retreating until his back met the hard wall of his office and he let himself slide on the floor.

He couldn’t care less about letting her see him like this. She had already seen him cry anyway. And she probably knew what was going on inside his head better than he probably knew how to express.

He was panting—again—and his eyes were burning—again—and he was feeling like a fucking failure—again.

He didn’t think it was a good thing, talking about it.

Because talking about it—it always left him feeling like this.

And he hated feeling like this.

It wasn’t long before he heard her small footsteps approach. Cassian opened his eyes just in time to see her crouching down in front of him.

“And then there’s adoption,” she said very softly.

Cassian shook his head.

“We don’t want that,” he said—his voice raspy and raw.

And he meant all of that. He meant none of that. But perhaps he should have used more words—if only he had been able to—because Feyre said,

“Why not? You don’t think it’d feel like your children, if you were to adopt?”

He didn’t answer. Closed his eyes again.

“You think I don’t consider Nyx as my own child, just because I didn’t carry him? Just because I didn’t get to hold him when he was born, and because I didn’t see him grow up?”

Cassian still didn’t open his eyes. And this time, it wasn’t so much that he didn’t feel like he could. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to see her eyes—that he could guess were filled with tears—and her lower lip—that he could guess was a little trembling, even if she would try to hide it—and her hand—which he guessed was splayed wide on her stomach.

He certainly didn’t want to see her hand right now.

“You think I love him any less because of that?” she asked in a breath.

But her tone was loaded. Scolding. Disbelieving, even.

Cassian found himself shaking his head, opening his eyes. Of course he didn’t.

“You think I will love this baby more, because—”

“No,” he cut her off, shaking his head again. “Of course, I don’t—”

“Good,” she said, a little fiercely. “Because I don’t. And you better not think that for one second.”

He took a deep breath. And when he spoke again, his voice was quiet.

He was the first surprised to find his breathing had gone back to normal, by now. “It’s not the same, Feyre.”

“Why?”

“Because—” He trailed off, swallowed, shook his head as he cast his gaze upwards.

He didn’t know how to express it. How to explain. How to tell her why, exactly, none of this was the same.

Eventually, Feyre moved. She shifted on the floor, moving to sit down properly and cross her legs underneath her.

“You’re right,” she said when he didn’t continue. “It’s not the same. It’s not exactly the same. But still, it—” she sighed. “What I want to tell you, Cass, is that Nesta and you… You have options. And you don’t even have to take any of those, but I think you should at least hear about them. you should at least talk about it together because what you’re doing right now—it can’t be healthy.”

Cassian didn’t lower his eyes to look at her. But he knew she was seeing—probably tracking—the single tear that was slowly trailing down his cheek.

For a moment, they stayed silent. Feyre had placed a hand on his knee, at one point, and he guessed it was nice, too, to have this kind of support.

Not that it really helped.

“Did you know,” she said softly after a long while, “that Nesta was the one to tell me about adoption?”

Cassian’s eyes snapped back to hers so fast it almost hurt his head.

“What?”

“Not for—” she cocked her head to the side. “Not like that,” she amended. “But last Christmas, she asked me why we had never gotten adoption papers for Nyx and Elizabeth,” she finished softly.

Cassian cleared his throat, “And why don’t you?”

“Because we don’t need that to be official for it to matter,” she shrugged. After a few seconds, she continued, “But… back to Nesta,” Feyre gently squeezed his knee. “Back then, she told me she’d heard a bit about it. From Emerie. I really—I don’t think she’d be opposed to it. Or to any other option. You just have to—”

“It’s not that simple,” Cassian sighed heavily. “Talking about it is not that simple.”

“I never said it was,” she agreed, shooting him a small smile in the process. “But… see? We’re talking about it right now. And it’s okay. I’m not telling you to take a decision or—or that you even have to have children. You could decide to be just the two of you, and that’d be okay. It’s absolutely fine if you don’t want to have kids after this,” she moved again, until she could rest against the wall beside him.

Cassian was sure he wasn’t supposed to see the small grimace on her face—and yet, he did all the same.

“But you should talk about this and make sure you’re both okay with whatever you decide.”

“Did you?”

She furrowed her brows, turning her head toward him.

“What?”

“Did you?” he repeated, “Talk about it? After the miscarriage I mean. Did you—”

“Yes,” she nodded slowly. “We did. We talked about it a lot. And even then—” she let out a heavy sigh. “Even then, it was hard. but at least we both knew where we were standing on it.”

He kept his eyes on her for a minute—on her face, and all the freckles he could count, and on her smile, small and sad but happy, at the same time. And when he wasn’t sure he could stand looking at her when he wanted to be with her sister instead, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to take several deep breaths.

She probably had a point.

And she was probably right, anyway.

He hadn’t thought hearing those things—all of it—would feel strangely… okay.

Perhaps he had needed it, all along.

When he opened his eyes again, it was the first time in a long time he didn’t feel his head hurt—at least not like it usually did, these days.

The smile he offered her was small, but genuine. He leaned in to kiss her cheek.

“Thanks, Feyfey,” he murmured. “You’re the best.”

“I know,” she mused, and her tone made him chuckle. He bumped his shoulder with hers.

“Not so humble, huh? Hanging out with Rhys will do that to you.”

She laughed as he leaned his head on her shoulder.

“How are you?” he asked eventually. “And the baby? I know I haven’t—”

“It’s okay,” she leaned her head against his in response. “Don’t worry about it.”

Because despite what he had told her, he hadn’t found it in himself to check on her, to ask about her and her pregnancy when it had hurt so much to even think about it.

“So how are you?”

“Good,” she murmured. “Baby’s doing very well.”

“Do you know what you’re having?”

“We chose not to,” she replied. “But Nyx and Rhys are team girl. Eli is team little brother.”

“And you?”

His head moved slightly with her shrug.

“I just want a healthy baby,” she murmured. “I don’t care about anything else.”

Cassian found himself closing his eyes at that.

And a part of him—a part of him agreed.

Perhaps it didn’t really matter, how the baby was conceived, or how they were introduced to the world, or even if him and Nesta weren’t his biological parents.

Perhaps none of it mattered, as long as they were healthy, and they were loved.

And love—Nesta and him had love to give. They had so much love to give.

Feyre’s voice was soft, and low, and a little hesitant when she broke the silence.

“Also,” she said. “I was wondering something but I don’t—”

Cassian raised his head to look at her.

“What is it?”

“I don’t want it to be… insensitive or—”

Cassian snorted. “You just called me out on my bullshit, and made me train when I didn’t want to,” he raised an eyebrow. “You made me punch a pregnant woman and made me cry. I don’t think you could be any more insensitive than that right now.”

She grimaced, and the sight only made him chuckle.

“I’m kidding,” he amended softly. “Tell me.”

“I—” she nibbled at her lower lip, for a minute, two, before she sighed and asked, “Rhys and I wanted to ask you something. But you have to be absolutely honest with me, and tell me if you don’t want to.”

He furrowed his brows, but nodded, slowly.

“We wanted you and Nesta to be… I mean..” she sighed. “If you wanted to be godparents to this baby, but I know it’s maybe a little weird or a little out of place, and I—”

“Feyre,” he breathed—not caring in the slightest, this time, for the tears welling in his eyes.

“Shit,” her whole face seemed to crumble. “I’m sorry,” she shook her head. “I’m so—”

“No,” he interrupted her. “No, I would—I’d love to. I’d be honored I—” His smile turned small, but meaningful. “I would love to.”

She blinked at him, as if somehow, she was having a hard time believing his words. “You would?”

“Yes. I’d be honored. And I can’t speak for Nesta but I really think she would be, too.”

That day, Cassian didn’t linger at the gym. For once in far too long, he didn’t feel like staying alone. He didn’t think he could take being alone anymore.

Like most days, he joined Nesta at her bookstore. But it was still early, and as he crossed the threshold, she wasn’t alone. She was talking to Emerie—or snapping at Emerie, maybe—so he leaned against a bookshelf and waited patiently for her to finish. He wasn’t sure she had seen him, but he, on the other hand, couldn’t tear his gaze away from her.

She was wearing a dress he had always loved, and her hands were on her hips. Her back was to him, but he knew.

He knew she was frowning, or scoffing, or rolling her eyes.

Or doing all of that at the same time, perhaps. He wouldn’t put it past her to do it all.

The thought brought an instant smile to his face.

He couldn’t hear what they were saying. but he didn’t think he really needed to. Nesta was probably talking with her usual annoyed voice, and the Illyrian was probably rolling her eyes at her because she knew better than to let Nesta cut her with her words.

His smile grew wider. And with it, his heart burst a little in his chest.

Cassian couldn’t explain why, exactly, Feyre’s words had rung so much within himself. It wasn’t like he had changed his mind, or decided anything. It wasn’t, either, like he had truly learned anything he didn’t know before.

But it had unlocked something within him, somehow. It had made his soul sing, instead of scream, somehow.

He saw Emerie cross her arms over her chest, before she nodded in his direction, and almost immediately, Nesta turned toward him. Her whole face softened on sight. She joined him in only a few strides.

“You’re early,” she said—a little too softly, at that—when she approached.

“Am I?”

She frowned—and it only made Cassian’s smile grow wider and a soft chuckle escaped him.

“Are you drunk?”

He full-on laughed at that, and instead of answering, he outstretched a hand toward her. He found her hip easily and dragged her toward him. Nesta followed without complaint.

“I love you,” he said easily. “I think I’m drunk on you.”

She snorted, “You’re ridiculous.”

“I love you,” he repeated.

“You’re weird.” Her eyes were narrowed on him, now, and why did it only make him feel more in love?

“I love you.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Stop it.”

“I love you.”

This time, she tried to free herself from his hold, but he didn’t let her—he gripped her a little tighter, brought her a little closer, and did what he had been thinking about for the better part of the last hour—he kissed her.

He kissed her full, kissed her deep, kissed her meaningful. He kissed her like the first time he had ever kissed her and like the last time he had. He kissed her like all the times in between—like that day she had come home angry and he had kissed her to make it better; like that night she hadn’t wanted to let go of her book but he’d managed to get her attention anyway; like that morning she’d awakened him with kisses only for him to roll over her and be the one to kiss her deeper.

He kissed her like his life depended on it, and he wouldn’t even have been surprised, if it did.

When he pulled back, a little breathless, he saw Nesta pant as much as he did. She opened her mouth to speak, but Cassian didn’t let her. Instead, he said,

“Let me take you to dinner?”

Nesta didn’t seem so happy about that. Or rather, she didn’t seem to understand.

And Cassian couldn’t even blame her. He’d been deflecting, and avoiding, and refusing all kinds of things lately. He’d been a little off, and it was no wonder that Nesta had noticed, too.

“I…” He offered her a small, half-smile, and lifted a hand to her face to let his knuckles graze her cheek. “I’d like us to talk,” he murmured. “If you're okay with that.”

For a moment, there were only her eyes searching his face. Trying to understand the things he wouldn’t say—not yet. And eventually, when she decided she had uncovered enough of what he wasn’t willing to say, she nodded.

“Let me get my things?”

Her voice, this time, was so quiet it was an effort in itself for him to hear her.

Cassian didn’t let her pull away when she tried to take a step back. He placed a hand on her hip, squeezed gently, and lowered his mouth to hers for a gentle kiss.

“I love you,” he repeated quietly against her lips.

And he thought he’d keep telling her, no matter what.

No matter how difficult their conversation would get, and no matter how vulnerable Nesta would feel. No matter how much of a failure he’d convince himself he was and no matter how many tears would be trailing down their cheeks.

He’d keep telling her, because that’s all that really mattered, wasn’t it?

He loved her.

He was in love with her.

He would be forever.

“There are options.”

He was acutely aware that he was merely repeating Feyre’s earlier words. He was acutely aware, too, that his voice probably sounded flat, and emotionless, and bored.

As it was, he couldn’t care about that.

All he could care about was his heart (it was trying to convince himself to have hope), and his mind (it was trying to convince him to deflect), and Nesta (she was very still and her whole being was convincing his whole being to forget about all of this and just kiss her).

He tried to ignore all of it.

“I—“ he cleared his throat. “I’ve looked it up.”

And he had.

He had. Feyre had wanted to leave, but he’d asked her to stay with him—they’d pulled out his computer, and started looking through websites upon websites that made him sick to his stomach. And when it didn’t seem to help, Feyre suggested calling the family’s healer Madja, and he didn’t really want to, but he did anyway.

“We have options,” he repeated more quietly, with a deep breath.

The pizza place they had chosen was crooked, and a little gloomy. It was buzzing with noise—fussing children and shrieking teenagers, and single men and women who seemed to be more annoyed at their phones than at anything else.

It wasn’t a place either of them would have chosen. But Nesta had suggested it, and Cassian had understood her right away. He had offered to take her out—he wanted to be away from home to have this kind of conversation. But she, on the other hand, wanted to find a place they wouldn’t run into anyone they knew.

This was the perfect place.

Across from him, Nesta leaned back in the booth. They had chosen to sit side by side, so her elbow was resting on the couch to be able to look at him. She asked,

“And do we… want options?”

Cassian swallowed. “I don’t know,” he said, very quietly. “I… I really don’t know, Nes.” He took a deep breath—again. As if, somehow, it’d help him clear his thoughts. “I think…” he closed his eyes. “I think we have to talk about those… options. And then we can decide if we want any of them.”

For a moment, he was met with silence. And with his eyes still closed, he could almost forget where they were, what they were talking about.

What they had been trying to avoid for a couple of months.

But then, Nesta asked, “Feyre talked to you?”

Cassian’s eyes snapped open to find hers.

“How do you know?”

Nesta shrugged a shoulder. “She told me she would. She told me we needed to talk about it and.. she said she’d make you.”

When Cassian’s ears started buzzing, he wasn’t sure whether it was from the noise of the restaurant around them anymore. He blinked.

“You talked about this with Feyre?” He clarified, just because he needed to make sure. Nesta opened her mouth to speak but he continued, “You talked about this,” he repeated, furrowing his brows, “with Feyre.”

“I don’t—“ Nesta sighed. “We didn’t really talk about it. She talked. And I… I only said we weren’t talking about it, so…”

She tried to brush it off, but Cassian knew better.

He knew what it meant. Nesta wasn’t one to talk easily—especially about things like that. For all he knew, she hadn’t even told Emerie, and that was saying something. She wasn’t very close with her sisters—not that she didn’t want to. But she had a hard time letting people in, and she felt so unworthy that she usually didn’t.

So for her to talk about it with Feyre…

“Let’s talk about our options,” he said, instead of betraying more of his surprise.

Because, that’s what it was, wasn’t it? That’s exactly what she wanted, even if she didn’t voice it. Even if she didn’t admit it—even to herself.

If she was talking about it with Feyre, it could only mean one thing, to Cassian. It could only mean she was still thinking about having a baby.

And so, they talked.

They talked and they hesitated and they shrugged. They talked and they shook their heads and they scoffed. They talked and they held hands and they cried.

But they talked.

They talked, and Cassian had never thought talking about this would soothe him that much.

Talking with her about this would soothe him that much.

And when they didn’t know what to say anymore—when they didn’t know exactly what their next options would be, when the ifs were too hypothetical and the maybes were too uncertain, Cassian offered, very gently,

“We could go talk to the healer. Ask her more about what we can do.”

Nesta brushed away a few of her tears.

“I don’t know what I want,” she admitted quietly. “I don’t—I don’t want to get into something… complicated.”

Slowly, Cassian nodded. He placed a hand on her cheek as he said, “But you’d like to… try again?”

“I—“ Nesta trailed off, and her eyes were brimming with so much emotion it made him feel dizzy.

There was defeat in her eyes, and exhaustion, and pain.

But there was also… hope. Faith. Desire.

She breathed, “I think so.”

Cassian took it for what it was.

I think I still want to be a mom.

The healer came to their house. And perhaps it was better like this, because it meant they didn’t have to sit through another appointment like the last one they had been through.

Madja was Illyrian, an old friend of Selene’s that had always been close to them and that Cassian had known ever since he’d been staying with Rhys and his family. She was gentle, and careful, and reassuring in a motherly way. Cassian didn’t know what to think about that.

She told them about other tests and other ways and medical proceedings. She told them about the same things Cassian had read about and about things he had never heard of. She told them about surrogacy and she told them about adoption.

She told them about too much and too little at the same time.

“Is there anything you’d feel… more comfortable about?” She asked, very gently, after a few long moments.

Nesta didn’t respond, and Cassian wasn’t sure what to tell her, either. Their hands were clasped together, holding tight as if they were both afraid to let go, and they were both looking at Madja as if she was holding their future in her hands.

And maybe she was.

It definitely felt like she did—at least to Cassian. It felt like whatever they would tell her, whatever they would choose had the potential to change their lives forever.

He wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

“Or,” Madja continued when they didn’t speak, “maybe things you wouldn’t feel comfortable with?”

At that, Nesta turned her head toward Cassian, very slowly. She met his eyes.

“What?” He asked her quietly. “You have something you don’t want to do?”

“I just…” Nesta swallowed. “I’m not sure I want to have a surrogate.”

Cassian nodded, squeezing her hand. “Okay. It’s okay.”

And in truth, he wasn’t sure he wanted either.

“Good,” Madja nodded. “It’s good. Helps us narrow it down.” She paused, and then added, “What about a sperm donor?”

Again, Cassian waited for Nesta to talk first. But she didn’t, and didn’t turn to look at him either. He took a deep breath.

“Could you…give us a minute?” He asked hesitantly. “Please?”

“Of course,” the healer smiled softly as she stood. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

She left the room, and Cassian wondered where she went, seeing that she was in their house, but he didn’t really care. He turned to Nesta.

“What do you think?” He asked, voice a little rough.

His hand was starting to get sweaty against hers, but she was holding him too tight for him to let go.

“I don’t know,” Nesta shook her head. “I don’t fucking know.”

“Look at me.”

She didn’t.

“Nes,” he pleaded in a breath. “Look at me.”

Slowly, she turned her head to him and met his eyes. “I’m so fucking tired,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be pregnant with somebody else’s baby, I don’t—“ she paused, and then, “I don’t want to hope again. Because then if it doesn’t work and we—“

She trailed off, and when he felt like she was about to turn away from him again, Cassian brought a hand to her cheek immediately to make sure she’d keep her eyes on him. “Okay,” he murmured. "Alright. We don’t have to.” He paused, and after a few beats of silence, he asked, “What about—adoption?”

Nesta didn’t answer, and he didn’t really expect her to.

“I’ll start,” he said, very slowly. “I… didn’t think I’d want that. But uh—“ he shrugged. “I’m thinking, maybe—why not?”

Nesta swallowed before she asked, “Adopting?”

“Would you like that?”

Instead of answering, Nesta closed her eyes. She was breathing evenly, but Cassian was sure a turmoil was raging inside of her. He knew, somehow, that her thoughts were a tangling mess and that she was trying to navigate through them as much as he was his.

But even after a few seconds, and minutes, and too many beats of his heart, she still didn’t open her eyes and when he couldn’t take it anymore, he said,

“I’ve been thinking about it,” he said, “ever since I talked to Feyre.” His thumb started brushing over her cheekbone. “I never had a family until I met Rhys. Selene is kind of.. kind of my adoptive mother, in a way. And—I just—“ when his voice trailed off, heavy with words he had never admitted out loud, Nesta finally opened her eyes to meet his. “I just think maybe, we could offer this to another kid.. just like me and Az. A kid who didn’t have any luck in life and who we could…” he shrugged. “We could help out?”

A tear rolled down Nesta’s cheek as she blinked.

“A kid like you?” she breathed, her voice soft and quiet.

Cassian nodded. “I mean—maybe—I just—“ he shrugged again, because he didn’t know what else to do.

But Nesta didn’t need his words, apparently, because she was already nodding her head.

“I’d love to help a kid—“ Was it possible for her voice to sound even quieter? “I’d—I’d love to.”

Her cheeks were positively wet by now, so instead of answering, Cassian pulled her close to him until she was in his arms.

“We have love to give,” he murmured. “So much love to give, Nes.” He cradled the back of her head with his hand. “There must be a kid in this world who’d want it.” He placed a kiss to the top of her head. “There has to be a kid out there for us.”

When Madja returned to the living room, Nesta was still enveloped in Cassian’s arms. She was still crying, though her tears were slower, now, and a little less painful.

At least, that’s what Cassian thought. That’s what he told himself, when he saw her smile through her wet cheeks and nod at Madja’s hesitant appearance.

Cassian kissed the top of Nesta’s head, before he turned to the healer, “Could you talk to us a little more about adoption?”

“Of course,” the older woman nodded as she regained her seat across from them. “Absolutely.” She cleared her throat, linking her hands on her lap. “Adoption is… a very common option, for couples in the same situation as yours,” she started. “I should warn you, though, that the timing can be rather…” she offered them a half-smile. “Long. It can take a lot of time.”

None of them answered—because what could they answer, anyway?

They were quite accustomed to having their hopes crushed and thrown on the floor by now.

“But it’s very worth it,” Madja continued, cocking her head to the side. “Families are very happy, most of the time. There are… applications you’d need to fill out, and interviews you’d need to complete. Think of it as a safety, for the children. You wouldn’t want them to end up in families that are not worthy, or safe enough for them.”

Beside him, Nesta nodded, and he found himself mirroring her.

“This isn’t a decision that should be made hastily, either.” This time, Madja’s voice was firm, and a little directive. “Which means, I’m going to need you to think about it. Talk about it some more, before you start anything. And then—” She made to get up. “Then, we can discuss the formalities together.”

“What if we’re sure?”

“Still,” Madja answered. “You should still think about it some more.”

Slowly, she started gathering her things—papers and crayons and folders she very neatly placed back in her bag.

“Oh,” she said as she straightened, meeting their gaze again. “Actually…” she paused, her eyes darting from Nesta to Cassian. She finally settled on him. “Would you be interested in… Fostering, as well?”

“Fostering?”

“There is…” She seemed to hesitate, for the first time in the last hour. “There is a program,” she said, “that takes care of Illyrian children who have a poor family system. We extract them and find them foster families to take care of them. It’s—” she trailed off, her face somewhat softening. “I just thought it was worth mentioning. I know it’s not exactly what you’re looking for. But it’s also a nice way to help children in need, so I thought you might want to know.”

Cassian blinked, but he didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he could, just now. And beside him, Nesta must have felt the same way because she didn’t move, either.

“Just something to think about,” Madja continued eventually. “No pressure at all.”

They talked about it.

They looked it up.

They talked about it again.

Nesta found books about adoption and Cassian read them all. He found videos online and they watched them all.

They talked about it—again—and when they thought they might have said everything there was to say, they talked about it some more.

Again. Again.

And again.

They didn’t mention fostering at all. But they talked about adopting, and they looked up the formalities. And when they knew all there was to know, they even started gathering whatever papers they might need.

It was nothing at first—just a few documents Cassian would notice on their coffee table.

I needed my passport today and I thought I might keep it on hand.

And papers they would start to gather—just in case.

We just got this bill. Maybe it could be useful… If we need it.

And ones they didn’t have on hand—they thought they might need soon.

I asked Selene for my birth certificate. I think she has a copy, somewhere.

And before they knew it, they had everything they needed, neatly organized in a folder on their living-room table, sitting between the fruit bowl and a bouquet of flowers Cassian had come home with, one day.

And before they knew it, they were seeing Madja again, and starting the official first steps of the adoption process they had been slowly delving into for a few weeks.

And before they knew it, they were hoping again, and they were laughing again, and they were happy again.

They were preparing—prepared?—and they were sharing more confident smiles than they had in the last months.

They would offer a child the love and safety they could provide. 

All they needed was to be patient.

Chapter Text

And patient, they were.

They waited patiently through July, and through Feyre’s growing exhaustion and Nesta’s quiet days at work.

They waited patiently through August, and through the few days of vacation they spent at Rhys’s cabin.

They waited patiently through September, and through Azriel’s brooding mood and family dinners that left them both snickering with secrecy.

They waited through that day in late September where they were officially given the title of godparents. And tears from Cassian and glinting eyes from Nesta. And first smiles and first laughs and they both melted on sight.

They waited and they waited but they were busy, too.

They prepared. They did all they needed to do, and more. They filled out applications, and listened to every single piece of advice from Madja. They asked Rhys and Feyre for recommendation letters—and they didn’t exactly want to tell anyone but they at least told them.

They waited.

They were so good at being patient—at least they tried.

They tried their best.

Slowly, they turned the empty room in the house—the one where Nesta used to keep all her books—into a guest room. They cleared it, and dusted it, and when it was mostly empty, they put a bed in it.

It was nothing—just a regular bed. Just one they had gotten from Rhys and Feyre when they’d changed theirs. But it was a bed all the same, and they thought maybe it’d be useful, somehow. Someday.

In October, they started having their first interviews. Their first visits from social workers who seemed equally nice and uptight. They smiled through it, and showed them around, and Cassian tried not to grimace at every single thing they pointed to with their pencil—a household product they should have hidden better, or a table they should get protection on, or a door they should have a lock on.

They’d do it, he assured them. Of course they’d do it.

In November, they actually did everything. Every single thing—as far as changing the empty room into a real bedroom. A real child’s bedroom.

They were aware—had been warned several times—that adoption came with a lot of insecurities. Maybe they’d have a baby, maybe they’d have a toddler. They had chosen not to adopt any child past a certain age—five felt already a little too old, to them. So the room they prepared was as versatile as they could think of. A crib, and a single bed. A little bookshelf, and a diaper station. A small couch and a rocking chair.

And toys. So many toys. Too many toys. Teddy bears and legos and puzzles and stuffed animals in all shapes and forms.

December this year was the coldest they’d known in a long time. The streets were covered in a thick coat of snow and the wind was freezing—it had been for the better part of the past month.

It was cold, and so Nesta slept in more layers than should be possible, because she was always cold, somehow. Cassian, on the other hand, wasn’t. He had learned, a long time ago, to face the cold and had grown accustomed to it.

That’s probably why he didn’t mind that much getting up, one night, when their phone rang. It was weird, Cassian thought, to be called in the middle of the night. But he had also learned, a long time ago, to stay available to his family and friends at any strangest hour.

Nesta stirred a little when he moved, moaning disapprovingly, and the sight brought a smile to his face. He kissed her brow before he managed to extricate himself away and reached for his phone that he had left on the desk on the other side of the room.

He picked up on the last ring—a number he didn’t know.

“Hello?”

“Cassian? I’m very sorry to disturb you right now.”

He gently closed the bedroom door behind him, doing his best to not wake Nesta right then.

“Madja? Is everything okay?”

“It’s—yeah. I—guess it’s alright.”

It didn’t sound like it was alright. Cassian furrowed his brows just as he brought a hand to his face, rubbing his forehead. He heard the door to the bedroom he had just left open, and he turned just in time to see Nesta emerge, all wrapped in a blanket.

“What is it?”

“I just—“ the healer cleared her throat. “I’m very sorry to disturb you. I’m just calling a few families right now to see if any would be willing to…” she trailed off, and it felt weird, to Cassian. She had never been hesitant. Never been so unsure, so uncertain. She was tiptoeing around something when she had always been so confident. “I don’t know if you remember,” she said after a few moments, “the fostering program I mentioned a few months ago. They just—they just found a baby,” she said, a little more quietly. “They’re bringing him here in Prythian and we’re actively looking for a family to take care of him.”

Cassian didn’t know why, exactly, he felt sick to his stomach immediately.

“A baby?” He echoed.

“Yes. I have no information. I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, or—or their age, or even what happened.” She paused, just long enough for Cassian to blink.

Nesta had come closer by now, and she seemed incredibly more alert than she had been a few minutes ago.

“It’s not…” Madja hesitated again. “It’s not permanent, Cassian. This isn’t something you should do if you’re not absolutely sure you’re okay with that.”

“But you have no one else?”

Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it?

She knew they hadn’t considered fostering—not really. They’d been preparing to adopt, had never even broached the subject again.

If Madja was calling them in the middle of the night… It could only mean one thing.

She had no other option.

“We’ll find other people,” she countered. “We’ll…”

“How long do we have to decide?”

From the time it took her to answer, Cassian knew, ever before she said,

“They’ll be here in about an hour. I need to know now.”

For a second, he pinched the bridge of his nose. There were a little too many emotions running through him, and he didn’t know how to deal with any single one of them.

Eventually, he said,

“I’m very sorry, Madja,” he shook his head, more for his sake than hers. “We can’t.”

“It’s okay,” from the tone of her voice, he almost wanted to believe her.

He almost wanted to believe he had not just wrecked a little baby’s life.

“What was it?” Nesta asked, not even a second after he’d hung up his phone. Cassian was sighing, already making his way back to their bedroom.

“Madja,” he answered. “She uh—she had a kid they need to foster.”

“Oh.”

Cassian plopped down on the bed with another deep sigh.

“You said no?”

“It’s not..” he turned his head to her. “It’s not to adopt, Nes,” he said quietly. “We’d have to… give the kid back.”

Nesta nodded as she slid under the covers next to him, still enveloped in her blanket. She nestled closer to him immediately.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound in the room the sounds of their breathing.

Eventually, Nesta asked, very quietly,

“It was a baby?”

“Yes.”

Again, silence.

The room was cold and still—as if frozen in time.

Cassian placed a kiss on Nesta’s temple.

“Let’s go back to sleep,” he murmured. “It’s very late.“

They lasted all but ten minutes.

Ten minutes of tossing and turning, ten minutes of lying silently next to each other, ten minutes of restlessness.

Ten minutes of not being able to fall asleep.

Ten minutes of imagining a baby—small and alone in the cold.

It was Nesta who said, her voice absolutely wide awake, “I can’t sleep.” And Cassian had agreed quietly, before she continued, “Call her back.”

And so they did.

They did, and in no time, Madja was answering. And in no time, they were hurrying into warm clothes, and getting inside of their car, and driving toward the hem of the city—to a facility center Madja had instructed them to.

And in no time, they were holding hands in an open parking lot, their breaths clouding in front of them.

Madja was next to them—talking to them, but they couldn’t hear any of it. Not when they were so, entirely focused on the car approaching—slowly pulling up.

“I’ll take the baby,” Madja announced, “So you can have a little chat with the social worker who found him.”

Beside him, Cassian nodded, but he couldn’t answer. All he could see was the door finally opening, and the middle-aged lady—dark skin, dark hair, wrinkles adorning her skin—stepping out. She was carrying a bundle of covers so small Cassian wasn’t sure there was anything inside.

Anyone inside.

But as she took a few steps toward them—Madja taking a few steps in return—they heard a cry so loud there was no mistaking the pain it expressed.

Cassian’s heart thundered in his chest, just as Nesta squeezed his hand tighter.

“Oh,” Madja murmured, “that’s—“

“Leave her alone,” another—tiny—voice came running toward the sound, wearing nothing but a pajama and a frown so deep in place that she looked older than her size suggested. A child—a little girl—with hair so dark they looked like a raven’s feathers—had rounded the car and was tapping her hands against the woman holding the baby. “Leave her,” another tap, stronger this time. “Alone.”

“Valiana,” the woman sighed. “She’s alright. She’s—“

“She doesn’t want to be with you,” the little girl continued.

“Valiana,” the woman repeated—her voice sounded exhausted, and from the sigh that escaped her, again, Cassian guessed the ride had been exhausting as well.

“Give her to me. Now.”

“You—“

“How about,” a voice cut in, and Cassian only then noticed Nesta stepping away from him. “We go inside?”

She had crouched down to be at eye level with the little girl, and her voice was as soft as the snowflakes enveloping them.

“You’ll get cold if we stand there in the snow,” Nesta continued.

And it was a wonder, Cassian thought. Such a wonder that she was able to form coherent thoughts—let alone talk—because he felt like his brain had short-circuited the moment the little girl—Valiana—had appeared.

All the eyes were on her—on her frown, and on her long and dark hair moving with the wind, and on the glare she shot Nesta.

Her lower lip was trembling from the cold, but she didn’t seem to mind—not when she retorted,

“I want my sister.”

For a second, Nesta’s eyes darted from the baby, in the woman’s arm, to Valiana. And Cassian couldn’t even see her—she was facing away from him so he had no way of knowing.

But he knew.

He could almost guess what was going on inside of her head.

Eventually, Nesta said,

“Give her.”

Both Madja and the other woman’s eyebrows rose up.

“Give her her sister,” Nesta repeated. “So we can all go inside, and she doesn’t freeze.”

And perhaps he was imagining it, but he thought the little girl’s whole body relaxed at that. Her dark eyes kept locked onto Nesta’s only for a minute before she turned toward the social worker and held up her arms expectantly.

Despite her young age, she must have been very accustomed to taking care of her sister, if the practiced and confident motions she held her with were any indication. The baby was still crying, though she seemed to slowly calm down. And without waiting for anyone—without even asking, Valiana started walking toward the building behind them, as if she knew her way around here at all.

Nesta turned around immediately to track her steps, and when Madja and the social worker followed after both children, Nesta joined Cassian.

And either his face betrayed every single one of his emotions, or perhaps it was only because Nesta knew him that well, because she asked quietly, “Are you okay?”

And somehow, the only thing Cassian could answer to that was,

“There are two.”

Nesta nodded.

“Two little girls.”

“Two.”

“Yes,” Nesta breathed—almost a chuckle. “Two.”

When he didn’t answer, only kept looking at her, she asked, “Let’s go meet them properly?”

“We don’t know the length of it,” Myriam—the social worker—announced as soon as they were alone.

Madja had brought both girls into a room, and with one last glance toward them, the social worker had brought Cassian and Nesta into another one. She was gentle, and careful with her words, though everything in her betrayed her deep exhaustion.

“A neighbor called us because they heard shouting, and when we were able to get in, they were both in their bedroom. We believe…” she sighed, running a hand over her face. “We believe their father either… neglected them or… abused them, perhaps. He was unconscious when we arrived. Valiana pushed him and she said he was… asleep ever since.”

Nesta didn’t hide her grimace. Cassian, too, could barely contain his rising anger.

“What about their mother?”

“She was under the influence. She’s in a rehab facility as we speak.”

A heavy silence enveloped them, and the social worker studied them for a few moments.

“You can still… change your minds,” she said eventually. “You can still—“

“Of course we’re not changing our minds,” Nesta scoffed, almost as if she’d just been insulted. Her hand gripped Cassian’s tighter. “Tell us what we need to do.”

There was a half smile tugging at the woman’s lips as she nodded. She started getting papers out of her bags as she said,

“From the little information I gathered, Valiana is six years old. Her sister’s name is Maeve, and she’s just a couple of months old. They… seem very attached, but…” she sighed, “I know it’s not what you expected. We didn’t find Valiana right away, so… we know you were only expecting a baby. But uh—“ she paused. “We do understand if you don’t have the possibility to take both. We do—we could take other arrangements if…”

“You want to separate them?” It was the first time in a few long minutes that Cassian opened his mouth to speak. But the thought was so inconceivable—so unbearable—that he didn’t even hesitate for one second.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Myriam answered. “We’d rather not. But we also know it can be complicated for… some families. So we could—“

“We’re not separating them,” Nesta shook her head. “We can take them both home.”

Cassian was sure he saw relief spread on the social worker’s face. She nodded with a small smile.

“Good,” she said. “Great. Perfect. I have a few documents I need to go over with you. I’ve narrowed them down to the most important ones so you can.. go home for the night. But I’ll need to see you again tomorrow to finish the formalities.”

Broken Wings Program - help children in need.

The pamphlet was all Cassian could think about—all he could see, as they waited in the room the social worker had just left. She’d explained a few things and made them sign a few documents before scheduling an appointment for the next day—it’s almost four in the morning, she’d claimed. Let’s bring those girls to bed.

And with that, she’d left them waiting in said room before heading off to announce the news—to explain, really, what was going on.

Cassian hadn’t been able to tear his gaze away from the folded document in front of him. A picture of a crying woman was on it, smiling through her tears as she waved goodbye to a kid farther away and he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about his own mother.

He couldn’t stop seeing himself, as a kid—alone and hungry. Broke and broken.

It was a weird picture to choose for a program like this, he thought.

It was an even weirder feeling for his heart, he decided.

“Cass,” Nesta’s voice eventually cut through his thoughts. “Did you hear?”

He turned his head toward her and—no. He really hadn’t.

“We can go officially meet them,” she said, very softly. “And take them home. Are you ready?”

Was he?

He swallowed. “Let’s go.”

Nesta found his hand immediately upon getting up, and he was glad she did, because he used it as an anchor. They were still bundled up in too many layers for the heating of the building, but he wasn’t sure it was the reason he was feeling too hot, all of a sudden.

The social worker led them to a room—a small and sad one—where both girls were gathered. The baby was lying on a crib that seemed older than life itself, and the older one was looking at it, gripping its bars with both hands.

She didn’t turn to them, even as the social worker called softly,

“Valiana.” She didn’t answer. “Valiana, the people who you’ll be staying with are here.”

“I know,” she said flatly.

“Be nice. Don’t you want to meet them?”

“No.”

“Valia—“ the social worker started sighing, but was cut off by Nesta’s voice,

“It’s okay. You don’t have to.”

For the first time since they’d entered the room, the little girl turned toward them. Her hands were still holding the crib, as if letting go meant she was abandoning her sister, somehow.

She asked,

“I don’t have to go with you?”

Nesta cocked her head,

“That, you do,” she countered. “But you don’t have to be nice.”

Valiana snorted—a sound Cassian had never thought he’d hear from such a tiny body. “Liar,” she said. “You’ll start being mad if I’m not nice. And then you’ll yell. And then you’ll be mean. And then—“

“We won’t,” Nesta assured her. “I’ll make you a deal. You get to be not nice, and you get to be angry, and to say everything you’d like. And in return, you come with us, you and your sister. And we won’t be mad.”

The six-year old seemed to think about it. Much like in the parking lot, she was looking at Nesta as if she understood her. As if what she was saying was meaningful, to her.

Cassian, on the other hand, felt a little frozen, still. A little stuck.

Valiana nodded toward him, “Will he be mean?”

“Him?” Nesta shook her head, just as she snorted. “He’s just a big teddy bear. He couldn’t be mean even if he tried.”

The little girl’s dark hair fell off her shoulder as she cocked her head to the side.

“If we come with you,” she said, “will we be allowed to stay together?”

“Of course,” Nesta assured with a smile. “You stay together, Maeve and you.”

Valiana’s eyes seemed to widen, “How do you know her name?”

“Myriam told me,” Nesta let go of Cassian’s hand, took a single step forward and crouched down in front of Valiana. “I’m Nesta.” She paused, and when she got no response, she added, “And you’re Valiana, right?” Still nothing. “It’s a very pretty name.”

Again, the girl didn’t offer anything. Her mouth was clamped shut and her eyes blinked a little more than usual. If he’d been able to utter a single thought, Cassian probably would have noticed her fighting a yawn, or focusing hard to keep her eyes open.

But he didn’t, because soon her tiny head darted toward him and she waited—expectantly.

Nesta was definitely more aware than him, for she said,

“He’s Cassian.”

After a few moments of silence, Nesta stood. “Do you mind if I take Maeve in the car? You can stay next to me, if you’d like.”

“I can carry her,” she countered—though her voice seemed to lack its usual bite.

Nesta kept taking a few steps toward her. “I know you can,” she nodded when she was facing her. “But you don’t have to.”

Valiana blinked at her. And then again.

And finally, she said,

“Okay.”

It was late when they finally settled back down in bed—past five in the morning. The drive had been surprisingly okay. Nesta had stayed in the back seat, holding the baby in her arms and allowing Valiana to come closer when she claimed she wanted to. It seemed like she wouldn’t trust anyone with her sister unless she was nearby. Cassian had driven the car silently—because apparently he wasn’t capable of uttering words. He wasn’t capable of anything, really.

They’d brought them to their bedroom and Nesta had placed Maeve down gently, before she offered to bring the other bed in the room closer. Valiana had only nodded her head, and nestled under the covers in no time, her eyes trained on her sister next to her.

“You can come find us,” Nesta murmured, “if you need anything tonight, okay?”

Valiana didn’t answer, but she observed her with wide eyes.

“We’ll be just down the hall, and nobody is in this house besides us. You’re safe here.”

Slowly, Nesta made her way to the open door—to Cassian who was standing uselessly on the threshold.

“Good night, Valiana,” Nesta whispered. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

It was Nesta who prompted Cassian to finally move—leaving the door half-open behind them. And when she dragged him to bed, she asked,

“Are you okay?”

She frowned when he turned his head toward her.

“Cass,” she said, “at least they’re both safe. And we—we’ll figure it out.”

Would they? Could they?

He closed his eyes.

“Cassian,” Nesta murmured. “I’m gonna need you to do this with me. I know we can but… You have to do this with me. Okay? We’ll—“

“Valiana was my mother’s name,” he admitted quietly, cutting her off even though he couldn’t care about that at the moment.

“W-what?”

“It was my mother’s name,” he repeated. “My mother was named Valiana.“

Because that's what had been plaguing his mind, wasn't it? More than the two little girls and the shift in their lives that the last few hours would bring. More than the lack of sleep and the anxiety of the future.

This had been on his every thought. 

Valiana.

Valor. Worth. 

He had always loved the name.

He had never thought he'd have to use it, though.

Chapter Text

"What do you think you’re doing?”

All Cassian heard was a gasp, and then the ruffling of fabric as Valiana whirled around, eyes blown wide.

He cocked an eyebrow at her, waiting patiently, but she said nothing.

Her back was against the closed house door, in nothing but her pajamas still, and her hands were hanging low.

With any other child, Cassian would have expected a look of uncertainty. Of fear. Of guilt.

Not with her, though.

And he had only met her the day before—a few hours ago, to be exact—and yet he wasn’t even surprised.

All she did was lift her chin at him, almost in defiance.

“If you’re thinking about running away,” Cassian continued, his voice perfectly unbothered, “you might want to dress a little more. It’s snowing outside.”

With a tip of his head, he nodded toward the wide windows of the living room they could see clearly from where they were standing. His eyes never left her, even as her gaze flickered to said window, then back to him.

“I also thought you didn’t want to leave Maeve alone,” he continued after a few minutes. “You changed your mind?”

If anything, it was this sentence that seemed to bother her. Frantically, she shook her head, a frown already settling on her features. Her long black hair moved with her movements, and she brought a hand up to messily brush a strand away from her face.

“Where did you want to go?” Cassian asked.

“Don’t come closer,” she said in a rushed voice—almost a warning—when he took a step toward her.

Cassian tried to rein in the surprise he was sure would be apparent on his face, but he listened. He stopped in his tracks. He made a pointed effort to make his voice softer, more gentle, as he asked,

“Will you tell me where you wanted to go?”

There was hesitation, and the hint of a battle in her eyes. She didn’t want to tell him, he was sure.

But perhaps she knew Cassian wouldn’t let it go.

“Will you be mad?” She countered.

It was the second time she asked something similar. The second time she expressed a little fear, and uneasiness in his presence.

He tried to ignore the sickening feeling at the pit of his stomach, and tucked the information in a corner of his mind.

In a place he’d only allow himself to open back up in front of a punching bag, probably.

“I won’t,” he replied. Almost imperceptibly, he took a step back and away from her. If space was making her feel more comfortable, Cassian could give her space. He would give her space. No questions asked.

He took another step back and this time, he saw her eyes track the movement. He didn’t stop retreating until his back met the hard and cold surface of the wall behind him.

He hoped she understood what he was silently telling her. She may only be six, but he already knew she understood a little too well for her age.

“I promise I won’t,” he repeated.

She seemed content, for Cassian swore he saw her whole body relax.

Her voice was smaller—more childish—as she said,

“I forgot something.”

Cassian lifted an eyebrow. He echoed, “You forgot something?”

She nodded, slowly, without elaborating.

“What did you forget?” He asked.

No response.

He wasn’t even surprised.

“What did you forget, Valiana?”

He had not expected the name to be so difficult on his tongue.

He put the feeling in that same corner of his mind.

“I had a bag with me,” she eventually answered. “Myriam didn’t give it back.”

“Okay,” Cassian nodded slowly. “Alright. Well, Myriam’s coming here tomorrow. I’m sure she’ll bring your bag back.” When Valiana didn’t answer, he added, “And whatever was inside, I’m sure we can get new ones, too.”

Her eyes searched his face, for a moment.

And all the intensity she put into this look made Cassian almost shiver.

She was tiny, that was a fact. But she was also so, so big. So strong, he could tell.

He wasn’t sure he was ready to hear about the things she had gone through. He wasn’t even sure she realized.

“We’re really staying here?” She asked, after a long moment of looking right into his very soul.

“Yes,” Cassian said carefully. He wanted the word to sink in. He wanted her to understand they weren’t just messing with her. He wanted her to know they wouldn’t give up, just because things were hard. “For as long as you need to.”

Somehow, she didn’t seem so happy about that.

“But,” Cassian continued, “there’s gonna be some rules, for living here with us.”

She scrunched her nose up. It was only then that Cassian realized how much her every expression resembled another lady.

“Remember what Nesta told you yesterday?” He asked.

“She said I’m allowed to be mean.”

Cassian tried to suppress his chuckle.

“You are,” he agreed.

“That you won’t be mad, even if I am.”

“I promise we won’t,” Cassian nodded.

Again, her eyes searched his face. It was as if she could reveal his every secrets, open his every scar with her gaze.

And she was fucking six years old, he thought. This was ridiculous.

“But you have to obey the rules all the same,” Cassian continued.

“I hate you,” Valiana said, her brows furrowing.

It sounded fake. Sounded rehearsed. Sounded like a principle.

As if she was only uttering the words to test him. To prove a point.

“It’s alright,” Cassian shrugged, a smile slowly tugging at the corner of his lips. “I don’t care that you hate me.”

Again, she fell silent across from him for one beat. Two. Three. Then, she asked,

“What rules?”

“Mh,” Cassian mused. “There are a few.”

“Tell me.”

This time, he had to bite his lower lip to keep from laughing. Or smiling too much.

He was starting to enjoy her retorts a little too much.

He thought maybe she did, too—although he doubted she’d ever admit it.

“First,” he said, “you don’t run away. It’s very dangerous outside.” She was already opening her mouth to speak—to complain, he knew—but he didn’t let her. “If you need anything, Valiana, you tell us. We’ll get it to you. No questions asked.”

“No questions asked?” She echoed.

Cassian narrowed his eyes on her slowly, “no questions asked. As long—“ he lifted a finger when she opened her mouth again, “as we deem it safe for you and Maeve.”

She clamped her mouth shut.

“But whatever it is, you can tell us about it. Either Nesta or me, and we’ll try our best to get it for you.”

The house was quiet around them, and it only served to remind Cassian of the late hour. The early hour, perhaps, considering it was still the middle of the night. Or the early hours of morning.

He hadn’t been able to fall asleep at all—not with his traitorous mind whirling around and twirling the events of the past hours. And when he’d heard the door to the bedroom opening slowly and the footsteps that followed, he had made his way to the front door to find Valiana here. It wasn’t even 6 am.

She must have been exhausted.

Yet, she asked,

“What other rules?”

“Let’s go to bed,” he cocked his head to the side. “We can talk about the rules tomorrow.“

“But I—“

“Come on,” he chuckled, not able to stop himself this time. “Try to get some sleep. I promise we’ll talk about the rules tomorrow.”

She seemed to consider it. Her tiny brows were still furrowed, and her eyes were still entirely on him. And yet, after a few moments, she moved. She slowly started walking toward the bedroom.

Cassian didn’t move until he was sure the couple of steps between them would be enough to make her comfortable, and even then, he waited a couple more. She glanced above her shoulder to check on him just before she entered the room, and made a beeline for the bed, then slid under the covers immediately.

He, on the other hand, was making a point of not coming closer. He stayed by the door, chancing a glance at Maeve from afar—who seemed perfectly peaceful in her crib—and then back at Valiana on the bed. She was still looking back at him.

“Goodnight,” he said softly. “Don’t try to run off again.”

She didn’t answer, and didn’t tear her gaze away from him, either.

Cassian closed the door on his way out and left without a second look.

From Cassian : Hey. I won’t be at the gym today. You good to train on your own?

From Feyre : Sure

From Feyre : You think I need you for some breathing exercises and stretching?

From Feyre : I’m still not allowed to do anything else apparently :(

From Feyre : Everything okay?

From Cassian : Yup.

From Feyre : Liar. What‘s going on?

From Cassian : What are you doing up at 6:30 anyway?

From Feyre : I have a baby who needed to eat.

From Feyre : What’s your excuse???

Cassian grimaced, and lifted his head to glance at Nesta. She was on the couch, holding Maeve as best as she could with Valiana so close to her, and holding a bottle of milk they had just prepared.

He swallowed, then turned his attention back to the phone in his hands. Instead of answering the truth (I have a baby who needed to eat, too), he typed:

From Cassian : Couldn’t sleep.

At least, it was only a half-lie.

Earlier, he had gone back to bed for no more than a few dozen minutes, bringing Nesta close to him when she rolled over in her sleep, before they’d heard a shriek, then a cry so piercing they’d both been startled. Nesta’s eyes had been blown wide, and alarm had crossed her face for a second. And when the second had passed and she’d remembered why there was a crying baby in their house, she straightened and got up along with him.

They’d worked together ever since. They’d both gone to the bedroom, to find Valiana holding the crib again as she tried to soothe her sister. She had slid one of her small arms between the bars to place a hand on her sister’s belly, and was whispering something neither of them could hear.

“You have to feed her,” she’d told them as soon as they entered the room, without even turning her head toward them. “She’s hungry.”

Cassian blinked, once. “Right.”

“Myriam gave us a bag with everything we need,” Nesta cut in softly, as she took a few steps toward the crib.

And as she leaned forward, gently reaching for Maeve, Cassian blinked again.

Had she? Had Myriam really given them a bag full of things?

Had he really been too far gone to even notice it?

“Cass,” Nesta called gently once she had the baby in her arms. “Will you go get it?”

Valiana was already holding Maeve, too—her tiny hand holding the baby’s leg as Nesta made a pointed effort to keep her within her reach.

Cassian had to force himself to blink out of his thoughts and nodded, once. “Yeah, sure,” he nodded. “I’ll go prepare a bottle.”

He was very lucky, he thought when he was in the kitchen, that he’d been allowed to care for Nora in the few months since her birth.

Otherwise, he wasn’t sure he’d been able to navigate his way through the bag full of baby things. He did take a moment—probably a moment too long—to try and understand how the baby formula worked. He was still frowning at the instructions when he heard a small sigh, followed by an even tinier voice,

“What are you doing?” He glanced up to see Valiana frowning at him on the threshold of the kitchen. “She’s hungry. You’re taking too long.”

Cassian probably would have huffed if her voice hadn’t been so scolding.

“I’m just trying to understand ho—“

He trailed off when she approached him, and climbed on the chair next to where he was standing. She took the powder from his hands without a word and reached for the bottle on the table.

And then, Cassian could only watch, a little awestruck, at her practiced movements.

There was a bottle of water on the table, and Valiana reached for it with both hands, holding it very carefully and pouring it in the baby bottle. She was very focused, and her hands were a little trembling, but she managed anyway. When she was done, she opened the baby formula and with the small scoop Cassian hadn’t even noticed was inside, she dropped it in the bottle. He noticed how her brows furrowed slightly, and how her tongue slowly started peeking out of her mouth with the motion.

And he wondered, too, how many times she had had to do it. How many times she’d been the one to care for her sister, when she was only six years old.

Six fucking years old.

When Valiana closed the baby bottle and started shaking it was when Cassian finally moved. He cleared his throat gently and without saying anything, he outstretched a hand toward her.

She glanced up, meeting his eyes for a second, before giving in and handing him the bottle. she tracked each of his movements as he mixed it—shaking gently until he could see the mixture was clearly dissolved.

“That good enough?” He asked after a few minutes.

“You need to warm it,” she frowned. “She likes it warm.“

“Oh,” Cassian hadn’t even thought about the possibility. He blinked again, and then offered, “Microwave?”

Valiana shrugged, and instead of answering, she turned her head toward the powder in front of her and started reorganizing everything—cleaning up what little mess she had made.

It only took a few seconds to warm the bottle, and as it did, Cassian couldn’t stop looking at every single one of her movements again. The way she was very carefully touching each object and placing them in front of her. The way she was scrunching up her nose, then bringing her hand to her face. The way she was brushing her hair away from her face every now and then.

The way she glanced up, sometimes, meeting his gaze for a second as if to tell him she knew he was watching her, before looking back down again.

He didn’t think he had ever seen a child so aware. So smart. So mature.

And that was saying something, when Nyx was already very—very—emotionally mature for his age. When Elizabeth had already seen far too much—experienced far too much—for her age.

But Valiana—aside from her body, nothing could ever betray her young age.

Nothing.

“It’s done,” Cassian offered very quietly, after he’d gotten the bottle again. “Let’s go?”

“Stop,” her frown only deepened. She climbed down from her chair and walked to him, reaching a hand. “You need to try it. I don’t want it to burn her.”

The fact that she was willingly approaching him, when he’d been so careful and distant only a few hours ago didn’t escape him.

Without even asking, Valiana rose on her toes to grab the bottle from his hands, and poured a few drops on her wrist.

“Mh,” she said. “I think it’s okay.”

She was hesitant, though, and didn’t seem convinced. She poured another few drops, then cocked her head to the side.

“Do you, uh—“ he cleared his throat. Then, very slowly, he crouched down in front of her.

He didn’t miss the way she startled slightly, of the small step back she took away from him.

He swallowed his uneasiness.

“Do you want me to try it?”

He presented her with his arm, hand fisted.

For a moment, Valiana didn’t move. Her eyes were solely trained on his arm, as if she was actually debating on what to do.

And then, she slowly reached forward to place a drop of milk on his arm, too. As she did, she asked—her voice very quiet,

“What’s a teddy bear?”

Cassian glanced up to meet her eyes—only she wasn’t looking at him at all.

“What?”

She took a step backward again, and when she repeated, her voice seemed even quieter. Even more hesitant.

“What’s a teddy bear?”

Cassian could only watch, could only blink, could only stay frozen.

Long forgotten were the cries in the other room or the droplet of milk on his wrist when he looked at her—really looked at her.

Valiana, six years old. Knows how to prepare a bottle of baby formula and how to carry her baby sister. Can kill you with a look, can scoff, and can scold.

Doesn’t trust everyone.

Especially doesn’t trust men.

Doesn’t know what a teddy bear is.

Cassian cleared his throat when he realized he had been silent for a beat too long. Valiana’s dark eyes had not left his, and he wondered if maybe, she had been reflecting on the exact same things, somehow.

He said, very gently,

“It’s a toy. A stuffed animal. There’s one in your room. I could uh.. show you, if you’d like.” She kept her eyes trained on him, and eventually, she shrugged. He tried, “Why?”

But she didn’t answer. Instead, she averted her eyes, and without waiting for him to answer about the milk temperature, she turned around and stepped out of the kitchen.

Cassian had to take a few moments to let his thoughts calm down.

When he’d finally entered the living room, he’d found Nesta and Valiana both occupied with feeding Maeve silently. Nesta glanced up to meet his eyes just as he plopped down on the couch in front of them, and that’s when he’d thought about texting Feyre.

He sighed, ran a hand through his face, and finally looked at Feyre’s response.

From Feyre : Is everything okay Cass?

She had already asked him. He guessed he hadn’t been very convincing.

From Cassian : Yes. Don’t worry.

From Cassian : Kiss my goddaughter for me. See you later.

As she had promised, Myriam was back that very day. She brought, indeed, a small yellow backpack that Valiana immediately snatched from her hands and brought close to her chest before disappearing with it in the bedroom. She also gave them a bag full of clothes. We don’t know if the sizes will fit, she’d explained. But this can be useful for the first few days.

And then, she’d sat them down at their living room table, and began delving into more details about the program and what it entailed.

They had been sitting there for a few minutes, drinking her every word and nodding to every piece of information or advice she offered, before movement on the corner of Cassian’s eye caught his attention. When he turned his head to the side, all he could see was a tangle of hair on the threshold, almost entirely hidden behind the wall.

A corner of his lips tugged the slightest bit upwards.

He leaned back on the chair, and as the minutes passed and his smile was becoming harder to contain, he hid it in Nesta’s hair.

“You will be referenced as their foster parents,” Myriam announced after a long and detailed overview of the rules and guidelines of the program. “It is up to you however you want them to refer to you as, but—”

“Up to us,” Nesta repeated, frowning.

“Yeah,” Myriam nodded. “It’s up to—”

“It’s up to them,” Nesta cut her off again. “They get to decide whatever they call us.”

At the tone in Nesta’s voice, Cassian’s smile had effectively disappeared from his face. He straightened beside her, keeping his hand on her lower back.

Across from them, Myriam brought both her elbows on the table and sighed a long, heavy sigh.

“Listen,” she said, voice gentle but also… exhausted. Exhausted like someone who had seen a little too much. “I know you… see them and you think it’ll be all…” she shook her head, “all sunshine and roses.” Myriam paused, and this time the gentle look was gone from her face. “It won’t,” she said. “It’s going to be hard. It’s going to be one of the toughest things you’ll do. Some foster families decide to withdraw after some time because it’s harder than they thought.”

Cassian couldn’t pinpoint why, exactly, he was feeling his anger stirring in his stomach. Nesta was opening her mouth to speak but Myriam cut her off with a look.

“I’m just saying,” she said. “You should be careful. Make your own rules, and don’t let them get the best of you. If you need to make them call you foster parents to make them respect you, do it.”

But somehow, Cassian doubted a name or an endearment, or any type of address would earn them respect.

Myriam continued, “You’ve met Valiana. She can be very… strong-minded. Don’t let her play with you.”

Slowly, Cassian’s eyes darted toward the threshold, where he could see Valiana’s face a little better, now.

Her frowning face.

Her disapproving face.

She wasn’t looking at him though—wasn’t glaring at him. Her eyes were fixed on the back of Myriam’s head instead.

He cleared his throat, and said,

“Good.” Myriam seemed a little startled by his tone of voice. He didn’t care. “It’s good that she knows what she wants and won’t take bullshit from anybody. Good for her.”

When he glanced back at the door, Valiana was looking right at him, this time.

She blinked.

For a moment, Cassian couldn’t find the strength to look away. He only held her gaze, not minding the conversation that had begun again between Nesta and Myriam.

That is, until the social worker announced,

“I also have news about their father.”

He saw Valiana’s head whip to Myriam’s back again, and her eyes wide.

“He’s in a coma,” Myriam announced. “He’s at the hospital and doesn’t seem to respond to any—”

“He’s dead?” Valiana had entered the room now, and her voice was still small, but incredibly assured, too.

Myriam almost startled at the sound, and turned toward her.

“Valia—” she sighed. “Valiana, you shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t listen to—”

“But he’s dead right?” she repeated. “I pushed him, and then he didn’t open his eyes. In the movies, they’re dead.”

After a few moments—probably of internally debating—Myriam answered, “He’s not dead. Your father is in the hospital, but he’s not dead.”

Was that fear on her features? Cassian could almost say it was.

Slowly, she swallowed, and then her gaze met his, and then Nesta’s.

She drew a sharp breath before she whirled around and left the room without another word.

“Can I come in?”

Valiana was sitting on the window seat of the bedroom, with both her legs propped close to her chest. Maeve’s crib was positioned next to her.

She didn’t turn her head toward him at Nesta’s question though.

“We’re both here,” Nesta continued, as she took a step inside the room. “And Myriam is gone.”

They got no response, and when Nesta chanced a glance at Cassian, the look they exchanged was a little pained.

“Maeve is still asleep?” Nesta asked as she walked further into the room. “We were thinking about going out to buy a few things for you both. What do you think?”

Again, Valiana stayed stubbornly silent. She still had not turned her head toward either of them, as if she was absolutely oblivious to them.

Or absolutely able to ignore them, was more like it.

“Clothes,” Nesta continued gently, “and toys, and food, too. We have a couple of things but uh—”

Nesta trailed off when Maeve stirred in her sleep. She didn’t wake up though, and when she settled down, Nesta sighed, “Do you want to talk about it, Valiana?”

Neither of them could exactly tell they were surprised by her lack of response. Her lack of… anything, truly. For she still hadn’t made a single move. Still hadn’t done so much as look at them.

She was looking at the outside—at the snow falling on the street and the little yard between their house and the one next to theirs. She was looking, but Cassian wasn’t sure if she was seeing.

When he locked eyes with Nesta again, he could see the worry emanating from her. The concern and disappointment of not being able to make things better.

And, once more, Cassian couldn’t help but feel like the child across from them was way too mature—way too old, somehow—for her age.

He would have expected her to be a teenager. He would have confused her with a young adult.

Hell, he swore Lyra had acted like her, not so long ago.

He let his eyes rake over the bedroom—taking in each detail. Each item he and Nesta had carefully picked, when they’d been preparing the room for a child they hoped would soon be theirs.

The books and furniture and toys and…

He stopped moving when his eyes landed on a particular item in the room. His mind was made in half a second—he walked to the shelf and reached a hand to pick it up. And then, he slowly made his way to the window seat, crouching down next to Valiana.

He hoped she wouldn’t mind the proximity, with Nesta in the room.

“Here,” he murmured, very quietly. “That’s a Teddy bear.”

Her hair—long, and beautiful—moved as soon as her head did. And when she was fully facing him—her eyes locking with his—the sight made something in Cassian burst.

She didn’t keep her eyes fixed on his for long though, finding the stuffed animal in his hands instead.

She stared at it.

“It’s yours,” Cassian said, lifting his hand as if in emphasis. “You can have it.”

He couldn’t pinpoint why, exactly, her brows slowly furrowed. They were drawn together so tight it must have hurt, but when Cassian looked at her eyes again, they seemed… glassy?

He swallowed and placed the teddy bear on the window seat next to her legs.

“I’ll leave it here,” he said softly. “We’ll be in the living room if you want to talk to us okay?”

But Valiana had already turned her head back toward the window, and when Cassian turned around, it was to Nesta’s equally glassy eyes.

He took her hand in his and dragged her with him out of the room.

Chapter Text

“What was that about?“

Cassian glanced at Nesta as soon as she plopped down on the couch next to him, her face the perfect picture of worry. Worry she tried—but failed—to hide behind her composed features.

“What was.. what?” He asked, turning to her immediately and sliding both his hands on her hips to pull her closer.

“The…” her head quickly turned toward the door before finding him again. “Teddy bear?”

“Ah,” Cassian hummed, bringing his lips to the side of her head. He swore he could feel her body relaxing by this touch alone. “She uh—asked me what it was earlier.”

“A teddy bear?”

“Yeah. I don’t really know why but uh—“

When Nesta stayed silent, Cassian first thought she was as pained—as troubled—by the revelation as he had been. He wouldn’t have been surprised. But then, she turned her head toward him, head cocked to the side, and she said,

“I told her you were like a Teddy Bear, yesterday.”

Both Cassian’s eyebrows rose at that.

“You what?”

“Yesterday,” she repeated. “I said you were nothing more than a teddy bear. You don’t remember?”

Oh.

Cassian blinked at her words.

It made so much sense, now.

He sighed, pulling Nesta closer still, until she was sitting on his lap and he could nuzzle his nose against her neck.

“I hope we can… break her shell,” he murmured. “Maeve, I’m not so worried about. But Valiana—I really hope she realizes we’re here for her.”

“I think…” Nesta answered slowly—very quietly. “I think she already does.”

When Cassian glanced up again, eyes meeting hers, it was only pure determination and assurance he found in her eyes.

None of which he could say he felt.

Yet, Nesta continued, “I think she‘s just… scared to process it.” Nesta lifted a hand to play with his long hair. “Process and realize that she’s not alone anymore. That she doesn’t need to be a grown-up anymore.”

“It’s not even been a day, Nes,” he countered softly. “I don’t think—“

“Believe me,” Nesta’s smile was soft when she interrupted him. Almost sad, too. As if she knew a little too well what she was talking about. “She knows. It’s a little too easy to know people are here for you. Understanding, believing it—accepting it…“ she shrugged. “That’s the hard part.”

For a moment, Cassian kept observing her. Kept his eyes purely fixed on this woman he kept falling in love with, day after day after day.

If only he could share half the confidence she sometimes bore.

He took a deep breath.

“We’ll make her understand, then.”

He leaned in until his lips met Nesta’s forehead, and pressed a kiss—gentle, tender. Loving.

“We’ll make sure she knows.”

Nesta didn’t answer, but her hum was all the confirmation—the agreement—he needed.

And perhaps, Cassian thought as she repositioned herself until her head was leaning on his shoulder, perhaps Valiana wasn’t the only one who’d have to work to accept this.

Maybe they all would.

Accept that they were enough. Accept that they could do that.

It’s not that he didn’t think so.

It’s just that he felt fucking scared about all of it.

They only went back to the bedroom, that day, when Maeve started crying. And it was another round of rehearsed baby formula preparation, then feeding. Cassian didn’t dare to come too close. The looks Valiana shot him from afar, every now and then, always reminded him how much she didn’t trust him—not really.

So he stayed afar, never approaching unless she was the one coming closer, and if he still hadn’t taken Maeve in his arms since they’d met, it was okay.

It was okay, even if a part of him ached to reach out to her.. to make her pain better.

Nesta placed her on the play mat they had bought a few weeks ago after that, handing her whatever toys and stuffed animals she could find. Maeve seemed to like it, too, if the sounds getting out of her mouth were any indication. She was babbling, cooing, giggling audibly at her silly faces and Cassian couldn’t refrain his own smile at the sight even if he tried.

Valiana had taken her place on the window seat as soon as Maeve had stopped eating, and she had been staring outside ever since, refusing to come closer, even when Nesta offered her in the gentlest voice she could manage.

And then, there had been the meals. Cassian had prepared something easy—something he hoped she’d like—and had brought it to the bedroom for her. Valiana had ignored him pointedly when he had entered the room.

Later, he had found the tray half-eaten, though, and he guessed this was a win in itself.

The fact that Valiana was asleep, lying in bed clutching the teddy bear close to her chest only brought another wave of warmth to his heart.

The next day, they tried harder.

They brought Maeve in the living room, and as they had predicted, it didn’t take more than that for Valiana to follow.

She wasn’t very inclined to leave her sister alone with either of them—and so they spent their day there.

As soon as they were done with breakfast—Valiana was careful around the pancakes Cassian had prepared, but she seemed to have lost the fight after the first bite—Cassian already had a plan in mind.

“So,” he announced, “I believe we talked about rules.”

Valiana immediately seemed a little more alert. Her eyes landed on him, and from the corner of his eyes, he saw the smile Nesta tried to rein in.

“Remember?” he asked, “We—”

“Yes,” she frowned, folding her arms over her chest. “But you said we’d make the rules yesterday.”

He, too, had a hard time refraining his smile.

“Well,” he shrugged. “Better late then never.”

“But it’s too late,” she countered. “So no rules.”

He heard, more than saw, the snickering laugh coming from Nesta. She was holding Maeve upright, helping her as she bounced on both her legs excitedly, and apparently having the best time watching him struggle with a six-year-old.

“As you want, Valiana,” he shrugged. “But know that there’s going to be rules either way. Your choice whether you want to know them right now or discover them as we go.”

He watched as her eyes narrowed on him, probably trying to slice him open right then and there. She was throwing daggers at him, her whole face narrowed on this one closed-off look, and he had a hard time staying still and undisturbed when he wanted to smile that much.

“Rules,” she said after a long minutes of internal debate. “I want to know them.”

He nodded with contempt.

“But you have to write them,” she continued, taking one step toward him. “You need to write them because you can’t cheat.”

“I—” Cassian chuckled, this time, unable to stop himself, “What?”

“If you don’t write them,” she repeated, “You’re gonna cheat. You can’t cheat.”

Cassian observed her. He observed her, and as he did, he debated on what to do.

He could, he thought, get a piece of paper and write everything down for her, just like she would like.

But if there was one thing he had learnt from her, in the three little days they’d spent together, it was that respect and trust had to be earned.

It was to be proven.

And a piece of paper was probably a little too replaceable to her doubt-filled eyes.

“Alright, then” he said. “Come with me.”

Valiana seemed a little taken aback by that, for she blinked. And Nesta, beside them, did, too.

He wasn’t sure they could look more alike than they did right now.

“Come on,” he said. “We’re gonna write them down somewhere nobody will be able to cheat.”

He didn’t wait for her to follow before he left the room—he knew she would join him anyway.

And he was right, at that. Not even a few minutes after entering the bedroom she had been sharing with Maeve, he heard her tiny footsteps cross the threshold. She stayed there, observing him as he moved things around in the room, until finally she asked,

“What are you doing?”

She was frowning. He knew she was even without looking, because her voice was just the tiniest bit different, when she was frowning.

“I’m—” he stifled a groan as he pushed over a particularly heavy furniture out of his way—the tiny bookshelf—and said, “I’m pushing all of this out of the way. So we can write better.”

The answer didn’t come right away.

And then,

“I don’t understand.”

Cassian didn’t turn to face her. Instead, he kept moving the furniture around—setting the crib to the side, and then the rocking chair. It was only when he was finished that he turned around, and tilted his head toward the wall behind him.

“We’re writing the rules, aren’t we?” he asked. “Might as well write them somewhere we can see them.”

In emphasis, he lifted his hand to show her the Sharpie he was holding.

Valiana didn’t seem convinced. If anything, she was frowning (yet again) and absolutely unimpressed. She was still standing in the threshold, her arms folded over her chest, and as soon as Nesta appeared behind her, holding a quiet Maeve in her arms, Cassian tried to hide the smile that threatened to stretch his lips at the sight.

The sight of them looking so alike—yet again.

For the frown they were bearing, and the narrowed eyes, and the attitude were identical.

And, Cassian could bet if Nesta hadn’t been holding Maeve in her arms, she would have her arms folded over her chest, too.

He turned to face the wall again, and without waiting for either of them to say anything, he drew a line. Right in the middle, so as to separate it in two.

“So,” he said. “We have rules, here.”

As he spoke, he wrote on one side of the line, RULES.

His writing was messy—it usually was—but he figured it didn’t matter.

He continued, “But we also told you you were allowed to do a few things.” He glanced behind him, to find Valiana’s head cocked to the side, now. “I thought we could write them here as well.”

It almost seemed like she wanted to respond. Instead, she pursed her lips and stayed stubbornly silent. And when Cassian glanced up at Nesta, it was to a soft smile for him. Maeve, too, seemed to find him interesting, for she started babbling audibly, her eyes fixed on him.

When Cassian turned to the wall again, he wrote, on the other side, RIGHTS.

“Can you read that?” he asked when he turned around again.

“No.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her, and she looked almost ashamed to say,

“I can’t read. I’m only 6.”

Slowly, she made her way to the bed, and Cassian immediately noticed the way she reached for the teddy bear under the blanket, before stopping her movements. She hesitated, but didn’t take it.

“Well,” Cassian said softly, “There’s one side for the Rules, and one side for the Rights. We’ll add things to the list one by one. Do you want to start?”

He saw her blink at him once. Twice. And then again.

And as Valiana seemed to think, Nesta moved. She gently set Maeve on the play mat and sat on the floor beside her, her back to the bed.

“You said I’m allowed to be mean,” she said eventually, and Cassian wasn’t surprised even for a second. He didn’t let his chuckle pass his lips, though. He made a pointed effort to keep his face very serious as he wrote down on the wall,

Be mean.

“Alright,” he said. “Then, No running away.”

He wrote that down as well, on the other side, then turned toward her and waited. Her eyes were already on him when she spoke again.

“I hate you.”

Her voice had the exact same tone as when she’d told him the first time. It was flat, and absolutely unexpressive.

“So you’ve said,” Cassian said. “It’s okay. Now come on, give me another—”

“That’s it,” she countered, her nose slightly scrunching up. “I hate you. I’m allowed to hate you.”

If Nesta was surprised by Valiana’s words, she didn’t say. Her whole focus was on Maeve on the play mat, presenting her with toys or keeping her finger within reach in the baby’s strong hold. Yet, Cassian knew she was listening intently to everything they were saying.

“Mh,” he nodded. “Alright. I’ll write it down.” He did, then turned to the other side of the wall and wrote as spoke, “Ask us for whatever you need.” He turned to her again, and said, “I told you if you need something Valiana, anything, you’re gonna tell us. We’ll do out best to make it happen, but whatever it is, we can talk about it.” He paused, then added, “That’s one of the rules.”

Again, she blinked at him, and for a moment Cassian wondered if he had said something wrong. If he had crossed a line he shouldn’t have crossed.

But she merely nodded stiffly, and then mumbled, “You don’t yell at us.”

They kept going for a while. For each thing Valiana came up with (Maeve and I stay together. No touching. I’m allowed to stay alone if I want to.) Cassian—and Nesta, sometimes adding to the list as well—came up with something of their own (No lying to us. No putting yourself in danger. No eavesdropping).

And then, when they were finally done, Cassian wrote one last thing on the rights column, without explaining.

Valiana must have been bothered, because she frowned.

“What did you write?”

When Cassian merely shrugged, she repeated, “It’s not fair.”

She climbed out of the bed, and for once, Cassian saw in her the six-year-old that she was. She lazily put the teddy bear down (because she had taken it at one point, and hadn’t let go of it ever since), and almost tripped on her toes climbing off, the covers following her as they fell to the floor. Cassian saw Nesta’s smile before he was able to hide his own.

“Tell me,” Valiana frowned when she finally came beside him. “You have to tell me.”

Cassian chuckled, “Easy. I’m not—”

“Nesta,” she said—almost an order in itself as she turned toward her. “He won’t tell me.”

“Mh,” Nesta mused, almost managing to hide her smile, now. She reached down to lift Maeve from the floor. “He’s very silly.”

“I hate him,” Valiana frowned. To him, she repeated, “I hate you.”

“Okay, okay,” Cassian chuckled. “Come on.”

He nodded toward the last sentence, right at the bottom of the Rights column, and placed his finger beside each letter as he read,

“Have fun.”

When she blinked—not at him, but at the wall, he explained, “You’re allowed to have fun.”

Again, she blinked. And then she turned her head toward him, her frown even deeper now.

But she didn’t answer. She didn’t, and Cassian wondered if maybe, she didn’t know what to say to that.

If maybe, she’d never been told.

He cleared his throat softly. “Should we sign it?” he offered, nodding toward the wall. “To seal it?”

“I don’t—” her voice almost caught in her throat, but she stopped talking before that, and lifted her head instead. “I don’t know how to sign,” she said, still frowning.

“Okay,” Cassian nodded, very slowly. He glanced between her and the pen in his hand and for a minute he debated offering to help her do it.

But there was also this thing in her dark eyes—vulnerable and absolutely heartbreaking, to him.

Instead, he lifted his hand—fist clenched.

“How about,” he said softly, “We seal it like that?”

Her eyes were still trained on him, until eventually, she lifted her tiny hand—clenched into an equally tiny fist—and approached it toward his, merely inches away.

Cassian gently closed the distance and bumped his fist against hers, and for a second, he lingered there—careful to keep his eyes locked with hers.

When he finally moved, it was to glance on the side at Nesta, who had slowly made her way toward them.

“Come on, Nes,” he said softly. “You and Maeve have to join us.”

His and Valiana’s fists were still, indeed, touching, which meant Nesta only had to crouch down next to them, positioning Maeve on her knee and help her lift her fist as she joined them as well.

For a moment, none of them moved—as if they were all too scared to break this… promise, between them.

That is, until Maeve started crying—softly at first, and then a little more audibly.

“Shh,” Nesta soothed gently, bouncing her up and down. “It’s okay, it’s—”

“Give her to me.”

Nesta’s eyes snapped up to Valiana immediately. She seemed to hesitate, and Cassian knew she was actually struggling—struggling to let go of the baby in her arms, that she probably felt the urge to soothe as much as Cassian did.

Eventually though, she gave in.

“Okay.”

Her voice was still as hesitant as her hands, though, when she carefully placed Maeve in Valiana’s outstretched arms and said, “She might want to—”

“She’s tired,” Valiana frowned. “You’ve played with her a lot. She’s not used to it.”

With all the confidence she shouldn’t have, Valiana walked away from them, baby in her arms, and made her way to the bed. She rocked her sister slowly, facing away from them, and whispered words so low that neither Cassian or Nesta could understand her. And when Cassian locked eyes with Nesta for a second, he knew she was as pained—as aching—at the sight as he was.

Softly, he tugged at her hand until she came closer to him, wrapping an arm around her and tucking his head in the crook of her neck as they both watched from afar—watched Valiana providing the comfort they couldn’t give.

Chapter Text

“I don’t want to go.”

“Sadly,” Cassian answered with a cocked eyebrow, “that wasn’t a question.”

“But you said you needed to go. Not us.”

“And yet, if we do, you’re coming with us.”

“But last time—last time you said I’m allowed to stay alone.”

Valiana had stopped walking now, both her arms folded over her chest with the frown she always wore on display for everyone to see.

“It’s in the rules,” she continued. “The rules.”

Cassian glanced over his shoulder to see exactly the expression he already knew she was wearing.

“It’s true,” he agreed. “You’re allowed to stay alone in your room if we’re in the house, and you’re allowed to stay alone in the bathroom. But you can’t stay alone in the house.”

“I was always alone in the house, before,” she countered, lifting her chin up in defiance. “Always.”

He tried to set this particular information aside. Tried to tuck it safely in that corner of his mind he had filled with all the anger, and frustration, and more anger he couldn’t afford to let out.

He was going to the gym tomorrow for the first time in more than a week.

He couldn’t fucking wait.

“Well,” he said, avoiding her question, “We’re not leaving Maeve here. So do you want to leave her alone with us?”

If possible, her eyes narrowed even further.

“I hate you.”

“Oh really?” He asked, putting on his coat as Nesta arrived with a neatly tucked Maeve in her arms. “That’s awfully surprising, seeing as you already told me yesterday. And the day before that. And the one before.”

If eyes could kill, Cassian was quite sure he would be dead at least a few dozen times.

“Now, now,” he said, almost chuckling. “Hurry up.”

Valiana turned around with a loud huff, and he was sure she was making a pointed effort to make as much noise as possible on her way to the bedroom.

When he glanced up at Nesta, it was to her amused smile.

“What did you do, now?” she asked, already coming closer.

He reached for Maeve immediately, cradling the back of her tiny head carefully and dropping a small kiss atop her hairline, before he slid the small beanie on her.

“I told her she couldn’t stay here alone,” he shrugged, then gently rubbed a finger on the baby’s belly as she cooed happily. “Hey you,” he murmured, chancing another kiss while Valiana was still away. “I missed you.”

This was new. He had, in the last couple of days, been able to get a little closer to Maeve. Always when Valiana was away, and never for longer than a few minutes. But he had managed to play with her, to place a hand on her for all but a few minutes, to drop a few kisses on her head.

He ached for more, but he also knew not to push it.

Valiana was still very careful and guarded with him—even when he suspected her facade was nothing more than this—a facade.

And yet, she still repeated—daily—that she hated him. Still challenged him, and bickered with him every chance she got.

He was growing quite fond of it, too.

Nesta huffed at him again, her eyes dancing with amusement. “You getting used to being hated by a six-year-old?”

“Don’t worry Nes,” he winked at her. “She’s not the first girl I’ve had to win over after being told repeatedly that she hates me.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and bumped her shoulder with his, but he only answered with a chuckle and by dropping a kiss to her temple.

His eyes landed back on Maeve after that, and he was about to reach out a hand to her again when Valiana emerged from the bedroom, in a coat way too big for her and clutching her tiny yellow backpack.

“Are you ready?” Nesta asked her softly, turning around to face her. “Did you find a hat, too? It’s very cold ou—”

“I’m fine,” she cut her off curtly, walking by the two of them without even sparing them a glance. “Let’s go.”

“Stroller,” Nesta read on the list.

“Check.”

“Car seats.”

“Check.”

“Baby monitor, pacifier, bassinet.”

“Check, check, check.”

“Okay,” she sighed, a heavy sigh as she ran a hand through her hair. “Then I guess we still need—”

“Can we go back?” Valiana almost groaned. “I want to go back.”

“Soon,” Nesta promised. “We still need to buy a few things.”

“You bought the whole store,” she rolled her eyes. “What’s left to buy?”

Nesta seemed to hesitate this time. Then, she said, “Clothes. And a few toys. For the both of you.”

Valiana opened her mouth, then clamped it shut. She opened it again, clamped it shut again. And then again.

After the fourth time, she kept it closed and didn’t offer anything. And perhaps she didn’t really know what to say anyway. Perhaps she didn’t have a single idea, wasn’t able to form a single thought in response to that.

Cassian offered, “Let’s go. And then we can grab a snack.”

He was sure had it been any other time, she would have disagreed—or frowned—at that, too.

As it was, she merely blinked again, and then followed after him as he started walking to the next store.

Nesta was pushing the stroller they had just bought and immediately tucked Maeve in, and when he came to put a gentle hand on her lower back, it was hard not to notice the sideway glance she threw at him and the cocked eyebrow.

“What?” he asked.

“A snack?”

Cassian shrugged. “If I can win mini-you over with homemade pancakes, I can win her over with snacks, too.”

Instead of the eye roll he had expected, she snorted. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Watch me.”

Shopping for en entire dressing of clothes with two young children was a struggle in itself, Cassian and Nesta learned that day. Especially when you didn’t have a single idea of their sizes. Or when they didn’t trust you to help them out.

Valiana was frowning at every single thing Nesta or Cassian pointed her to, and then frowned even further as she claimed that clothes are only to dress anyway. What do we care what they look like?

And, later, she’d roll her eyes at them when they tried to convince her to choose a few more things for herself.

She didn’t.

It was a little easier to find items for Maeve, and they added to that baby cloths, and blankets, and then more clothes—just to be sure.

Valiana was already huffing every few steps, her backpack still securely around her shoulders, and positively annoyed, now.

She was walking a few steps behind them, and every time Cassian chanced a look over his shoulder, it was to the same defeated look on her face. Exhausted and… bothered?

Slowly, he slowed his strides until he was able to fall into step beside her. She didn’t even spare him a glance.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You good over here?”

She didn’t even answer. And with that look on her face, and her usual attitude, he almost wanted to chuckle and tickle her until she broke into a grin.

He wondered what it would look like on her features—a smile, careless and unguarded.

“Valiana?” he asked.

Still nothing.

This time, he tried, “Valia?”

Ah. There he had her.

She lifted her head toward him, a frown on her face—but what else was new—and threw all the hatred she could muster toward that look.

“My name is Valiana,” she said. “Not—”

“Do you prefer Vali?” he asked. She opened her mouth to speak, but he didn’t let her. “Or Valina? Or Liana? Or Val? Or—”

“Not Val,” she said—her face a little alarmed now.

She had stopped walking, and was looking at him with such a serious expression on her face that he had to stop as well.

“Not Val,” she repeated when he didn’t answer.

“Okay,” Cassian nodded very slowly. His voice was quieter, and he had lost his smile, too. “Not Val.” He paused, and searched her face for a second. Before he tried, his voice a little gentler—and in the sole attempt to chase that haunted look off her face and replace it with… anything, really.

“Valia, then?” he asked.

His lips almost tugged a little at the sides in a smile.

Almost.

She didn’t answer, and started walking again instead. But he saw it—the way her face softened, just slightly. The way her breathing eased out. The way her eyes relaxed.

And it was a little hard for his heart, too, to find its normal pace again.

“Oh!” Cassian probably would have been startled at the tight embrace that came from behind if he hadn’t expected it. “I’ve missed you.”

He was still trying to catch his breath—still sweaty from the start of his training session—but Feyre didn’t seem to mind. She released her hold around him and rounded him until she stood in front of him, and then, she smacked him. Hard.

“Ouch, what the—Ouch, Feyre, fuck!”

“Where the hell have you been? I haven’t seen you in—”

“A week,” he scoffed at her.

“Two,” she corrected. “Two weeks, and you wouldn’t tell me what you were up to. What the hell happened?”

“Nothing, I—”

“You look exhausted.”

Cassian rolled his eyes at her, but he couldn’t help his smile, either.

“You’re such a Mom.”

She merely narrowed her eyes at him, appraising him for a second, and when she didn’t offer anything, it was Cassian who gave in and pulled her back in a hug against his chest.

“I’ve missed you too, though,” he said, letting out a long sigh. “I really have.”

For a minute, they stayed silent, simply holding each other. And then, it was Feyre who broke the silence. She asked,

“Will you take me to grab a coffee? And then tell me what happened?”

Cassian snorted, but he didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he could right then.

“Where’s Rhys?”

“He’s home with Nora. We just dropped Elizabeth and Nyx to school and—“ Feyre stopped talking. “What?”

“Nothing,” Cassian mocked indifference, but really, he was sure his face betrayed his uncertainty.

And indeed, her frown only deepened. “Cass? Seriously?”

“Nothing, I—“

He trailed off, his brows furrowing even further. Feyre was still watching him with that knowing look on her face and after a few minutes of debating internally, he asked,

“When did Elizabeth start school?”

“I—what?”

“School,” Cassian repeated, cocking his head to the side. “When did she start going to school? How old was she?”

For a moment, Feyre only blinked at him. And then again. And again.

Until eventually, she breathed, “Oh, my—do you—”

She trailed off, her mouth hanging slightly open as she appraised him.

And he, on the other hand, could only offer her a half-smile he knew was less than convincing.

“Cass,” she said eventually. “Do you have something to tell me?”

The laugh that escaped him was purely nervous then, and when he ran a hand over his face, he knew it was already too late already. He sighed,

“Come on. Coffee?”

He knew there was no escaping it anyway.

Cassian didn’t know where to start. Didn’t know how to say it. Didn’t even know what to say, really.

And Feyre was looking at him with such a knowing look that he almost thought he didn’t have to say anything at all.

He also knew she might need his words though—she would never be able to guess the truth.

“So,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Madja called us at night a week ago to uh—”

When he trailed off, sighing again, Feyre offered, very quietly, “Adopt?”

Cassian’s first answer was a small half-smile. “No, actually. Not adopt. To.. uh—” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “They’re kids that have a fucked up family. They needed a new home. We’re fostering them.”

Somehow, during his explanation he had closed his eyes. When he opened them again, it was to Feyre’s cocked head and her soft smile.

“Their mom’s in rehab,” he continued, a little more quietly, “And their dad’s in a coma. We don’t know everything there is to know, but it’s just—it’s not permanent. We’re just helping them out, for now.” Cassian shrugged, before he repeated, “It’s not permanent.”

Feyre kept observing him for a moment longer, and then, he watched as her lips tugged the slightest bit upwards at the corners.

She asked, “They?”

“Oh,” Cassian huffed. If anything, he hadn’t been expecting this reaction. “Yeah. There’s uh—there’s two. Two little girls.”

He swore he saw his friend’s whole face soften even more. And before he could stop himself, he continued, “There’s Maeve, she’s just about five months old. Just a tiny baby. And then there’s Valiana. She’s uh—” he huffed, a fond smile playing on his lips even though he didn’t realize it. “She’s only six, but oh, you should see how headstrong she is. She—”

He trailed off the minute he realized he was rambling, and huffed softly instead. “Anyways,” he chuckled. “There’s that.”

“Can I meet them?”

“You will,” Cassian nodded, his smile softening even further. “I don’t know when, though. We’re still—” he took a deep breath. “We’re all still adjusting to this whole…” he shrugged. “Situation.”

For a moment, Feyre observed him, her smile soft.

She said, “You seem happy.”

“I mean—” he snorted. “It’s been a rough couple of—”

“No,” Feyre shook her head. “You seem happy. You seem… I don’t know. You seem like you know exactly what you’re doing. And like you already love them very much.”

Slowly, he shrugged.

He couldn’t exactly contradict her.

He also couldn’t exactly admit it—how much he cared. How much he was already feeling… feeling a little bit too much, probably.

He didn’t answer.

And he was glad that Feyre didn’t push him to.

Slowly, Feyre found his hand—the one that had been toying with his cup of coffee and decidedly not fidgeting—and wrapped her smaller one around it. Her tattooed one around his.

She said, in a voice softer than he had thought possible,

“It’s okay to love them, Cassian.”

He wanted to huff at her. Wanted to roll his eyes, or even chuckle and brush her off with a hand.

He found he couldn’t. Not really.

He took a deep breath instead.

“Maybe we should make them meet Nyx and Elizabeth, someday,” he offered with a half smile. “I’m sure Valiana would—” he chuckled. “I don’t know what she would do, honestly. She’s got quite the attitude.”

“She must get along with Nesta.”

“Oh,” Cassian snorted. “You have no idea.”

“I think—” Nesta yawned a little audibly, both her arms tucked underneath Maeve’s shoulders to keep her upright as she bounced up and down excitedly, “She’s gonna be a dancer.”

“She won’t—”

“She’s always trying to dance,” she chuckled. “Look!”

Somehow, she had a point. Maeve was moving, bouncing, almost dancing.

“She would be very cute in a tutu,” Cassian whispered softly, leaning his head against Nesta’s shoulder. “Maybe we should sign her up for lessons when she…”

He trailed off, half biting his lip.

He knew better than to make plans like this. He knew better and yet… He couldn’t quite help it.

He cleared his throat, and instead of continuing in his line of thought, he leaned in to steal a kiss on the baby’s head.

“Hey baby,” he murmured. “Maeve Bear.”

Nesta snorted next to him. She raised an eyebrow at him. “Maeve Bear?”

“What? You don’t like it?”

She chuckled without answering, and this time she helped Maeve sit down on the carpet.

For a minute, they were silent—both looking at her as she looked back with a bright smile on her lips.

That is, until Cassian murmured—merely just a breath, really; one he meant for Nesta only.

“I want to hold her.”

Slowly, she turned her head toward him and the look she shot him was… pained. She glanced up to their living room table, where Valiana had been busy with a coloring book for the better part of half an hour, although they both knew she was lifting her eyes every now and then to glance up at them.

“Maybe you could…” Nesta tried quietly, but Cassian was already shaking his head.

“I don’t want to upset her.”

Valiana.

He didn’t want to break what little trust they had built—if even it could be called trust.

She was barely starting to open up to them. She was mainly quiet, mainly in her room, mainly staying with Maeve.

It was a victory in itself that they’d managed to convince her to play alone—in the sole attempt to get her to just… relax.

So no. Cassian wouldn’t break that trust.

Not like that.

Even if all he wanted was to reach out to Maeve and hold her—just like Nesta got to do every minute of every day.

He let out a long sigh, and kissed her shoulder again, just as Valiana, indeed, glanced up once more.

“You think tomorrow’s gonna be okay?” he asked, his voice still as quiet.

“Of course,” Nesta glanced sideways at him. “Plus, we don’t really have a choice, do we?”

“We—”

“Cass,” Nesta sighed tiredly. “I need to go back to work. I can’t let Emerie do everything alone, especially in the middle of December. And—” Her eyes darted towards Valiana again, and then back to Maeve. “And you can’t take them to your gym because—well…” she sighed.

“I know,” he nodded. “I know.”

He shut his eyes tight.

He didn’t know how Valiana would feel at the prospect of her and Maeve spending the day with him at his gym—no matter that he would have more time for her than Nesta could afford at the bookstore. And taking her alone meant she wouldn’t be with Maeve and, well… They couldn’t have that, either.

“I’ll be fine,” Nesta assured him, yet again. “We’ll be perfectly fine.”

He had to believe her—and sealed it with another kiss.

Chapter Text

From Cassian : How are you holding up?

From Cassian : How are they?

Cassian had been staring at his phone for so long his eyes had started to prickle.

He wasn’t hovering—wasn’t hovering at all.

He was merely… checking in, really. For the third time today.

The plan had been simple, truly. Nesta was taking Valiana and Maeve to her bookstore for the day—where she would look after them with an overexcited Emerie, in between the numerous clients they were expecting at this time of year.

And the plan, for him, was to get some work done. He owned a gym, after all, and some paperwork had to get done. Some things had to be taken care of.

And he had to train.

So the plan was simple.

But sticking to it—that was the hard part.

Cassian had lasted exactly one hour after dropping off Nesta and both girls at her bookstore before he’d given in and started texting Nesta. And she had answered to his first texts rather quickly.

From Cassian : Everything good?

From Nesta : Sure

From Nesta : Valiana is thrilled to be here.

From Nesta : (she’s not.)

From Nesta : Oh and she told me to tell you she hates you, too.

The smile tugging at his lips was immediate.

He had been able to train for a while after that, relishing the way it cleared his head like nothing else could, and sent his second text of the day right before stepping into the shower adjacent to the training room.

From Cassian : Still good?

From Nesta : Yeah.

From Cassian : What are they doing?

From Nesta : Valiana is huffing and pouting. Maeve is looking cute.

From Nesta : Who would have thought babies made for such good marketing. She’s getting clients in the shop without even trying.

From Cassian : Hey

From Cassian : Don’t use my baby to sell books. You monster

He cleared his throat, almost nervously as he rushedly typed,

From Cassian : I mean. The baby.

Her only response was a smiling emoji.

The third time he had wanted to check on them was after lunch—he’d typed his texts quickly, and had thought, like both times, he would get an answer soon enough.

He didn’t.

He waited, and waited, and waited, and when the text inevitably didn’t come, Cassian sighed and got to work.

And it was okay, too. He knew Nesta was busy.

Hell, he knew she was busier than busy.

December was the busiest month of the year for them—books were always a gift of choice, and the fact that one of Nesta’s favorite authors had just released a new one made their predicted sales for this month increase immensely—and today, she also had to look after a baby and a six-year-old, both of which they were still adjusting to.

So Cassian knew she was busy. He knew Nesta could probably not answer right now, and that was okay.

He couldn’t help it, either—couldn’t help the pit of worry in his stomach. Couldn’t help shaking his leg—tapping it incessantly in an anxious motion. Couldn‘t help checking his phone, every few minutes.

When his text had been left unanswered for three whole hours, Cassian stopped pretending, too. He couldn’t get any work done like this anyway—he was simply staring at his computer, pretending he was busy when really, his mind was absolutely elsewhere; checking his phone every few minutes to find Nesta still hadn’t answered.

So at one point, he stopped pretending, and took his phone in hands, leaning back in his chair with a long sigh, and started… staring, really.

Staring at the thread with Nesta, and at his unanswered texts. Staring at the previous ones, too, and smiling softly at the words they had shared a little earlier this morning.

He swore he could see exactly how they were right now. Valiana, her arms stubbornly folded over her chest in a corner of the bookstore—frowning at every client who dared to come too close to her. Maeve, tucked in Nesta’s arms—or probably bouncing on her hip and charming every single client her sister was trying to send away.

And Nesta—glaring at every single person who spoke a little too loud, or eyed either of them wrong.

He kept staring at his phone for a full minute, waiting—and waiting, and waiting—for the three little dots to appear; the ones that would tell him Nesta was typing back. But they didn’t come.

And he was useless here, anyway, so on half a thought, he stood, shut his laptop, and picked it up before he was out of the door.

The bookstore was crowded when he entered it. It wasn’t exactly a small shop anyway, but today it was buzzing like never before—with people, and laughter, and life. Cassian saw none of that. His eyes scanned every single inch of the shop as he maneuvered through stacks of books and customers juggling more items than they could manage.

“Hey you,” he almost jumped at the voice, but his grin was fond when he turned to find Emerie looking at him.

“Hey, Em,” he greeted, pulling her into a small hug immediately. “How are you?”

“Stop pretending you’re here to know that,” she snorted with a wide smile. “Have you come to gather your little family?” He huffed, even through his small eye roll. “Nesta’s behind the cashier’s counter,” the Illyrian offered gently instead. “But hey,” she called after him when he turned around again. “We could use some help over here. Make yourself useful!”

He was chuckling as he, indeed, continued walking to where the cashier’s counter was located. It wasn’t so hard to reach usually, but he managed to squeeze his way through the crowd, and his eyes landed on Nesta as soon as she was in his line of sight.

His grin widened immediately. She was gently rocking the small baby rocker set on the cashier’s desk, speaking with a customer though her eyes were darting to Maeve every few seconds. She didn’t notice him—at least she didn’t seem to—but Cassian paid it no mind. He continued to make his way through the crowd, and when he neared her, Nesta’s eyes finally found him. He rounded the desk until he could come to a stop behind her.

“Hey there,” he murmured as he lowered his head to her ear, placing a gentle hand on her hip and a kiss on the back of her head.

“What are you already doing here?” she asked, glancing at him over her shoulder as she continued wrapping the book she was holding in her hands. “You weren’t supposed to come by for at least two more hours.”

Cassian ignored her as he turned toward Maeve on the counter, and gently brushed his finger on her cheek in greeting. Even above the noises of the bookstore, he heard her cooing distinctly and didn’t refrain his smile at the sound.

“Valia?” he asked Nesta quietly instead of answering her question.

“She’s in the back. Didn’t want to stay here.” To the client in front of them, she extended the wrapped book and added, "There you go."

Cassian hummed in acknowledgment and after another second of staring into Maeve’s opened eyes, he placed another kiss on the side of Nesta’s head before he walked away.

He had come to the backroom of the shop quite a lot—had helped unpack boxes of books many times, and had even dragged Nesta there a few times when the shop was closed. When he pushed the curtain that separated the room to the side though, he didn’t exactly expect the sight he was met with.

Valiana was sitting on a closed box of books, her back leaning against the wall behind her with both her legs pulled up to her chest. She had a small figurine in hand—one Cassian couldn’t exactly make out the shape of, and she was slowly moving it on her knees—as if trying to make it walk. She didn’t notice him right away, and Cassian did nothing to announce his presence, either. He took her in, his heart clenching a little at the sight of her so lonely.

He didn’t go unnoticed for long though, because after only a few seconds, her eyes glanced up to his. Her small hand wrapped around the figurine entirely, as if hiding it—or hiding the fact that she was playing at all, perhaps.

“Hi,” He greeted nicely, chancing a small smile at her. He took a step into the room, but didn’t get close to her. “What are you doing here?”

“Are we leaving?” She asked instead. “I want to leave.”

“Nesta still has to stay for a few hours,” Cassian explained gently. “So, no. Unless you want to come with me?”

Her lack of response was the only confirmation he needed. Still, he kept his smile dancing on his lips.

“Why are you sitting here and not on the couch?” he asked, nodding his head toward the end of the room, where a couch was indeed sitting.

Valiana shrugged her shoulders, her eyes finally leaving his and finding her hand, still wrapped around the figurine on her knee. Cassian took another step in the room, though this time it was to find a wall to lean on. He slid down on the wall until he was sitting on the floor.

It was hard, and cold. Nothing comfortable, really. But it also seemed better to sit there than on the couch—at least in an attempt to put them on somewhat equal footing.

“I don’t do well in crowds,” he offered gently after a few moments. “I don’t really like it when there are a lot of people in a tight space. Out there,” he pointed toward the closed curtain that led to the bookstore with his thumb, “Is a special kind of torture for me. Too much noise, too much movement, too many people.”

Silence stretched between them for a few beats. Valiana wasn’t looking directly at him, but he knew he had her attention in the way her face was frowning. It was small—barely there, compared to her usual deep frown. But he saw it, and he knew it meant she was listening. It meant she was trying to make sense of what he was trying to tell her.

“I was born in Illyria, too.”

Her eyes snapped up to his at that.

“I didn’t have a mother, or a father. I've spent a lot of my life alone, so being around that many people has always been a little uncomfortable for me. Nesta,” he smiled softly. “She’s accustomed to it. She grew up with a family, for one. Her parents and sisters. Her mother took her to parties, and dinners, and dancing competitions—” he shrugged. “She doesn’t mind the crowd that much.”

For a moment, Valiana didn’t respond. And when she did, Cassian didn’t let his surprise show at her question,

“She has sisters?”

Valiana’s voice was quiet. Almost hesitant. Her hand was still curled around the small figurine, but it almost looked like it was merely for the excuse to grip something rather than to hide it.

“Two sisters,” Cassian confirmed with a nod. “One of them is a very dear friend of mine. And the other one is very nice, too.” He paused, then added, “It’s okay to want to be alone, Valiana. But sometimes, it feels nice to let people in, too.”

She held his gaze for another few seconds before she glanced down to her lap, cocking her head to the side as she unwrapped her fist from around the figurine to start slowly playing with it again. It was in the space between her chest and her lap now, so Cassian couldn’t see it, but he observed her as she moved it slowly on her thighs.

He hadn’t expected her to reply at all. So he was surprised, after a few minutes, when she said,

“It’s useless anyway.” Her voice was soft. Quiet. Almost inaudible, and yet it wasn’t hesitant at all. Instead, it was assured. Convinced. “People will leave. They always leave.”

And perhaps he should have told her.

He should have told her,

We won’t.

We’ll be there for you—always.

We won’t leave you and we won’t let anybody hurt you.

But it would have been a lie, too, wouldn’t it?

It would have been a lie, because no matter how much Cassian wanted it to be true, he also wouldn’t have any power over it.

He wouldn’t have any way to ensure it would be the truth.

He knew—they all knew—this was only temporary.

No matter how much he wanted to forget it.

It was inevitable.

She glanced back up at him when he didn’t answer, and the look they exchanged confirmed what he had already guessed.

Valiana knew it, too.

“Ugh,” Nesta groaned next to him, the sound low and loud. “Not again.”

Cassian pulled her closer to him, just for a second. Just in an attempt to pretend this was a dream—and pretend that he was, indeed, sleeping. Like he should be. Like he needed to.

But it wasn’t, and he knew it, too.

“Fuck,” he said—half a mumble and a sigh. “Let me—“

“Don’t be an idiot,” she yawned as she straightened out of his arms. “You can’t even hold her. How are you gonna calm her?”

And of course, she had a point. He sighed again tiredly as he stood, following after her.

Maeve had woken up crying every single hour all night. It was always the same—a soft whimper or whining they heard through the baby phone in their room, before it started to get a little louder.

And then, inevitably, it would turn into downright wailing—the sound so piercing and heartbreaking they couldn’t ignore it.

Valiana was always awake when they arrived in the room. The first few times, she was up, standing near the crib and talking softly in an attempt to soothe her sister.

After the third time though—and probably after she understood they would always come—she stayed in her bed, even though she kept watching them intently.

That’s exactly where she was right now—sitting up in her bed, clutching her teddy bear tight to her chest and a fist rubbing at her eyes.

She was exhausted—deprived of the sleep she much needed. She was still wide awake, though.

“She’s crying again,” she announced matter-of-factly as they entered the room, as if it wasn’t obvious.

“Thanks, Valia,” Cassian huffed, “We weren’t exactly sure about it.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically—and plopped down on her bed with a loud sigh. Her eyes were still trained on Nesta as she reached for Maeve, and she still didn’t tear her gaze away when she started to rock Maeve slowly.

“I don’t get it,” Nesta murmured as Maeve kept crying. “She was fine all of the other nights.”

And it was true, too.

They had been with them for almost a week and a half, now. And while Maeve didn’t sleep through the night—she still needed to eat every few hours—she had never been like this. Had never been this restless.

“Maybe she’s hungry,” Nesta frowned.

“No—“

Both Cassian and Valiana shared a look as they said the word at the same time.

Cassian was the one to continue,

“She ate just two hours ago. I don’t think she’s hungry.”

“And you just changed her diaper,” Valiana mumbled in addition.

Nesta hummed in agreement. Her hair was ruffled and her nightgown was wrinkled—but she was holding the baby in her arms and despite the fatigue, and the yawns she kept stifling every few minutes, a small smile curved Cassian’s mouth.

He couldn’t help but find her beautiful.

Absolutely gorgeous.

She glanced up at him and frowned at his expression, but it only served to widen his smile. He sat down on the floor, leaning his back against Valiana’s bed as Nesta kept rocking Maeve.

She was harder to calm down than the other four—five?—times they had woken up, he noticed, and a deep sigh left him at the thought.

This was going to be a long night, indeed.

His eyes darted to the side almost imperceptibly when he felt a pair of eyes on him, and when he turned to fully look, indeed, it was to meet Valiana’s dark eyes.

“What?” He asked.

He half expected her to ignore him. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

Her arms were still clutching the teddy bear tight, her head tucked on the top of the stuffed animal, when she said,

“Your hair,” Cassian’s eyebrows rose. “It’s long.”

“It is,” he nodded.

And indeed, it was loose tonight. He usually wore it back in a bun—very rarely did he let it fall on his shoulders.

For some reason, he had, tonight.

“Why?”

He huffed at that, tearing his eyes away from her when he noticed the cries had finally quieted down. “Why not?” He countered.

“You’re a boy,” she said—as if it was a reason enough. “Boys have it short. Girls have it long.”

Cassian snorted, “You really believe that, Valia?” He turned his gaze back toward her as Nesta gently replaced Maeve in her crib. “I’m sure you know better.”

She kept silent, but her eyes stayed trained on him for another few beats. Eventually, she shifted until she didn’t lay on her side but on her back instead.

“You should sleep, Valiana,” Nesta quipped in quietly. “It’s very late.”

“You’re not sleeping,” she countered. “And Maeve isn’t, either.”

When he met Nesta’s gaze, Cassian’s smile was back.

He could very well get accustomed to this, he thought.

All of this.

“Would you mind if we stayed here?” Nesta murmured eventually, sitting down on the rocking chair by the window. “It’ll be easier if she wakes up again.”

Instead of answering, Valiana turned her head towards Nesta, meeting her gaze. She observed her for one second, two, before moving and looking at Cassian for a moment as well.

And then, she moved again. Shifting on her side until she turned her back to them fully.

Cassian almost snorted at the lack of confirmation—that was a confirmation in itself, really—but he didn’t. He leaned his head back against her bed instead and closed his eyes.

He could at least try to get some more sleep.

This dance went on for two more hours—two more crying sessions—before he decided he couldn’t bear it.

Nesta’s eyes were barely opening with the exhaustion he knew she felt in every single bone of her body, and Valiana was getting grumpier by the minute—which was saying something.

She was burying her head in the pillows now, instead of straightening every time her sister started crying, and this, in itself, showed him how much she needed sleep as much as they did.

He had to do something.

He just had to.

“Let me,” he said, standing up.

Nesta’s head whipped toward him, pausing in her steps as she was about to reach out to Maeve.

And had she not been this tired, he knew he would have seen the surprise on her face. As it was, she merely looked at him, then glanced at Valiana quickly.

“What?” She asked, a yawn more than anything.

“Let me try,” he repeated, and didn’t even look toward Valiana when he reached out in the crib to gather a crying Maeve in his arms.

Cassian fooled himself into thinking the slight shaking of his hands was because of the exhaustion, and not because of anything else. One hand behind her tiny head, and one hand under her back.

His movements were slow, calculated, careful when he finally lifted her off the crib and pulled her close to him—absolutely terrified to do something wrong.

And it was dumb, really. It was so dumb. He had carried babies before—had carried Nyx, when he was still a newborn and had carried Nora just a few weeks ago. He knew how to carry a baby.

He wasn’t sure this should feel so different.

Maeve was small—felt small. Smaller than he had thought anyway, and as soon as he placed her near his chest, nestled in the crook of his arm, she seemed to settle down.

Just slightly.

And Cassian couldn’t even feel surprised, because he felt something settle within him, too.

She was still crying, and still moving this way and that, but the sobs had been replaced with smaller cries and her eyes—red with tears—were solely trained in him.

“Hey,” he breathed—not even able to contain his growing smile and the burst of his heart at the sight. “Hey, Baby.”

He gently bounced her up and down a few times—realizing how little she weighed indeed—and when that seemed to do the trick and calm her down for good, he huffed.

“Better?” He murmured, one hand coming to gently caress the baby’s tiny face, his thumb brushing to wipe away her tears.

She cooed, her eyes blinking slowly.

“You have to sleep now, Maeve Bear,” he continued quietly. “We all need to sleep, okay?”

Her response came in the form of her tiny hand curling and wrapping around one of his fingers. The difference in size would probably have made him laugh if it weren’t for the feelings in his chest (his heart galloping and aching, in the very best way), and for the tears slowly welling in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he breathed, nodding slightly, not able to restrain himself. “It’s very nice to meet you, too.”

Because that’s exactly what it felt like, wasn’t it?

The very first time he met her—properly. The very first time he was able to carry her like he had been wanting to.

The very first time he got to hold what felt like the best part of himself.

She didn’t let go of his hand. And he didn’t try to make her, either. Her eyes were trained on him—as if searching his face with the most scrutiny she could manage—although her eyelids seemed to get heavier by the minute. She lifted her other hand eventually, presenting it to him palm up, and Cassian wasn't sure he understood what she wanted. Still, he leaned in slowly, until his mouth met the middle of her tiny palm and grazed his lips over her skin in a soft kiss.

"Hi."

Cassian was aware, distantly, of the two sets of eyes observing them. But he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the baby in his arms. And even when she eventually fell back asleep—a few deep breaths making her chest rise and fall as if in relief—he kept looking at her.

As if she was the very best part of this world.

Her, and the two other girls in this room, anyway.

It was another few seconds before he finally made himself move, walking very gently toward the crib and began to lower Maeve in it.

Her face contorted in a grimace as soon as he tried to place her down on the mattress—her brows furrowing and her mouth opening in what would turn into a cry in exactly five seconds, he was sure.

“She’s going to scream again if you don’t keep her.”

Valiana.

Valiana and her small, quiet voice—as if sharing an admission she didn’t want to speak. Cassian froze for a second at her voice, before he straightened, keeping Maeve in his arms.

And his choice was made in half a second, then. He repositioned her upright against his chest instead of in the crook of his arm, before he made his way back toward the bed.

“Mind if we sit down next to you?” He asked Valiana quietly—his way of making sure she was okay with… everything, really.

Him holding Maeve. Maeve wanting to be held by him.

Him caring for both of them like he did.

Valiana didn’t answer—at least, not with her words.

But she silently shifted until she was almost against the wall on the other side of the bed, leaving almost enough room for two more people, really. Cassian simply sat down at the edge, careful to leave as much space between them as he could, and leaned his back against the wall behind him.

“Well,” he announced in a whisper. “We’ll see how long this lasts.”

He glanced up at Nesta, who was curled up under a blanket on the rocking chair and already watching him back with nothing but love in her eyes. She was smiling, too—wide and unguarded—and he wanted to tell her to come closer—to come with them, where she belonged.

He didn’t know how well Valiana would take it.

And he sure as hell wouldn’t risk upsetting her further.

“You should go to bed,” he offered her very quietly instead.

But Nesta was already shaking her head, even as she yawned, “I’m good here.”

And he knew it was true.

There was absolutely nowhere he would have rather been, either.

His eyes were darting from her, to Valiana and then to Maeve for a few moments—and it wasn’t long until Nesta eventually fell back asleep.

Valiana, too, was almost there, but she kept her eyes trained on him as if fighting to keep them open.

On half a thought, Cassian gently reached out a hand to her, and she tracked his every move as he grabbed the cover to pull it higher around her.

“Good night, Valia,” he murmured. “I’ve got her.” He hesitated, before he added, “I’ve got you both.”

Her dark eyes—almost indiscernible in the darkness of the room—slowly blinked at him.

Cassian slowly offered her a half smile in response, leaning his cheek against Maeve's head.

Valiana kept her eyes locked on his until she eventually lost the fight against sleep, but even then, Cassian didn’t stop watching her.

Watching over her.

And he knew he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep, anyway.

Not when he could enjoy the feeling of Maeve’s small breathing against him and the sounds of her gentle cooing in her sleep.

Not when he got to carry her for the first time, and he wanted to enjoy every single second.

Not when he felt a little more serene, for the first time in a long while—surrounded by three beautiful souls.

Maeve didn't wake up again for the remainder of the night. Because every time she started stirring in her sleep, Cassian gently rocked her. Every time a small whimper escaped her, he murmured in her ear. Every time she shivered slightly, he pulled her a little closer to his chest. A little closer to his heart. 

Nesta and Valiana didn't wake up again, either.

And he didn't get another more minute of sleep, but he felt strangely peaceful, come morning.

He felt strangely more at ease than he had in a long time.

Chapter Text

Nesta had rarely been this exhausted.

Her head was pounding, and she was struggling to give real smiles to each client coming into the shop. The fact that she hadn’t gotten a real night of sleep in almost three weeks didn’t help, either.

“Why is she crying again?” Valiana asked, following behind her in the rows and rows of books. “She’s always crying.”

And she had a point, too.

Maeve had been restless all day—never getting more than a few dozen minutes of sleep at a time.

“I don’t know, Valiana,” Nesta sighed deeply, coming to a stop in front of the bookshelf she had been looking for and setting down the box she was holding. “I really don’t know.”

Valiana sighed, too.

In the past couple of days, she’d gotten a little more comfortable in the bookstore—not that she seemed to like it at all. But she was, at least, not hiding in the back every day, and for this, Nesta could only be proud.

She tried,

“Should we wait to see if she calms down on her own?”

Valiana seemed to think about it. A small frown was on her face, and she was looking towards where Maeve’s bouncer was placed.

“Ten books,” she offered, her voice hesitant.

A small smile curved Nesta’s lips. “Ten books,” she agreed.

Nesta crouched down and started taking one book out of the box at her feet, then tucked it where it belonged in the bookshelf.

She did the same with a second, third, and fourth one.

“She’s not crying when Cassian’s here,” Valiana mumbled—her face grimacing as if the words cost her. With a hesitant hand, she reached forward and grabbed a book from the box, turning it around in her hands. Nesta observed her from the side as she did, but she didn’t say anything.

“She doesn’t,” Nesta agreed quietly.

Valiana glanced up to find Nesta’s eyes trained on her, and for a few seconds, they stayed unmoving. That is, until Nesta gently outstretched a hand towards Valiana. The six-year-old handed her the book silently.

“That’s five,” Nesta announced. “Five more?”

Valiana didn’t answer, but she continued handing the books to Nesta, one by one. Nesta knew she probably would be faster if she was reaching out for the books herself, but seeing Valiana trying to help her was way too heartwarming. By the tenth book, Nesta glanced in the direction of the backroom, where the cries had eased out slightly.

“She’s a little better,” she mused. “Want to come check on her with me?”

Valiana’s nod was slow, a little hesitant.

And when Nesta got up and extended a hand toward her, almost without thinking, she froze. They both froze, really. Valiana’s eyes were entirely focused on Nesta’s hand, as if debating on what to do, and Nesta was holding her breath—absolutely unable to do anything else.

She didn’t know who was more surprised—Valiana, or herself—when she lifted her small hand toward her slowly. So, so slowly. Her fingers were almost brushing Nesta’s palm when the door to the bookstore opened.

The sound startled both of them, and Nesta’s head darted to it instinctively, only to find Emerie entering the bookstore. When she glanced back down at Valiana, her hand was hanging low at her sides, and she was already walking away—towards where Maeve was still crying softly, Nesta knew.

That day, Valiana stayed mainly in the backroom after that.

“Ugh,” Nesta groaned, “Are you seriously trying to add more decorations right now?”

Emerie glanced at her over her shoulder, her brows almost furrowing.

“It’s just a couple of lights.”

Nesta didn’t hold back her eye roll this time.

“The shop is vomiting lights,” she sighed. “I really don’t think it’s necessary.”

“It’s Christmas,” her friend scoffed. “There can never be enough lights.”

Nesta wanted to disagree. Had she been alone, she probably wouldn’t have decorated the shop at all.

As it was, it was already way more than she had ever planned to agree on.

Still, Nesta took the end of the light garland Emerie was handing her silently.

“Plus,” Emerie continued, her eyes darting towards the backroom before finding Nesta again. “You should probably make it extra special this year,” she mused, climbing on a chair to secure the lights. “What are you gonna do?”

Nesta shrugged. “We didn’t plan anything.”

“You didn’t—”

“Nesta.” The small voice—frowning and less than happy—caught both their attentions. “Where’s my bag?”

“Your—“

“My bag,” Valiana repeated with both her brows furrowed. “I want my bag.”

“Right,” Nesta tried to rein in her gentle scoff, shaking her head slowly. “Did you have it when we came here this morning?”

Valiana took a step closer, but her frown was only deepening.

“I always have it,” she answered. “And now I can’t find it. Did you take it?”

The question had been thrown at Emerie somehow, and instead of the inquisitive tone that should have come with it, Valiana’s voice was almost accusative.

“I need it,” she continued. “I—“

“Okay, okay,” Nesta cut her down gently. “I’ll tell you what, let me finish with this,” she lifted the garland she was still holding in emphasis, “and then I’ll help you find your bag. Does that sound good with you?”

Apparently, it didn’t—if the huff that escaped Valiana and the eye roll she rewarded her with were any indication. She turned on her heels immediately and disappeared in the room in the back of the bookstore.

“I mean…” Emerie said quietly after a few minutes. “She certainly has a strong—”

“Don’t.” Nesta interrupted her, turning her glare to her friend, her eyes narrowed. “She’s doing the best she can. She can take it all out on me for all I care.”

The huff that left Emerie’s lips was… amused, somehow.

She turned back to the lights she was still hanging, but Nesta could have sworn she heard her mumble something.

Something that sounded a lot like protective mama bear.

From Nesta : If I strangle someone, you think they will press charges?

Cassian’s response came immediately, and the smile that stretched Nesta’s lips was just as quick to appear.

It was weird, she thought, how with just a few words hastily written in a text, he managed to settle down something in her.

From Cassian : As long as you’re talking about your clients and not two tiny faces. I don’t care.

Nesta sighed, but somehow, she already felt a little more peaceful.

From Nesta : I’m just very tired.

From Cassian : How are the girls?

From Nesta : Maeve won’t stop crying. How’s that for a nice and quiet day at work?

Cassian didn’t respond to her text. Instead, her phone buzzed with a call, and Nesta had to roll her eyes at him even before she picked up. She had always thought he was a little overbearing, but she had never imagined it could get any worse.

“Hey—”

“She’s crying?”

Nesta huffed, and this time, she pushed off the wall she had been leaning against. “She’s good. Just a little restless.”

“Have you tried—”

“Yes,” she cut him off before he could finish his sentence. “I gave her a bottle and changed her diaper. I also tried to keep her with me for a while. Valiana did, too.”

There was a pause at the other end of the phone. One Nesta knew all too well the meaning of.

“I could—”

“No, Cassian,” she sighed. “We’re fine.”

“But I—”

“Cass,” she said, a little more firmly this time. From the corner of her eyes, she noticed Valiana’s small head peeking out of the backroom, but she didn’t come closer—and as soon as she locked eyes with Nesta, she disappeared into the room again. “She’s fine,” she continued on the phone. “She’ll be fine.”

“I could just come by,” he answered quietly, almost hesitantly. “It’d be no trouble at all.”

Because Maeve would calm down the minute Cassian appeared. That was a certainty—and they all knew it.

Ever since he had carried her for the first time a few nights ago, she’d been mostly restless—crying and fussing and screaming, unless he was there. Unless he murmured in her ear and rocked her close to his chest.

Nesta didn’t mind—in truth, she couldn’t help melting from the inside out every single time.

But a part of her couldn’t help this feeling of… inadequacy.

“Don’t,” Nesta insisted. “We’re fine.”

Her voice was firm enough to leave no room for an argument.

And so, when Cassian sighed over the phone, she knew he was resigned as well.

The bookstore was strangely quiet today, which was a wonder, really, with how many clients they had had over the past couple of days.

But this was a nice reprieve. And it at least enabled Nesta to check on Valiana a little more. She made her way to the backroom as soon as she hung up, and found her sitting in the middle of the room, her yellow backpack she had apparently found in hands. Her head whipped towards Nesta immediately and she placed both her hands on the bag, almost protectively.

Nesta huffed softly but didn’t call her out on it. She turned towards the crib.

“She asleep?”

Valiana didn’t answer, but Nesta didn’t really expect it anyway.

She said, “Do you want to come in the store with me?”

Her only response came in the form of a frown. And perhaps Nesta should have pushed—perhaps she should have told her it’d be better for her, than to stay in this gloomy backroom. Perhaps she should have told her they could have fun, both of them.

She didn’t.

She didn’t think Valiana would have liked it.

And she also realized—she could trust Valiana to be alone.

She did trust her.

And so, Nesta went on with her day—strangely quietly.

Strangely uninterrupted.

It was a little less than two hours later when she went back to the backroom.

The shop was now closed and Emerie was long gone—and the quietness reminded her that Maeve had not cried for a few hours, somehow.

The yellow bag was now open on the floor, but aside from Maeve stirring slightly in her portable crib, there was no one in the room.

Nesta furrowed her brows.

“Valiana?”

The only answer she got was a loud and sleepy yawn coming from the crib.

And it was okay, too, right?

She cleared her throat—somehow trying to calm her racing heart—and checked on Maeve quickly before she moved.

There couldn’t be many places for Valiana to hide. The main area of the bookstore wasn’t exactly huge, and she had just left it so she knew Valiana wasn’t there. What was left was this backroom, a tiny and dark corridor that was usually filled with boxes of books waiting to be put on the shelves, and an even tinier bathroom.

So Nesta—calculating, down-to-earth, rational Nesta—knew Valiana couldn’t be far.

She knew it.

Damn, she knew it in her bones.

But her heart didn’t want to agree right now.

And her head, either.

She couldn’t help it. Her whole body was reacting—her palms were getting sweaty and her breathing ragged and her heart skyrocketing. And why the hell was she freaking out even when she knew there was absolutely nothing to be freaking out about?

Nothing.

Nothing.

She turned around in the room for only a few seconds—double, triple, quadruple checking that Maeve was alright—before taking the small corridor and looking in every corner she could find. Her head was turning left and right all around, even in the most impossible places but her heart stopped—stopped before it settled down—when she saw the room at the end of the hall, with light spilling through the edges of the door.

Nesta released a painful breath and brought her hand to her heart for one, two, three seconds, before she was able to call,

“Valiana?”

Her voice was a little shaky, but she hoped Valiana wouldn’t be able to hear it through the door.

And perhaps she was right, and perhaps Valiana couldn’t hear her at all, because she got no answer. She took a step closer and repeated,

“Valiana? You in here?”

Again, she heard nothing.

And she didn’t want her heart to start racing back again, but it didn’t matter. It was all the same.

She was moving before she could really think; grabbing the doorknob and opening the door—unlocked, she noted—and then—

She paused.

She stopped.

She simply… blinked.

Blinked at the scene before her and at the other pair of dark eyes she found inside.

Dark and teary and determined.

Eyes of steel, furrowed and looking right back at her.

Nesta blinked again.

“Valiana,” she repeated, her voice filled with quiet surprise, now, “What—how—what are you—”

But Nesta couldn’t get the words past her lips. Not with every other detail she could finally make out of the scene before her. Not with the shock and the unexpected of what she was seeing.

Valiana was kneeling on the closed toilet seat, her knees pressing against the lid, in an attempt to be able to see her reflection in the small mirror on the wall, she guessed. Her hands were both hovering around her face—one hand holding a thick strand of hair and the other holding a pair of scissors bigger than her head, dangerously close to the skin of her cheek.

Nesta noticed, then, the dark hair scattered around Valiana—on the floor and on the toilet and on the tiny sink before her.

She managed to blink back to reality, then, as she asked,

“What are you doing? What—Where did you find these? Give them to—”

“It’s mine.”

Nesta swallowed at Valiana’s tone. She swallowed and paused, because she knew this tone. It was the tone she used in the first few days with them. The tone she had used with Myriam when she wasn’t happy. The tone Nesta knew meant she wasn’t about to give in easily.

Nesta’s eyes refocused on the pair of scissors she still hadn’t lowered.

“Okay,” she said, very slowly. “Where did you—Where did you find them?”

“They’re mine,” Valiana repeated, still unmoving.

Nesta’s eyes found hers again, and after only a second she guessed,

“They were in your bag? The bag you carry everywhere?”

Valiana didn’t bother to answer—but she didn’t need her confirmation, really.

She cleared her throat, taking a step forward in the bathroom,

“Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to cut your hair?” she asked very gently, never breaking eye contact.

Nesta swore she could count the beats of her heart until Valiana answered. She didn’t look like she wanted to. But she knew the little girl was also getting tired—she saw it in the way her arms were slightly trembling now, and with the way her face was relaxing, just in the slightest. After a few seconds, she said,

“I’m not allowed to have it short.”

“You are,” Nesta countered immediately. “You absolutely are. I don’t mind.”

When all Valiana did was blink at her, Nesta offered,

“Want me to help?”

A tear—small, unexpected, slow—escaped Valiana’s eyes as she blinked. And that was the last proof Nesta needed. The last sign that she had won, really. She slowly reached a hand forward, and wrapped it around Valiana’s to take the scissors from her hands.

It felt even bigger than she had thought—and sharper, too.

She released a breath she hadn’t thought she was holding and felt her heart settle down, too. All the thoughts and images she had been trying to block out came rushing back to her, but she found them a little less disturbing, now that she had managed to get the danger out of the way.

Slowly, she started combing her fingers through Valiana’s hair.

She could offer to bring her to a hair salon, she knew. Or even wait for a few days before making the decision. She could but she also knew the look on Valiana's face meant there was something more to this. She knew that whatever it was—whatever had made her come in here today and cut her hair, it wasn’t something she was ready to share, just yet.

She cleared her throat.

“How about,” she asked gently, “I come back with a chair?” Valiana turned her head back towards her to be able to meet her eyes. Nesta smiled a small smile at her. “That way,” she continued, “You can see yourself in the mirror properly. And you can tell me where to stop cutting.”

Valiana was already nodding before Nesta even finished her sentence.

“Okay”, Nesta mused quietly—her heart still painful in her chest. “Alright. I’ll be right back.”

She was careful to take the pair of scissors with her as she left the room, and she took the opportunity to gather her thoughts as well.

She wondered if it would be her reality, now—to get lost in worry over anything. To imagine the worst-case scenarios at every single moment. To let her anxieties eat her alive. To care so much she felt physically sick.

She didn’t know. But she somehow doubted it would ever go away.

When Nesta came back into the bathroom, Valiana was sitting on the floor, and playing with the few strands of hair she had already cut on her own. She got up silently though, and climbed on the chair Nesta brought without a word.

And so, she started cutting—silently, and gently, and carefully. She combed her fingers through her hair before she cut, and when Valiana nodded at her silent inquiry, she cut even shorter.

She was almost done with one side of her hair when they heard footsteps in the corridor and saw Cassian’s head peek out of the half-open door.

Surprise was written all over his face as he took them in, and he was already opening his mouth to speak but Nesta cut him off with a sharp look. One that said everything she didn’t want to voice.

Don’t ask.

I don’t even know.

We’re doing this and we’re both fine.

And of course, like every other day of their lives, he didn’t need more to understand her. He clamped his mouth shut instead and opened the door a little more to lean against the threshold and observe them.

He still hadn’t said a single word to them, but neither of them needed it. Valiana didn’t seem to need it, either.

And as Nesta continued cutting, making her way to even out the other side of her hair, Nesta noticed how Valiana seemed to relax with each strand of hair falling to the ground.

It was only when she was finished that Nesta asked quietly,

“What do you think?”

Valiana was already looking back at her own reflection in the mirror—already looking right back into her own eyes. They were still teary, even as she lifted her own (almost trembling) hands to brush through her now much shorter hair. It fell just under her cheeks, now, and although Nesta was no hairdresser, she had cut her sisters’ hair enough when they were young to have made it somehow even.

Both Cassian and Nesta were observing Valiana so intently that they almost startled when she broke the silence and stated,

“He loves my hair.”

Her voice was quiet and more vulnerable than Nesta had ever heard it. But it wasn’t exactly her tone that brought a sense of discomfort to her stomach and a feeling of uneasiness to her soul.

“My dad,” Valiana continued, her eyes snapping up to find Nesta’s in the mirror. “He always says he loves it.”

Nesta was positive she was going to be sick, then. And she didn’t know what to say, either—didn’t know what to offer that wouldn’t betray her breaking heart or her rising anger or any of her contorted feelings, really—so she was glad when Cassian answered for both of them,

“It’s not his to like.” He said the words with a finality that would probably have made Nesta shiver, if not for the care he managed to pour into his words as well. He repeated, “Your hair, and the way you look is only for you to like, Valia,” he said. “You understand?”

This time, instead of meeting his eyes in the mirror, Valiana fully turned on her heels to be able to look at him. And he had straightened out of the threshold, too, as if his words would have more meaning that way.

He crouched down until he was at her level from where she was still standing on the chair.

“Listen to me,” he said, and somehow, Nesta knew she was. “Your—dad,” he said as if the words cost him. “Whatever he did—”

Cassian trailed off, then—squeezing his jaw tight before he released it, “It’s not what a dad is supposed to be like,” he continued after a few moments. “It’s not, and I don’t want you to ever—ever, you hear me?—believe that Nesta and I would do anything to hurt you. In any way.” He paused, just long enough for the words to sink in, for all of them. “You can trust us, Valiana,” he continued after a minute. “You can trust us.”

Nesta wasn’t sure through the tears blurring her eyes, but she thought some were trailing down Valiana’s cheeks slowly. She did see the way she kept looking at Cassian (almost as if she was trying, with all she had, to believe him) and the way he seemed to hesitate before her (as if he wanted to do something he wasn’t sure he was allowed).

He apparently decided against it, because he swallowed before he gave her a curt nod and was about to straighten, but Valiana stopped him when she said,

“Rights?” She paused, and if Nesta’s heart hadn’t already been in pieces, it probably would have broken with the way her small, tiny voice was trembling. “Or Rules?”

Cassian fully straightened at that, an almost convincing smile spreading on his lips. “Both,” he said gently. “But mainly Rights. You have the right to trust us.”

When Valiana didn’t respond right away, Cassian slowly presented her with his fisted hand—and she only looked at it for half a second before she met it with her own.

He said,

“Your hair is very pretty, however long it is.”

And again, Nesta wasn’t exactly sure, but she thought she saw Valiana fighting to hide the smallest smile she had ever seen. She dropped her hand and turned back towards the mirror to look at herself, and when she did, the look Nesta exchanged with Cassian told her all she needed to know—he was trying to contain the same exact emotions she was feeling at the moment.

Nesta's mind was made in half a second as she handed Cassian the scissors.

“Will you cut mine?”

A surprised look crossed his face, before it was replaced with a small, proud smile. Valiana’s head had whipped towards them, too, but she didn’t reply.

“Sure?” Cassian asked, although he was already moving.

Nesta nodded.

She absolutely was.

Without another word, they all moved. Valiana climbed out of the chair to enable Nesta to sit down, and she made her way to sit on the toilet instead while Cassian took his place behind Nesta. He started cutting with uncertain hands, but with a few directions from her, he gained a little more confidence.

Valiana was watching them silently—though every time Nesta chanced a look, she could read something akin to wonder in her eyes.

Cassian finished cutting her hair with a more genuine smile. He carefully handed Nesta the scissors back to be able to thread his fingers through it in a motion that made her chuckle softly, before he placed both his hands on her shoulders and dropped a gentle kiss on her head.

“Maybe I should cut mine as well,” he said, all seriousness lining his tone. “That way we all match and—”

“No,” Valiana said—and although she hadn’t spoken in a few dozen minutes, her voice was absolutely assured and certain. It was almost an order, really.

Cassian seemed to notice it, too. His smile deepened.

“No?”

“No,” she repeated. She seemed to hesitate, before she added, “I like your hair.”

The words came so unexpectedly that they both froze a little. Cassian’s hands tightened slightly on Nesta’s shoulders, but it was only a second before he said, without even thinking,

“You do?”

That’s when they heard Maeve cry in the other room. And it was perhaps fate, or maybe a true ability she had to save her sister because Nesta was quite sure Valiana was already regretting her admission. She didn’t wait another second before climbing off of the toilet and exiting the room—leaving them both a little awestruck.

“I like your new hair,” Cassian announced that night, in a murmur that was softened by the voices of the TV.

Nesta smiled at him and pecked his lips from where she was half-lying on him.

“I made an appointment for next week,” she announced, and then chuckled at Cassian’s expression. “What?” she asked. “It’s not exactly even.”

“You wound me,” he countered, half-chuckling as well. “I really did my best here."

Nesta's chuckle was short-lived as Cassian asked, his voice quieter, now, "Are we gonna talk about it?"

"I—”

But she trailed off as soon as they heard a door open in the hallway, and Nesta only searched his face for a second before she straightened out of his arms. Cassian humored her, both of them repositioning themselves to sit on the couch instead of lying.

The end of their day had been somehow quiet. They’d taken care of Maeve and had managed to put her to bed before they ate with Valiana, and they both noticed how peaceful she seemed, that night. At least, more peaceful than they had ever seen her.

Nesta noticed, too, how often she touched her hair, or how often she’d not-so-subtly looked at Nesta—at her hair too, she knew.

They had brought her to bed a little less than thirty minutes ago and had started a movie, but neither of them said a word when they heard her small footsteps in the hall.

Nesta was the first to talk when Valiana came to stand next to the couch silently—bundled up in her pajamas and holding her teddy bear close to her chest,

“Can’t sleep?”

Valiana turned her head toward them, her eyes darting back and forth between them both, but didn’t answer.

Nesta tried again. “We’re watching a movie,” she announced. “But I don’t like this one, and I was just about to change it,” she emphasized her words by reaching for the remote on the coffee table “Want to join?”

Silently, Nesta stopped the movie they had started and easily found a Disney film she knew Elizabeth liked, so she could play this instead.

“You can sit down if you want,” Cassian offered, wrapping an arm around Nesta and pulling her closer—just to leave enough space on the other side of the couch.

Valiana only moved when Nesta started the movie—and she pointedly curled up on the farthest side of the couch.

But she started watching the movie, and from the corner of her eye, Nesta saw how she relaxed more and more with each minute.

Eventually, she reached for a blanket on Cassian’s side and gently brought it near Valiana. She asked quietly, “May I?”

And she didn’t know if Valiana understood was she was agreeing to, but it didn’t seem to matter because their eyes locked for only a second before Valiana nodded slowly and Nesta wrapped the blanket around her.

“It’s my niece’s favorite movie,” Nesta murmured, as if a secret she was sharing with her. “Maybe you’ll like it, too.”

Valiana didn’t answer—of course she didn’t. But when Nesta took her spot back nestling against Cassian, she noticed how the six-year-old was now completely leaning against the couch, and absolutely focused on the TV.

And how, somehow, she didn’t seem to be taking up so little space on the couch, now.

She knew Cassian was watching her, too, instead of the movie. And when she turned her head toward him and their eyes met, the smile he gave her was happy, somehow. He leaned in to place a small and delicate kiss on Nesta’s forehead.

We’ll figure it out, she had told him that very first night.

She couldn’t help but note how they were figuring it out. Figuring it out quite well, at that, in her opinion.

She found herself wishing they would spend the rest of their lives trying to figure it out—forever and always.

Chapter Text

“What do you think he did to her?”

Nesta’s voice was hesitant and quiet—just low enough for Cassian to hear her in the dead of the night. Hear the words he had been trying to avoid for a few hours without being able to.

He wasn’t surprised to know it had been plaguing her mind, too.

“I—“ he started, then sighed a heavy sigh. He could only make out the shape of Nesta’s head on the pillow next to him, but he found her hip easily when he pulled her a little closer. “I have a few ideas. Ideas I really hope to be wrong about.”

She was silent for a beat. Two. Three. When she spoke again though, it was so quiet Cassian knew she didn’t really want to speak the words. Still, he heard her as she asked,

“What ideas?”

Cassian didn’t think she really needed him to voice them. And he knew voicing them certainly wouldn’t help her, either.

But a part of him understood. A part of him felt the exact same way.

He didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to imagine. Didn’t want to be right.

He also couldn’t really help it. His mind wouldn’t shut up. It was as if imagining it would somehow help him understand Valiana, help him care for her as he should—no matter that it was only feeding his anger like nothing else could.

He sighed, pulling Nesta closer still. She came easily, nestling close to him and tucking her head beneath his chin. Cassian held her as best as he could—one hand splayed on her lower back and the other threading in her newly-cut hair.

“She hates him,” he said lowly. “She didn’t seem to be too pleased when she heard he was in a coma instead of dead, and she—“ Cassian sighed again, pressing his eyelids shut. “She doesn’t trust me,” he continued, then corrected. “Doesn’t trust men. She—she doesn’t want to be alone with me and she—“

Again, he trailed off.

It wasn’t exactly that he didn’t know what to say. Hell, he knew exactly where his mind was going.

But speaking the words only brought him a feeling of anger, stronger than he had ever felt. Deeper than he had thought possible.

He pressed his lips against Nesta’s forehead in a not-exact kiss—both to comfort her and himself—as he continued,

“Myriam did say they believed he either neglected or—abused them.” Cassian paused, just long enough to swallow. “I’m guessing both. I’m guessing… he did the worst possible things to her. To them.”

A small, quiet, and strangled sound escaped Nesta. And it was funny, Cassian thought, because it was exactly what he felt deep within.

“I—” He felt Nesta’s head move against him as she shook it slowly. “I’m guessing the same,” she admitted quietly. “I just—Hearing it said out loud just—”

“I know, Nes,” Cassian murmured—almost just a breath with how low it was. “Trust me, I know. I feel the same thing.”

For a moment, they kept silent. Nesta moved, slowly snaking her arm between them and placing her hand on his chest. It was something she often did—to feel his heart beat alongside hers, she had once told him. He guessed it was somewhat of a reassurance for her—to listen to his beating heart, to feel the way it was steady. Or, in this case, not so steady, sometimes.

And perhaps it was this show of vulnerability she was making that prompted him to ask, his voice even quieter,

“Do you think she will ever feel comfortable with us? That she’ll ever feel… home?”

He could swear he heard Nesta’s small smile spread on her lips.

Her hand darted higher—to his neck and his jaw, before it lingered there.

“She already is,” she answered without a second thought. “Can’t you see it?” Before he could even answer, she continued, “She is, Cass. She’s trusting us. Trusting you. She’s—realizing we’re different from what her parents are and she—” She paused. Her voice was almost inaudible when she said, “I think she likes it, here.”

Cassian wasn’t sure he was supposed to feel this way at Nesta’s words. And he wasn’t sure he could speak, either, so instead he kissed her forehead—a real kiss this time—and then her nose, before kissing her lips gently. Tenderly.

“I love you,” he murmured against her lips. “I hope you know that, Nes. I love you, and there isn’t anyone else I’d want to do this with.”

Her first answer was a kiss of her own. And Cassian knew what she wanted to tell him even before she voiced,

“I love you, too.”

Her words weren’t exactly enough to erase the feelings their previous conversation had left in Cassian—this deep, gaping hole. This burning anger. This terrifying fear. This will to burn that man alive—and to make him suffer as much as he had made them suffer.

This absolute terror that he might wake up someday—and that Nesta and Cassian would have to watch the girls go back to that house.

Her words weren’t quite enough, indeed.

But they were also the closest thing to comfort Cassian could get. They felt like a balm to his heart—a kiss to his soul.

He pulled Nesta closer and cherished them with all he had.

“Sh-sh-shh, Maeve Bear. You’re gonna wake up the whole house.”

Cassian had been as quiet as he could when he entered the bedroom. Still, he knew Valiana was already awake. He knew she had been waiting for them—for whoever would come, from him or Nesta, and was now observing him silently.

He reached for Maeve, whose heart-wrenching cries had already calmed slightly.

“Come on,” he murmured, pulling her close to his chest and bouncing her up and down a few times. “You already hungry?”

He pressed his lips to the top of her head in a gentle kiss as he made his way out of the room. He still hadn’t looked at Valiana—or let her know he knew she was watching.

Still, when he was on the threshold, he asked, his voice gentle,

“You coming, Valia, or staying here?”

He didn’t wait for her before he left the room, instead making his way to the kitchen. And then, he started a dance of rehearsed moves he had gotten quite accustomed to, over the last few weeks.

Maeve was neatly tucked in one of his arms, and he was speaking to her—all while using his free hand to grab water, measure a spoonful of formula, and shake the baby bottle he had gotten as well. It was only when he turned around to heat the bottle and then back again that he noticed Valiana’s small head peeking into the room from the hallway.

Cassian smiled, though he didn’t say anything.

Quietly, he grabbed the glass he had already filled with water. He handed it to her on his way out of the kitchen and into the living room, baby bottle in hand. And neither of them had spoken, but he didn’t have to look to know she was following behind.

When Cassian sat down on the couch, repositioning Maeve in the crook of his arm to be able to feed her better, Valiana still hadn’t said a single word. So for a moment, he let her. He didn’t push, didn’t pry.

He simply shared this space with her—sitting on the couch with Maeve in his arms while Valiana sat down on the floor a little further.

The only sounds surrounding them were the small noises Maeve made as she ate from the bottle—a soft whimper or a satisfied sigh or a rhythmic sucking—and the sounds, quieter, Valiana made as she drank her glass of water.

Cassian didn’t complain. He loved those sounds.

Eventually, when Maeve was halfway through her bottle, he lifted his head towards Valiana—who was already looking right back at him—and asked,

“How are you liking your new hair?”

His voice was soft and quiet—as gentle as he could make it.

But Valiana only looked at him for one, maybe two minutes. And then, she averted her gaze without answering.

Cassian didn’t look away. He kept taking her in—kept observing her small frown and her pained eyes. Kept looking at the way her hands were carefully holding the glass and at the way her pajama—the one that had been almost falling off one shoulder that first night—was now fitting her perfectly.

The way her hair was curling, just slightly, now that it was shorter.

The way her eyelids seemed heavy, but how she was keeping her eyes stubbornly open, too.

He didn’t know why, but Cassian thought about Feyre, then.

About how he had always seen her act with Nyx. About the first time he had heard Nyx call her Mommy.

About what she had told him, not so long ago.

It’s okay to love them.

Cassian thought he was already way past that point—he and Nesta both.

And he didn’t know if he was allowed—didn’t know if he should.

But it’s not like he could help it, either, could he?

He sighed a heavy sigh at the realization. At the acknowledgment. At the acceptance.

And when he glanced back up at Valiana and saw that her quizzical look was already trained on him, he offered her a soft smile.

The kind he hoped she could understand. The kind he hoped he would see her reciprocate, someday.

The kind he knew betrayed his feelings, for whoever knew how to look.

“We need to talk.”

Cassian huffed at Nesta’s serious tone, and took a sip of coffee before he turned towards her. She was closer than he had thought, both her arms folded over her chest and a frown so deep on her face it looked like it had always been there.

Somehow, Cassian could only chuckle.

“That’s not usually a good sign, when your partner tells you we need to talk,” he teased, then rounded her to access the cupboard and grab a glass, then a baby bottle.

He couldn’t see her face now that his back was to her, but Cassian knew Nesta was rolling her eyes at him.

“I’m serious, Cass,” she continued. “We need to talk. I didn’t—”

“We need to buy more formula,” he stated—both because it was true and because a part of him loved to play with her like that. “We’re almost out.”

“Cass—”

“And orange juice, too. Did you know Valia likes the new brand better? I don’t really like it, but—”

“Cass!”

Cassian had to fight the urge to let a smile spread wide on his lips as he turned around to face her, “Mh?”

“Can you focus, for one minute?” she said—almost a groan. “It’s important.”

And Cassian wanted to keep teasing—he wanted to keep pushing, and keep pretending, and keep playing. But one look at Nesta—and her angry eyes, and her furrowed brows, and her serious face—was enough to make him forget it, too.

Instead, he leaned in to steal a kiss from her mouth—set in a tight line.

“Hi,” he murmured against her lips. “I don’t believe I said hi this morning,” he brushed his lips against hers again. “So here. Hi.”

He saw Nesta roll her eyes at him, but somehow, the expression on her face had softened immensely. He found pride in that.

Cassian handed her the cup of coffee he had been drinking from—the one they always shared, each morning—and moved around her again to set the glass and baby bottle he was juggling in his other hand on the kitchen table.

“Are you finally listening?” Nesta asked—her voice a little softer. “It’s about Valiana.”

That effectively got Cassian’s attention—his attention and his seriousness, too, because there was no way he was teasing, now. He turned towards her and this time, didn’t move. Didn’t reach for the juice in their fridge, or for the formula in their cupboard, or for the biscuits in their cabinets.

Nesta had his whole attention, and she knew it, too.

“I didn’t really have the time to tell you yesterday,” she said, both her hands wrapped around the coffee cup almost as if she needed to warm them, but Cassian knew better. She was a little anxious, and holding the cup like that meant she could keep her hands busy—busy with something other than her worry. “The scissors,” she continued. “The ones we used to cut our hair?”

Slowly, Cassian nodded, though his brows were slowly furrowing now.

“Yeah?”

“They—” Nesta sighed, shaking her head very slowly. “Valiana had them,” she announced eventually. “They were hers, I mean. They were in her bag, I don’t—”

“In her bag?”

Nesta was nodding even before she confirmed, “Yeah. She was walking around with scissors and we didn’t even know. What—” she trailed off, before trying again, “What kind of—of people are we?!”

“Nes—”

“We need to be better than that,” Nesta cut him off—her face determined and a little angry, too. “We need to be better, Cass, we—Gods," she was shaking her head frantically now, too quickly for it to be comfortable. "We're the worst fucking—”

He cut her off with both his hands on her cheeks.

“Nesta,” he said—a murmur more than anything. “Calm down.”

Slowly, she blinked at him, and he knew she was listening, but he knew, too, that she was fighting something deep within herself.

“Nothing happened,” he continued, a little harshly—to reassure her of himself, he couldn’t tell. “Alright? Nothing happened. She’s all good. And you have the scissors now, right?”

Nesta nodded, though her eyes were brimming with emotions he could read very clearly. The brightest of all was fear.

“She’s fine, Nes,” he repeated, leaning in to kiss her brow. “She’s fine.”

She was the one to lean further against him—burying her head in the crook of his neck, all while making sure the cup of coffee she was still holding wouldn’t get in the way. He gently took it from her hands and placed it behind them—only to be able to hold her better.

Nesta was silent for one beat. Two. Three.

And then, she asked the question Cassian was torturing himself with, every single day,

“Is she?”

Cassian didn’t answer.

He didn’t know what he could answer, anyway.

“Why?”

“Because,” Cassian sighed, all while balancing Maeve on one arm and wrapping her in her coat. “It’ll be nice.”

“That’s not good enough,” Valiana countered—her chin slightly rising up, causing her frown to almost glow in the light of the hallway.

Cassian almost wanted to laugh. He knew Valiana wouldn’t take well to it, though, so instead, he turned his head back towards Maeve and placed her on his knee instead. He winked at her—and he swore the baby’s audible babble and cooing was only her way of answering.

“I don’t want to go,” Valiana continued, absolutely ignoring Nesta as she arrived behind her and handed her her small beanie. Valiana did turn towards her though, pointedly not taking the beanie from Nesta’s hands and insisted, “Nesta! I don’t want to go.”

Nesta chuckled—the sound like music to his ears—and crouched down in front of Valiana. It was with a careful hand that she brushed a strand of hair off Valiana’s face.

Cassian tried not to let surprise show on his features at the sight—tried not to react, either, at the fact that Valiana didn’t say a single thing, almost as if the motion hadn’t bothered her at all.

“We’re all going,” Nesta tried gently, and again, Cassian had to make a pointed effort not to let his eyebrows rise when Nesta slid the beanie on the top of Valiana’s head.

“Why?” Valiana continued with a frown—folding her arms over her chest in emphasis, too. “Why? I don’t want to go.”

“Because,” Nesta continued, handing Valiana her coat this time. “It’ll be good for you to see kids your age.”

Valiana scoffed at that. Almost a dirty sound if not for the fact that it had come out of a six-year-old. She took her coat from Nesta’s hands without sliding it on.

“And because their mother is my sister,” Nesta continued. “So we’re all going.”

There was a moment, during which they all stayed silent. They all held their breaths—probably waiting for Valiana to counter, to argue, to fight. Nesta was observing her, her hands hovering in front of her as if she was still holding her coat—or ready to catch it should Valiana decide to hand it back. Cassian was watching her from the side, and he swore even Maeve was observing her sister knowingly.

She had stopped with the cooing, and he thought perhaps she knew. She knew Valiana didn’t want to go, and so she was keeping silent because it would most probably be easier for her sister to untangle her emotions like that.

But none of it came.

None of the countering, none of the arguing, none of the fighting.

Valiana was still watching Nesta intently—watching her and peering all the way to her soul, perhaps, for she only searched her face for maybe a full minute before she made a low sound in her throat—almost a hum—and started sliding her coat on.

The look Cassian shared with Nesta as she got up told him all he needed to know.

She was as surprised as he was.

And yet, he knew there was something about what she had said—something that had managed to convince Valiana to oblige.

She kept silent the whole drive to Feyre and Rhys’s house.

Feyre had rarely looked this tired, Cassian noted as she opened the door to them. There were dark circles under her eyes and her cheeks lacked their usual color. The hair she usually wore in a bun had never been this messy, and the sweater she was enveloped in looked as though she had been wearing it for several days straight.

She was hiding it all with the way her tired eyes were sparkling and with the way her smile was stretching her lips as she took him in—took them in—and yet… Yet, Cassian knew something was off the moment he saw her.

She had not hesitated even for a second when Cassian had offered to arrange a meeting for them—he wanted Valiana to see other children, and Feyre desperately wanted to meet both girls, so it was easy, really.

“Hey you,” Cassian greeted with a warm smile—one Feyre probably didn’t even see because her eyes landed on Maeve in his arms almost immediately, and her eyes turned incredibly softer.

“Oh,” she breathed, already reaching a hand out to Maeve. “Look at this little princess, she’s—”

“Don’t touch her.”

Feyre froze. And Cassian sighed a soft sigh, too, at Valiana’s voice. He turned to her, giving her a look that should probably be a little more scolding, if only it wasn’t tamed by the adoration he couldn’t keep at bay.

“Valia,” he chuckled, meeting Nesta’s eyes for a second. “She’s fine.”

“She can’t touch her,” Valiana repeated with a frown. “Maeve doesn’t want to.”

Her voice was a little quieter though—and Cassian thought it was weird. Never had she seemed quiet. Never had she seemed hesitant or… ashamed?

“It’s alright,” Feyre announced, a little quieter too. She had dropped her hand by now, and was entirely focused on Valiana. Her smile was a little softer and a little more guarded, too. “I won’t touch her,” she conceded. “I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.”

Valiana didn’t answer. Of course she didn’t answer. But she kept observing her, kept searching her face, until eventually she turned towards Nesta and asked, “She’s your sister?”

Nesta was nodding even before she replied, “Yeah. That’s my little sister, Feyre.”

When nobody answered, Nesta continued, a soft smile dancing on her lips. “Are we gonna stay here all afternoon?”

Feyre huffed, but she was quick to move to the side to let them all come in.

On their way to the living room, Cassian slid his arm over Feyre’s shoulders in a half-hug and murmured,

“Don’t get fooled by her protective attitude. She’s a little princess, too.”

Her only answer was a soft huff—one that told him she knew he was very much protective as well.

Valiana stayed close to Nesta. She didn’t sit down on the couch like her, but she stayed standing beside her, eyeing Cassian every time he got a little too close to Feyre or every time he bounced Maeve up and down. He had chosen to sit on a chair at the living room table, not far from them but not too near, either, simply because he had thought the distance would please Valiana.

And he, too, was eyeing them. He was watching both Nesta and Valiana intently, even as he asked,

“Where’s Rhys?”

Cassian didn’t miss the way Feyre averted her eyes at his question. “Upstairs with the kids,” she answered, perhaps a little too quickly to be casual. “Coffee?”

“Two,” he confirmed, slowly frowning. “You got orange juice?”

Because he didn’t have to check to know that’s what Valiana would ask for. And he wanted to avoid her the discomfort of asking, too. Feyre merely smiled at him before she disappeared into the kitchen, and when he turned to look again, Nesta and Valiana were engrossed in a quiet conversation of their own.

He couldn’t hear them from where he was sitting, but he guessed Nesta was simply trying to reassure her—probably stating facts she knew would somehow calm Valiana. That was usually his strategy, too.

He couldn’t concentrate on them for long though, because they soon heard footsteps coming down the stairs, before hearing muffled voices they couldn’t make out, and finally, they saw the two faces of Nyx and Elizabeth appear by the door.

For a moment, they simply looked. Simply watched, and observed, and stared.

It only lasted for so long though, because eventually Elizabeth gasped loudly, and started running. Running so fast towards him that Cassian felt the need to bring Maeve a little closer—a little higher, too—in his arms, before she could come crushing her.

She never got the chance though, because both Nyx and Valiana moved.

Valiana was next to Cassian in literal seconds, and had he not known she was standing next to Nesta just an instant ago, he would have believed she had always been there.

But Nyx had moved, too. Somehow, he had managed to stay behind Elizabeth and grab her wrist with one hand—stopping her just before she could collide with Cassian.

Nyx was the first to break the silence.

“Liz. Careful.”

“But—”

“You can’t touch her,” Valiana announced, her voice almost a little angry and her words clipped. If she had been frustrated with Feyre before, she was now brimming with anger. She moved to stand between Cassian and Elizabeth, and although Cassian couldn’t see her face, he knew her eyes must have been narrowed on Eli before her.

Cassian knew he should say something. He should interpose. He should reassure.

Somehow, he couldn’t. He could only watch, only stare, only hold his breath.

Elizabeth blinked, and repeated, “But—”

“Only Nesta and Cassian can touch her,” Valiana continued, her voice ever angrier somehow. “You can’t—”

“It’s okay,” Nyx cut her off, taking a step forward to be directly standing next to Elizabeth—thought he was just slightly ahead of her. His hand had wrapped around his sister’s, and Cassian thought if Elizabeth had been holding it any tighter, Nyx’s hand probably would have bruised. As it was, his hand was slowly turning white. “We won’t touch her,” Nyx continued. “So it’s alright.”

Cassian saw the way Valiana’s shoulders slowly—so so slowly seemed to relax at that. It was barely there. Barely noticeable. Yet, he noticed. And perhaps it was this, or perhaps it was her earlier words—still ringing clear in his ears. Either way, he allowed himself to do something he had never done before. As slowly as he could manage it, he lifted a hand to place on her shoulder—featherlight, gentle.

Valiana stiffened under his touch, but it was small, and when she glanced at him over her shoulder—to check, perhaps—she seemed to relax a little more.

It prompted him to gently squeeze her.

“It’s okay, Valia,” he offered slowly, his face serious and his words promising. “I’ve got her.”

When all she did was search his face—search his eyes and his entire being—he added, a little more quietly,

“I won’t let anybody hurt her.”

Cassian didn’t know if she knew how much he meant the words.

Still, a part of him guessed she did—for he saw her whole tiny body entirely relax. The frown on her face seemed to settle and the tension in her shoulders disappeared. Her tiny hands—which had been curled into fists, he now noticed—were slowly uncurling, too.

She was trusting him.

She was trusting him.

Trusting him to touch her. Trusting him to take care of her.

Even more surprising, maybe—trusting him to take care of the person who meant the most to her.

Cassian tried not to let the revelation—realization, proof, understanding—overwhelm him too much.

He was only brought back to reality by the sound of a cry—loud, clear, shriekingly heartbreaking. And yet, Cassian knew, without even looking, that the cry had not come from Maeve.

And it wasn’t even the fact that she was in his arms. He knew it wasn’t her, because the cry didn’t belong to her. It wasn’t hers.

He knew it in his bones that it wasn’t.

He only then realized they had had an audience, all along.

Rhys was standing in the threshold—holding a fussing Nora in his arms, and Feyre was standing at the other end of the room, coffees and glass of orange juice in hands, and Nesta—of course—was looking right back at him.

Looking, and comprehending, too, because she had probably been the only one who had understood what had just happened as much as he had.

“Who is that?”

Valiana asked eventually—her eyes trained on the baby in Rhys’s arms now, though she was slowly—slightly—retreating backwards towards Cassian.

It was Nyx who answered, though.

“It’s my baby sister,” he said. “You have one, but I have one, too.”

“Hello,” Rhys offered in a soft voice—softer than usual. “I’m Rhys.”

But Valiana wasn’t really interested in that, apparently. Or rather, wasn’t ready for that, perhaps, because she took another step back—nearing Cassian a little more. And when he looked, a frown was so deep on her features he could swear it was hiding something else.

Perhaps Rhys saw it too. Perhaps he understood.

Or perhaps he only didn’t want to press.

Either way, his eyes met Cassian’s, before landing somewhere above his head—Feyre, probably. And then, he moved.

His lips were glued to Nora’s head, whispering gently in an attempt to calm her, even as he walked in the direction of the kitchen. Elizabeth was fast to move, too. She broke into a run to follow after him—and Cassian wasn’t sure, but he thought he had seen some heavy tears well in her eyes just before she left.

Nyx took another step forward.

“Her name is Nora,” he said. “What’s your baby sister’s name?”

Valiana didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Nyx shrugged a shoulder. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk.”

And from the tone of his voice, he really meant it.

“Sometimes, I like to not talk, too,” he offered. “Once, I didn’t want to talk for a long time.”

Again, Valiana didn’t reply.

But she moved. Her head slowly cocked to the side, her now-shorter hair falling off one shoulder as she did.

Nyx continued,

“I’m Nyx. Is your name Valia?” He paused, his eyes flickering to Cassian for just a second before finding Valiana’s again. “Uncle Cassian called you Valia. It’s a very—”

“Valiana.”

Her voice was clipped again.

But it was a little quieter, and a little less angry, now.

And it was nothing, really. She had just given Nyx her name. Only just corrected him. But the smile Nyx rewarded her with was wide, and bright, and happy.

“It’s a cool name,” he said, his grin contagious. “Mom, did you hear?”

“I heard, baby.”

Feyre was finally moving—they all were. As if they had all needed the minute, and had all needed the moment, and were now all able to start breathing again.

She placed a cup of coffee on the table next to Cassian, as well as the orange juice, before she moved to sit next to Nesta on the couch.

But Cassian couldn’t really see anything other than what was happening in front of him. Other than Valiana—still standing before him, closer than she had ever dared to, probably.

She was still looking at Nyx as if he were something strange—something she couldn’t understand, yet she couldn’t look away from, either.

Eventually, Nyx asked,

“Do you want to come play with me?”

Valiana stared. And she stared. And she stared again.

She took her time, and Cassian swore he could see the inside of her mind and every single tangle in her thoughts as she processed the words. As she tried to make sense of them.

And he knew, even before she spoke, what her answer would be.

Valiana was rarely ever playing. He had always guessed she didn’t have any toys—or barely any.

He knew she had had to grow up too fast, to mature too soon.

And Cassian doubted she had ever been near other children before—children who were not Maeve, at least.

Her answer was flat. It was simple. It was emotionless.

It was unsurprising, also.

“No.”

What surprised him though, was when she turned around, toward him, and came closer. When she used both her hands to move the chair beside him and when she climbed on it. When she placed both her arms on the living room table, crossing them, and when she leaned her head against them—looking right at him.

When she took deep breath after deep breath, her eyes never leaving Cassian’s.

As if this small interaction had already been too much.

As if she needed the moment. As if she needed the quiet. As if she needed the peace.

As if she needed him to provide all of that.

So Cassian let her. He held her gaze—for however long it would take her.

He held her gaze—and he hoped she would be able to read everything he wanted to tell her in his eyes. Everything he wanted her to understand.

We’re here, he wanted to say.

We’re all here.

You’re home.

Even when we’re not in the house.

As long as we’re together.

You’re home.

Chapter Text

Cassian was surprised when Nesta approached him, an almost bashful smile on her lips, and announced that she was taking both Elizabeth and Nora out for a walk with Feyre.

Chapter Text

After that afternoon with Nyx—after Nyx had insisted that Valiana keep the car, and had smiled a bright smile at her, claiming he hoped to see her soon—Valiana seemed a little… not different, per se.

But a little more at ease.

And, like it always did, life went on.

Life went on, and the routine they had started to create for themselves felt a little more… comfortable. Crafted. Peaceful.

Every single day.

Nesta kept bringing both girls to her bookstore every day, and Cassian kept showing up every now and then, with whatever excuse he could come up with—when really, it was just because he could.

Valiana was still hiding in her shell, but the shell was thinning more and more, each day. They all knew it.

She was waking up at night to join Cassian in the kitchen and was sometimes sitting next to him on the couch when he was feeding Maeve. She wasn’t complaining as much when Nesta brought her to the bookstore with her, and spent more and more time with her in the shop. She usually stayed a little late in the evenings, too, sitting beside Nesta and Cassian on the couch to watch whatever show they played for her. And perhaps it wasn’t that good—perhaps they shouldn’t allow her to watch TV and to stay up so late.

They couldn’t exactly care. Not when she was sitting a little closer to them every single night.

Not when she was almost falling asleep beside them sometimes—almost leaning against Nesta’s side before realizing and shifting away from them.

Maeve seemed more and more aware of her surroundings—babbling all the time and crying less and less. She was moving a little more, too, and the first time she rolled over onto her stomach on her own—just a few days after that afternoon they’d spent at Feyre and Rhys’s, really—Cassian could have sworn he saw tears lining Nesta’s eyes.

It certainly resembled his.

And when he reached for her, lifting her in his arms and bouncing her in victory—he was quite certain, too, that there was a curious look on Valiana’s face.

That there was a little… something on her features.

He had never wanted to open his arms for her more than in that moment.

He didn’t, though. He resisted the urge—no matter how hard it was.

“Where do you go?” Valiana asked him one day in the car, just as he parked in front of Nesta’s bookstore to drop them all off.

She was looking at him from the rearview mirror, a small frown on her face—but what else was new. Cassian’s initial surprise made him pause, but he tried to hide it quickly.

“What do you mean?”

She didn’t answer. So he pushed, “Valia?”

“Where do you go—” she repeated, her voice a little quieter now. Almost as if in worry that perhaps she shouldn’t have asked, “—when we go here. Where do you go?”

“He has a job, too,” Nesta offered gently in his stead. “He has a gym and he spends his days there. To work.”

Valiana seemed to think about it. Cassian swore she was about to say something else, but Maeve’s soft cries caught her attention and she leaned in closer to her sister.

They dropped the subject after that.

But the thought—the comment—stayed stuck in Cassian’s head.

“Or,” Cassian sighed one night, rubbing his hands over his face. “We ask Rhys if we can go to the cabin. Spend a few days there. Just the four of us.”

They had been debating it for a long time—what they would do for Christmas, a few days from now.

They usually always spent it with the whole family.

This year though, they weren’t so sure.

Nesta paused at that. She had been busy reorganizing the bookshelves in their house as they spoke, but her hand stayed hovering in the air at his words. Her head perked up, turning to glance at him over her shoulder.

There was a small frown on her face, and Cassian chuckled immediately at the sight.

She was so adorable that he wanted to kiss it off her face.

“What?” He asked, though he already knew exactly what she was about to tell him.

She didn’t really like the cabin. She had made it very clear the first time they went there.

“That place is weird,” she eventually answered, wrinkling her nose.

“It’s not,” Cassian snorted. “I used to spend all my Christmases there, when I was a kid.”

“Poor kid,” she muttered under her breath. Cassian was still chuckling when he rose to his feet. “Must have been the worst—“

She trailed off when he slowly sat down right behind her on the floor.

“It’s a nice place,” he mused quietly, his hands finding her waist and his head the crook of her neck.

“It’s cold.”

A wicked smile tugged at his lips at that. He moved his hands, just slightly, so they would slide under her shirt and find her bare skin instead.

“There are ways to keep warm,” he breathed into her neck, then delighted in the shiver it drew out of her. “I have a few things in mind that we could try.”

“Stop this.”

Nesta’s voice was so quiet—so weak—and he knew exactly what would be coming if he didn’t stop. First, her eyes would flutter closed. Then, she would slowly tilt her head to the other side—offering him more access to her neck and her collarbone and all the exposed skin he would enjoy teasing and sucking and biting.

And then, he’d let his hands wander on her, just long enough to draw a few quiet and delicious sounds out of her mouth.

He’d go absolutely insane over those sounds.

And then—

“Stop, Cass.”

Nesta’s hand wrapped around one of his, and her voice was serious, this time, so he paused immediately. He turned his head towards hers, just so he could look at her.

And when he saw the expression on her features and the small hint of… What was it?

Worry?

(It certainly looked like worry.)

Cassian paused again.

He frowned.

Gently, he moved one of his hands to be able to cup her cheek and tilt her head towards him.

“What is it, Nes?”

She seemed to hesitate. But a single brush of his thumb over her cheekbone was enough to prompt her to continue,

“I don’t like Christmas. Not really.”

He nodded slowly. He already knew.

“But it’s their Christmas,” she murmured. “I—I want to do something nice for them. I want…” she took a deep breath. “I want to show them it can be… fun.”

Cassian smiled at that, a tender smile that Nesta was almost the only person capable of drawing out of him.

The only person—except for two small sets of dark eyes, as of the last month or so.

He leaned in to brush his lips against hers. Just because he could.

“Agreed,” he murmured against her.

“Yeah?” Her tone was a little… bashful, perhaps?

Ashamed, maybe.

“Of course,” Cassian confirmed, leaning in for another soft kiss. “That’s… the best reason of all,” he nodded slowly, brushed his thumb over her cheekbone again. “And I love you for that.”

Nesta rolled her eyes at him, but there was no mistaking the smallest blush he could see on her cheeks.

“Okay,” Cassian moved, sliding his arms around her to gather her in his arms. “How about,” he smiled when she leaned back against him. “We list our options. See what would be best for them.”

Nesta nodded slowly.

“We could go to the cabin,” he repeated his earlier thought, then chuckled at Nesta’s face again. “It’d be nice for them to have a little weekend away.”

She hummed uncommittedly.

“We could also spend the night here,” he continued, shrugging. “Have a nice dinner, play Christmas movies. Make a tree.” Cassian paused, cocked his head to the side. “They’re comfy here, both of them.”

Nesta turned her head towards him as she considered.

She kept silent for a minute, and Cassian let her—he rubbed her arm, kissed her cheek.

“Or we could do what we always do,” he offered a little more quietly. “Go to Selene’s house and spend the night there.”

She heard the deep sigh leaving Nesta. She wasn’t really sold on this idea.

“Do you know who’s going?”

“I mean,” he shrugged. “Everyone, I guess. Feyre and Rhys with the kids. Az and Lyra. Elain and Lucien.”

Cassian saw the wrinkles forming on her features even before she frowned. Nesta straightened out of his arms to start fumbling with the books scattered all around them once more.

“That’s a lot of people,” she said with finality as she reached for a book. She shook her head. “That’s,” she sighed, then tucked the book on its shelf. “That’s just a lot of people, Cass.”

“I know.”

She tucked another book. Then another one.

After the third, she asked, a little quietly,

“You wanted to go, didn’t you?”

When he didn’t answer right away, she glanced at him over her shoulder and searched his face. Cassian sighed.

“I uh—“ he grabbed a book from the floor, turned it around in his hands a few times. “They’re my family, Nes,” he shrugged a shoulder. “Of course I would love to go.”

“Then—”

Cassian first cut her off with his hand gently grabbing her chin, then with his voice.

“But—” he met her gaze, his thumb gently brushing over her lip. “You—you three,” he emphasized. “You’re my family, too.”

Nesta’s eyes softened like he had rarely seen them.

“We do whatever is best for them.”

They both let the words sink in.

Both accepted this as their truth—as this absolute certainty.

Eventually, Nesta whispered, her voice quiet and uncertain,

“It won’t be… very special, if we stay here,” she murmured. “Will it?”

Cassian let the small smile spread on his lips. He dragged her closer to him again, slid his hand down her jaw before he threaded it in her hair.

“It’ll be special because we’ll make it.”

He sealed his words with a kiss pressed to the top of her head. Nesta seemed to like it, too, for she let out a contented sigh.

So they spent Christmas at their house.

They made it nice and they made it Christmassy and they made it true. They made it special because it was them.

Cassian came home late, one day, to a fussing Maeve and a tired Nesta and a frowning Valiana.

He chuckled at the look on her face and smiled at her annoyed, Where were you? Then softened when Nesta added fondly, She’s been waiting by the window for you for hours.

Valiana wasn’t very happy that Nesta sold her out—at least, her glare told them as much.

But Cassian had been busy, and he told her as much.

Valiana didn’t seem too happy with his answer.

“Busy with what?”

Cassian chuckled when he finally reached Nesta and kissed her lips. And he was still chuckling when he neared Maeve. She had been sprawled on her belly on the playing mat that had replaced their living room rug a few days ago, waving her arms up and down in the air. One hand was wrapped tightly over a soft book Nesta had insisted on getting her, and the other was gripping at nothing.

“Busy with what?” Valiana repeated, her voice a little harder now, as Cassian lowered himself next to Maeve. His hand was barely next to Maeve's when she gripped his fingers with her free hand. Firmly.

He glanced at Valiana from the side as he answered,

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” he assured her softly. “I’m saying hello to my girls first.”

And indeed, he leaned in and kissed the top of Maeve’s head. He moved, too, gently making Maeve let go of his finger so he could reach for her and lift her in his arms.

Her excited squeal was immediate.

“Hey you,” he murmured against the top of her head. “I’ve missed you.”

The babble that left her probably meant she had, too.

Cassian turned to Valiana, then. And she was already opening her mouth to speak, too—to repeat, probably. To ask, again, where he had been—but he cocked an eyebrow at her and repositioned Maeve in his arms so she would be tucked in only one arm. He presented Valiana with a tight fist from his free hand.

“I’m saying hello,” he repeated his earlier words, “to all of my girls.”

If Valiana understood him right away or not, Cassian couldn’t be sure. But she kept her eyes on his, kept her frown leveled at him. Kept unmoving before him.

At least, until she slowly lifted her fist to him—and, like they had already done a few times, bumped it against his.

Cassian’s smile widened on his lips.

“Hi,” he told her pointedly, emphasizing his words with a tilt of his head and an even softer smile. “I hope you had a good day, Valia.”

She slowly blinked at him—almost as if the words surprised her. Almost as if she had never heard anything like it.

And perhaps she hadn’t.

When he dropped his hand, he placed it on Maeve’s back, gently bouncing her up and down in his arms. That’s only when he announced,

“I was late,” his eyes flickered to Maeve and her loud puff, then to the hand she had tucked in her mouth, half drooling on herself and him in the process, “because I had to go buy something.”

Valiana’s frown deepened—Cassian lifted his head just in time to see it.

“What?”

Cassian cocked his head to the side, offering her a half-smile. He glanced at Nesta from the side. She was still on the couch, observing their interactions as if it was the most interesting thing she had ever witnessed. The smile on her lips was wide and fond.

“It’s something for us,” he told her, slowly straightening. “All of us.” He pressed another kiss to the top of Maeve’s head, then another one. To Valiana he offered, “Want to help me get it? It’s still in the car.”

Valiana didn’t answer. But she was still looking at him—and her frown was still there but Cassian knew better. He knew it was hiding her curiosity, now. Knew it was hiding her eagerness. Knew it was hiding everything she didn’t want him to see.

“If you want to come get it with me,” Cassian continued anyway, “you need a coat. And your shoes.” He gently placed Maeve on Nesta’s readied arms, and to her, he said, “I think she’s getting hungry,” he nodded to the baby’s hand, still tucked in her mouth.

“Her milk’s ready,” Nesta replied gently. “But I thought you might want to feed her tonight.”

Cassian softened at that—entirely.

And since Valiana had disappeared behind them—he hadn’t seen her leave the room, but he knew she was now in the hallway, trying to be quick with the shoes she was putting on—he crouched down next to the couch and brushed a hand on Maeve’s back.

“Hear that, Maeve bear? I get to feed you, tonight.”

He kissed the back of Nesta’s hand—the one holding Maeve in place in her arms. “I’ll be right back.”

Nesta’s humming was the only answer he got before he stood and made his way to the hall—to Valiana, who was waiting for him expectantly.

Her coat was only half-on (almost as if she was making a point of showing she didn’t really want to put it on) and her hands were fisted at her sides.

Still, she asked, her head craned up to look at him, “What did you buy?”

Cassian grabbed a scarf from the hanger—one of Nesta’s that would probably be too big for Valiana—and crouched down to her level.

He was gentle in his movements to wrap the scarf around her, and when Valiana didn’t even blink, he answered,

“A tree.”

“A tree?”

“Yes, Valia,” he nodded, finishing looping the scarf around her neck. “A Christmas tree.”

Valiana still didn’t seem to understand.

Cassian tilted his head toward the door instead.

“Come on,” he continued. “I’ll show you.”

So the first Christmas they spent together was small and quiet.

They spent the day decorating the Christmas tree—Cassian putting on garlands while Nesta played with Maeve and as Valiana frowned at him. But he’d asked, Help me? Valiana had been hard to convince. At least until Nesta had offered quietly, Looks like Maeve would enjoy it. Wanna hold her while she puts on an ornament?

They tried baking Christmas cookies—Nesta had asked Elain for a recipe, but the measurements were all wrong, and Valiana’s frown was still deep on her features. You always buy cookies at the store, she’d told them, uncomprehending. Those ones will be special, Nesta had countered, scooping some more flour. Plus, Cassian loves those cookies. Surprisingly enough, Valiana had agreed to help after that—climbing on the small stool they had prepared for her. She didn’t do much, not really. But she observed, and when Nesta offered her the wooden spoon, she tried to mix the batter on her own, only to have Nesta wrap a gentle hand over hers and help her with it.

They put on Christmas carols, nudging Valiana to come play with them and Maeve on the playing mat during the afternoon. But she refused—at least until Cassian brought one of the toy cars Nyx had given her. She had come to sit down silently next to them.

They ate the dinner Nesta had spent a few nights in a row preparing—all because she had been determined to cook every single traditional dish she could think of. And when they sat down at the table to take in the number of plates and the amount of dishes—which were all too much for just the three of them—Valiana had frowned, but it was small.

And instead of the What is that? and, Why did you do that? They had both expected, she had surprised them both by asking—her voice a little frail and her words a little hesitant, It’s all for us?

And they explained, too.

They told her all about Christmas—what it was, why they celebrated it, what it meant. They told her about their past Christmases.

Cassian told her all about the ones he would rather not remember, then about the ones he loved to remember. The ones he had spent at Rhys’s house once Selene had taken them in, and all the ones after that.

Nesta told her about her Christmases. The ones she had spent with her family when she was a kid—and the ones she had hated. The ones she had spent looking at a mother who always wanted more, and the ones she had spent looking at a father who had given up. The ones she had spent feeling guilty, too.

And the ones they had both spent together. The first ones they had spent as a family.

And the ones they were spending right now—the one they had chosen to spend together, this year.

Valiana had been quiet, all throughout.

She had kept her mouth shut, she had kept her hands on the table. They had stopped eating, too, during their explanations—a few glances over at Maeve, who was cooing gently in her high chair, but their eyes otherwise trained entirely on Valiana.

When they were done, Valiana had merely let her eyes drop. For once, there was no frown to be seen on her face.

She told them—her voice a little quiet, “In Illyria, we don’t have Christmas.”

It was only a half-truth, Cassian knew. Some families celebrated it anyway.

He didn’t say.

He didn’t want to give her another reminder of where she used to live.

She continued,

“But there is a night, where there are stars in the sky.”

A slow, easy smile spread on Cassian’s lips. He guessed,

“Starfall?”

Valiana’s eyes snapped up to his—almost as if she had been burnt.

She didn’t nod.

Cassian continued, “You like Starfall?”

She didn’t answer.

And he almost cursed himself—because he thought if he hadn’t interrupted her, maybe she would have offered more.

Still, he added,

“I’ve always loved Starfall.”

Valiana nodded, very slowly. As much as a confirmation that she did as it could.

But she turned to Maeve, too, and observed her for maybe a full minute before she said—and her voice was very quiet, too,

“But Starfall,” she paused. Reached a gentle finger to Maeve next to her. Placed her finger on her sister’s open palm. “It’s not about the family.” She cocked her head to the side, “Right?”

Cassian hesitated. And from the corner of his eyes, he knew Nesta was hesitating just as much.

He said,

“It can be. If you want it to be about family, you can. You can—you can go watch the stars with your family and—”

“No,” Valiana slowly frowned, shaking her head. She repeated, “It’s not about the family.”

Everything, from the tone of her voice to the way she was sitting, was proving how assured she was.

It wasn’t a question—not at all.

She was telling them.

And Cassian guessed he understood, too.

They had spent the last minutes—hours, even—proving to her how Christmas was about it all. About being with your family, about making something special, about spending time together.

And he guessed every single Starfall she had spent had been different.

Very different.

Nesta was the one to answer—her voice low, and determined, and assured.

“It can,” her voice made Valiana’s head turn to her. Silent questions were dancing in her eyes, but she simply appraised Nesta for a few seconds without speaking. Nesta continued, “It can be about family,” she repeated. “Anything can. You only have to make it.”

Valiana kept her eyes trained on Nesta. She kept observing her. Kept reading her—staring at her and searching her face.

Kept understanding her.

She lifted her chin, and asked—almost in challenge,

“You’re not with your family.”

And if she was trying to prove something, Cassian didn’t really know what.

He refrained from answering with the words on the tip of his tongue, too.

Words like,

We are, actually.

Or,

Aren’t we?

Instead, he said—and his voice, too, was steady and strong,

“We’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

The rest of their small Christmas Eve was almost uneventful.

They brought Maeve to bed and made a point of reading her a Christmas story—one that Valiana looked very curious about, though she didn’t say a thing.

When they were done, they quietly nudged the six-year-old to come back into the living room with them.

She did, without even an argument or a frown.

And when they announced they would be playing a movie—a Christmas movie, at that—neither of them expected her to ask,

“What about the cookies?”

How the Grinch Stole Christmas was already playing in the background—music delicately reaching their ears and snowflakes illuminating the screen—but they both turned to her.

Valiana repeated,

“The Christmas cookies. We didn’t eat the Christmas cookies.”

Nesta’s quiet huff was very gentle and fond. It was almost as fond as Cassian’s smile.

She said,

“You’re very right,” Nesta was already standing. “Wanna come get them with me?”

Valiana observed her for a heartbeat—and then for a couple more when Nesta hesitantly outstretched a hand to her.

Eventually—and surprisingly, too—Valiana took it, sliding her palm against Nesta’s.

The movement was tentative, and hesitant. And shy, too.

Valiana had averted her eyes from Nesta’s, almost as if she didn’t dare to look her in the eye as she did.

But the moment their palms were touching, Cassian saw the way Nesta gently tightened her hold around Valiana’s—a silent reassurance that this was okay. That she was allowed.

That she was welcomed.

“When I was younger,” Nesta offered as they both began walking—hand in hand, Cassian couldn’t help but repeat himself. “My sister used to bake those cookies.”

Her voice followed her path all the way into the kitchen, enveloping their house in a sense of family and home that Cassian had rarely felt so strongly.

That night, Valiana sat down just beside Nesta on the couch. And for the first time, when she started to fall asleep—leaning against Nesta’s side, only to realize it and frown—Nesta gently dragged her closer. She tucked her against her side, her movements gentle and her hands careful.

Valiana—still in that groggy place between sleep and consciousness—slowly blinked at her.

So Nesta told her, her smile so soft and gentle on her lips, and her voice so caring and reassuring,

“You can sleep here for a little while.” And she didn’t really mean here in the living room, they all knew. Her arm was still around Valiana. Not really a hug or an embrace—but a gentle reassurance. “You can stay right here. We’ll wake you up when it’s time to go to bed.”

Cassian felt like holding his breath for the few minutes it took for Valiana to observe Nesta. For the few moments it took her eyes to find him, too. And for the few seconds it took her to slowly close her eyes again.

Without a complaint. Or an argument.

Or a frown.

So she fell asleep against Nesta.

And both Nesta and Cassian were so frozen about it—a weird mixture of dumbstruck and awestruck—that they let the movie play a second time after the end.

And they wouldn’t have had it any other way.

So life went on, indeed.

They woke up that Christmas to a (still) frowning Valiana, but her frown softened when they assured her that yes, the gifts under the tree were for her, and that yes, she was allowed to unwrap them, and that yes, she could help Maeve unwrap hers, too.

And that yes, that green gift was from Nyx, and that yes, the yellow one was from Rhys and Feyre.

That yes, it was for her. It was all for her and Maeve.

They kept going to the bookstore, and Cassian kept going to the gym, and they kept reuniting at night—the best moment of his days.

Valiana kept frowning every day—and the sight was so familiar it was starting to become a game, for both Cassian and Nesta, to see who would manage to make her frown the most.

Maeve kept growing up every single day—and it was such a blissful thing to see her learn and understand things, that Cassian and Nesta found themselves ecstatic over absolutely anything.

Nesta kept becoming the mom he had always known she would be—not that either of them realized, or understood, or acknowledged that she was truly becoming one.

And Cassian kept being the happiest around them.

Kept falling in love with them—all three of them.

Kept watching them stealing his heart and kept believing this would last forever.

All while knowing—at least he should—that maybe it wouldn’t.

“I need to talk to you.”

Nesta’s voice was different.

Cassian heard it the minute he passed the threshold of their house—the second she spoke to him.

And he knew, too, the moment he took her in.

The moment he saw her eyes (a little wilder than usual), and her lips (pursed to one side almost as if she was nibbling on the skin of her mouth in an anxious motion), and her hands, too. Fisted at her sides like she was trying hard to keep it still.

So he heard it in her tone, and he saw it in her.

But he felt it, too.

In the way she radiated worry.

He frowned immediately, taking her in slowly before his eyes landed behind her—to the corridor opening on the rest of the house,

“Are they okay?”

“They—” Nesta nodded, but it was slow. It was so fucking uncertain that Cassian was ready to run to their bedroom—where he guessed both Valiana and Maeve were right now.

Nesta stopped her with a hand on his chest.

“Cass,” she said—almost a murmur. Perhaps a plea. Barely a breath. She repeated, “They’re both okay… for now. But I need to talk to you.”

And oh, he didn’t like that.

He didn’t like that for one fucking second.

He was still wearing his coat and shoes, yet when she nodded silently to their bedroom at the end of the hall, looking at him pointedly, he fell quiet. He followed her without kicking off his shoes. Without shrugging out his coat.

Without being able to get rid of his worry, either.

Nesta led the way to their bedroom as if he didn’t know where she was bringing him, closing the door gently behind them and then, she nodded to their adjacent bathroom. Cassian followed suit.

And as he did—as Nesta closed the door to that room too, as he stood awkwardly in that room in more clothes and more worry than he was supposed to bear—Cassian was weirdly reminded of that time (a couple of months or years or lives ago), when they had been in that very room and had waited for a test result telling them whether they would become parents.

He wasn’t sure it had been in that lifetime.

Nesta took a deep breath. A very deep one.

He, for once, couldn’t bear it.

“Say it,” he demanded—almost an order.

She probably knew he couldn't bear the wait. She said,

“Myriam called.”

Cassian’s heart was starting to thunder in his chest just at those words.

And just like that, he wasn’t sure he wanted her to continue.

Just like that, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know, because a part of him knew once he would, there would be no unknowing.

Nesta continued,

“She called and—”

“Wait,” Cassian’s eyes snapped shut as he lifted a hand in the air to make her pause, too.

He tried to compose himself.

Tried to prepare himself.

Tried to calm his nausea and his pulse skyrocketing.

He took a deep breath.

It didn’t help.

Not at all.

“Cass,” Nesta tried, her voice quiet.

She took a step toward him, gently sliding her hand on his chest.

She could probably feel the way his heart was beating—not steady, not slowly, not healthily.

“Cass, it’s not—” she tried again, but he didn’t let her finish. Instead, he repeated—demanded, though it was only just a breath,

“Say it.”

Because he had expected a collection of things.

He had expected a variation of sentences, a tangle of words, a mingling of thoughts.

He had expected,

They’re leaving.

And he had expected,

We have to bring them back.

And he had expected,

They’re picking them up tomorrow.

He had expected,

We knew it would come.

He had expected,

It’s over.

What he had not expected though, was,

“Their father is dead.”

Cassian’s eyes snapped open.

And just like that, it all… stopped.

His thundering heart stopped.

And his nausea stopped.

And his pulse stopped, probably, too.

His breathing and his whole world, stopped.

“Their father is dead,” Nesta repeated—her voice so quiet he didn’t think he had heard her at all.

And there were tears in her eyes now—though Cassian didn’t really know what to make of them. What they meant.

What they could possibly entail.

“He never woke up from his coma,” she continued quietly, “and his state deteriorated so much that they had to unplug him.”

Nesta’s hand was still on his chest.

And Cassian was so fucking glad it was, because she could, at least, make sure he was still breathing.

“Myriam—” Nesta tried, trailed off. Then cleared her throat and tried again, “She offered to come here to tell Valiana.”

Cassian was already shaking his head when Nesta continued,

“I told her we would. I told her—” she took a deep breath. “I told her we’d make sure she understands and—and we’ll give her all the support we can.”

Like the lifeless puppet he felt he was, Cassian nodded his approval.

But he was still a little dumbstruck—still a little uncomprehending.

Still a little in shock, too.

About what this meant—and about how Valiana would react, too.

It was after one, two, three minutes perhaps.

Three minutes of staring into Nesta’s teary eyes as if they held the very truth of this world ; staring into her eyes as if she was his very reason to live ; staring into her eyes as if she was his only strength—and perhaps she was. Only after those three minutes, did Cassian ask, and his voice was rough,

“Did you tell her?”

“I wanted to do it together,” she offered quietly, and he nodded his approval.

His support.

His gratefulness, too.

“Together,” he repeated quietly. “Let’s do this together.”

They did.

That night, Maeve was sound asleep in the bedroom and Valiana was already sitting on the couch with the teddy bear clutched tight to her chest, curled up under a blanket they always left on the couch for her.

She was waiting for them.

And neither of them knew exactly how to broach the subject.

“What’s the movie tonight?” Valiana asked, her brows furrowed as if she couldn’t really understand why they weren’t already beside her.

Nesta was the one to try,

“We uh—” She sat down beside her. “We have to talk, Valiana. We have to tell you something.”

Valiana didn’t react. But there was something in her that changed immediately—her whole demeanor changed. Just like that, she was sitting a little more upright. Just like that, she was frowning a little harder.

Just like that, she was closed off.

Cassian noticed it immediately.

Unceremoniously, he slowly moved the coffee table to be able to lower himself to the ground and sit down right in front of her.

She tracked his movements.

“We have to talk about your—” he hesitated on the word. That word that didn’t feel right, that word that meant nothing at all, that word that this other man didn’t deserve. Still, Cassian said, “—father.”

If Valiana had been closed off before, there was no denying the immediate shock and fear crossing over her features at the word.

She straightened—so fast that she dropped the teddy bear, and it met the floor in a second, just in front of where Cassian was sitting.

Neither of them said.

And when Cassian lifted his eyes back to hers—it was all gone.

All of those emotions were now neatly and carefully hidden under her features—under that mask she had always been able to wear, like a second skin.

Cassian cleared his throat. It didn’t help with the lump he could feel.

His eyes flickered to Nesta—a little frozen next to Valiana—before they landed back on the six-year-old.

He said,

“Myriam called us, today.”

Valiana didn’t answer.

But her hands were folded on her lap—and the motion was supposed to be relaxed, yet it looked anything but. She was pressing her palms against her lap with so much force that her hands were starting to become a little white.

“She told us that—” Cassian hesitated, fumbled with his words. He tried again, “You know how your dad was in a coma? After the… accident?”

She didn’t nod.

Didn’t answer.

Didn’t so much as move.

And perhaps it was exactly what made Cassian a little uneasy—exactly why his next words were a little hard to voice.

He was glad Nesta knew him that well.

He was glad, because just like he needed, she was the one to say,

“He—” Valiana slowly tore her eyes away from Cassian’s and turned her dark eyes on Nesta. “He’s dead, Valiana.”

She let the words sink in for a few moments.

And then she repeated,

“Your dad is dead, now.”

Valiana, not for the first time, didn’t react at all.

She kept her breathing even.

She kept her eyes on Nesta.

She kept her palms on her lap.

And she kept that cold mask of hers that they had yet to understand every single inch of.

There were exactly four minutes that stretched between them—between their heaving breaths and their anxious souls. Between their worried hearts and their mixed emotions.

Exactly four minutes, and Cassian knew, because he could hear the clock painfully ticking into the otherwise quiet—so fucking quiet, too fucking quiet—living room.

Valiana didn’t even look like she was breathing.

And perhaps they should have offered more.

Perhaps they should have explained, they should have told her more, they should have elaborated.

They didn’t.

And a part of them probably knew she needed them to keep silent.

She needed to process the news all on her own.

She needed to understand it, and take it in, and realize it.

She needed to decide what to make out of the piece of information. Needed to decide what to feel at the news.

So they let her.

And it was painful to do.

It was painful not to reach out to her and wrap her in their arms.

It was painful not to soothe and to kiss and to reassure.

It was painful, but it was also what she needed.

Cassian and Nesta both knew it.

And they would give her all the time she needed.

No questions asked.

After those four minutes, Valiana stood.

Without another word.

She stood, and walked away from them.

Nesta was the one to call after her—her voice so gentle Cassian could have crumbled at the sound of it.

“Valia,” she called—and she had never used the nickname, yet right then, it felt right.

Valiana didn’t turn back to them.

She didn’t speak, either.

But she paused in her tracks—as good an acknowledgement as it could get.

Nesta continued,

“One of the rights,” she said quietly, “is that you’re allowed to be alone. Whenever you want.” She paused, letting the words sink in. And Cassian didn’t know exactly where Nesta was going with that, yet he felt himself very proud of her either way.

“But,” she continued, “One of the rules is that you tell us if you need anything. Anything at all.”

Nesta paused again.

Valiana slowly turned to them—and even from so far away, Cassian could swear he saw how her eyes were the deepest shade of black he had ever seen. An endless pool of whatever was twirling in her head and in her heart right now.

“If you need to scream, or to go break something,” Nesta nodded slowly. “If you need to come sleep in our bed, or if you need a big, big kiss,” she swallowed. Even more so when a tear leaked from Valiana’s eyes. “If you need to run until you can’t feel your heart anymore, or if you need us to hold you as tightly as we can. If—” Nesta hesitated. “If you need to go to the funeral to say goodbye, or if you need to celebrate, or—or if you need to never speak about it again.”

By the time Nesta was done enumerating, she was almost panting—her chest heaving a little more than necessary.

Cassian felt a little too weak to offer anything.

“You tell us,” Nesta continued quietly. “Whatever it is. We’ll make it happen, we—we’re here for you, Valiana.” She repeated, “We’re here for you.”

Valiana kept her eyes on Nesta—for one, two, perhaps a couple more heartbeats—before she left without a word.

And Nesta and Cassian were left wondering—again—if they were doing the right thing.

If they should do more, and offer more, and explain more.

They didn’t.

They let her.

They gave her all the space, and agenda, and choice she needed.

That night, when Cassian woke up to feed Maeve, Valiana didn’t follow him. And she was still curled up under the covers when he brought Maeve back to her crib. When he chanced to come closer, though—holding the teddy bear that had been abandoned in the living room—her eyes were wide open and staring blankly ahead.

Unmoving and unblinking.

Unable to see or feel, perhaps.

Cassian crouched down beside her, and gently brought the teddy bear close to her chest. And quite imperceptibly, Valiana moved—tucking her head against it almost as if she wanted to hold it close to her without having to move her arms around it.

She closed her eyes—they were shut tight, this time.

And perhaps it was this.

Her lack of reaction and her contained feelings and her heartbreak—mixed up with so many more emotions he could probably not even understand. Perhaps it was the exact reason why he used one of his thumbs to trace a gentle circle on her open palm, from where it was resting on the bed. Another one.

On the third, Valiana closed her hand around Cassian’s thumb. And she held him—tight.

Cassian wrapped his hand around hers in response.

He didn’t move away, that night.

And Valiana never let go of his hand.

Chapter Text

“I’m worried about her.”

Nesta’s voice had come out in a breath in the quiet of the night. And even from where she was lying so close to him in their bed, Cassian almost didn’t hear her with how low her voice had been.

Sleep had been hard for them to find for about a week—ever since they’d received Myriam’s call, really.

Ever since Valiana’s behavior had changed.

Ever since she had started to close off more—erasing what little progress they had made in the last couple of weeks.

She barely spoke, and when she did, it was with few words and a stiffness they hadn’t heard since those very first days.

She spent most of her time alone—ignoring their gentle invitations to come sit down with them or watch a movie like they usually did. Even playing with Maeve didn’t seem appealing to her.

She ate less and less, too.

And Nesta and Cassian felt a new kind of powerless about it.

“I know,” Cassian replied quietly. “I uh—I am, too.”

And he was.

Oh, how much he was.

It was haunting his every thought and keeping him up at night—never giving him more than a few seconds of reprieve, worry gnawing at him with every single breath he took.

And it was for Valiana—it was worry about her, and about what this would mean to her, and about how this might affect her forever.

But it was also fear of the past. Of reliving it. Of having Valiana…

“Cass—“

Nesta had probably felt the shift in him. Had probably noticed his slightly heaving breathing, and his slightly thundering heart, and his slightly clouded mind.

Had probably seen the way his eyes had shut tight, too.

He slowly opened them to take her in—take in her pain-filled eyes in the dark of the room, her forehead slightly wrinkling in worry and her brows slowly furrowing.

Cassian explained, his words difficult,

“After his biological mother died,” he said slowly, “Nyx was never the same.”

And the comparison—the parallel—had been making Cassian sick to his stomach for the whole week.

Because Nyx had done that, too—pushing people away, and closing in on himself. Retreating into the corners of his mind that he wouldn’t let anyone approach.

Beside him, Nesta shifted, propping herself on her elbow. The long sleeves of her night gown were hiding her skin and warming her from the cold of January, so Cassian couldn’t know for sure, yet he was quite certain goosebumps were erupting on her arms.

Not from said cold—not really.

But from the same emotions they were both sharing.

She asked,

“What do you mean?”

And the question was probably useless, because she already knew—at least, Cassian had already talked about it with her, many days and nights ago.

He had told her all about this part of his life—all about that time when he had thought he might have lost his brother, might have lost his nephew. All about that moment he had felt so helpless.

“I told you she wasn’t…” he tried, shaking his head, “a good person. And yet when she died, he—he was—“ Cassian took a deep breath. “I don’t know, Nes,” he murmured. “Nyx was just so fucking miserable.”

And, though Cassian didn’t feel like voicing it—he had been acting exactly like Valiana was right now.

Nesta observed him—she searched his face, for a few excruciatingly long moments, or minutes, or seconds. She looked at every single line on his face, took in every single proof of his pain and every single representation of his worry.

She took it in, and as she did, Cassian did the same. He observed every single emotion on display on her beautiful face—mirroring his.

Eventually, Nesta broke the silence—of the room, or his mind, of his heart.

She said,

“He was—” Nesta hesitated, “ You said Rhys wasn’t good either, right?” She didn’t really need his confirmation. She already knew. “He was alone, back then.” This time, Cassian nodded. So she continued, “We are not.”

Cassian wished it could be this simple.

He sighed a heavy sigh, bringing Nesta a little closer to him. He tangled his legs with hers, trying to focus on every single inch of their bodies where they were touching.

He murmured,

“I just feel like she was finally warming up to us and now…”

“And now,” Nesta continued quietly, gently threading her fingers in Cassian’s hair and brushing it back, “She has to grieve a father who… hurt her. Beyond what we can imagine.” Cassian closed his eyes and tried to hide his grimace in her neck. “She has to understand that he’s gone, and that she’s safe.”

Cassian slowly nodded against her neck, nuzzling his nose against her skin and breathing her perfume in.

Nesta continued,

“She has to understand that she can feel at home here, too. And accept that we’ll be there for her through it all.”

Cassian tried to hold on to that. He tried to believe her—and a part of him did.

Nesta slid her other hand against him, cupping the back of his neck.

“It’s not the same as what Nyx has been through,” she told him.

It wasn’t—Cassian knew it, too.

And yet, he didn’t know which situation was the worst. Which would leave the worst scar.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

He wasn’t sure, either, he could truly compare.

For a few moments, they kept silent—both of them reflecting on their conversation and their truth and their fears.

Both of them finding comfort in this little bubble they had created—relishing in the fact that they were, at least, together.

Cassian dropped a few kisses on Nesta’s skin every now and then. A silent reassurance that even when they were both locked in their own minds, they were still together.

And when the quiet was interrupted by Maeve’s cries—soft, at first, though they were starting to turn a little louder with each passing moment—Cassian was already moving.

Nesta asked,

“Do you want me to—”

“No,” he assured her as he stood, then leaned in to press a kiss to her shoulder. “I’ve got her.”

And he knew Nesta saw right through him—he had gotten quite accustomed to this little routine of theirs. Had gotten quite fond of those moments he shared with her (and, although not for the last week, sometimes Valiana as well).

So of course, Nesta knew it.

And he knew the smile dancing on her lips right then was due to this thought alone.

Despite everything.

As he entered the two little girl’s bedroom—as he let his eyes wander inside, finding Valiana’s frame, all curled up on herself in her bed, and Maeve, fussing and crying in her crib—he kept thinking about it.

He kept thinking about it as he reached for Maeve and as he bounced her up and down a few times. He kept thinking about it as he prepared the baby bottle for her—as he juggled her on only one arm and prepared the milk bottle with rehearsed motions he had gotten very good at, by now.

He kept thinking about it, too, as he settled down on the couch of their living room (not before having placed a glass of water on the coffee table, just in case), and started feeding her the milk.

And he kept thinking about it as Maeve gulped down the milk—as she observed him with her big, bright, beautiful eyes, as she wrapped her hand around his wrist (the one holding the bottle), and as she moved her legs against him.

Cassian took his time observing her, too.

And he pressed soft kisses to the skin of her head—his eyes darting to the untouched glass of water every now and then.

When he slid under the covers once more, Nesta was still awake.

She nestled against him immediately.

And he told her,

“I’ve been thinking.”

Her hum was tired, but he knew she was listening.

So he continued,

“Nyx,” he said, “He’s moved past it.” Cassian brushed his lips against Nesta’s forehead when she moved against him, shifting a little closer. He felt her nod against him, so he continued, “He’s all better now.”

In his neck, Nesta yawned. Yet, she agreed, “He is.”

“Do you know what helped him? At first?”

“No,” Nesta’s voice was very quiet—and he knew it would only be a minute before she drifted off to sleep again. Still, she repeated, “What?”

Cassian brushed another kiss against her—to her hairline, this time.

A small smile was tugging at the corners of his lips when he murmured,

“Feyre’s class.”

“Where?”

It felt like Valiana was making a point of using as few words as she could, lately.

Cassian and Nesta, to their credit, tried as much as they could to act like everything was absolutely normal. Like they didn’t notice the way she was retreating and pulling away from them. Like they didn’t realize how this had affected her. Like they weren’t worried sick for her.

So it was no wonder that Cassian forced a smile on his face—a gentle one, at that—as he answered,

“You’ll see. I’m sure you’ll like it.”

He was half-lying.

He couldn’t say, for certain, that Valiana would enjoy Feyre’s class.

In fact, he was quite sure she would be terrified, at first.

Terrified to see so many kids, uncomprehending as to why he was bringing her there, unwilling to do anything, too.

But he also had the hope that she might start to like it, too.

That, just like Nyx and all the other kids Feyre had ever helped with her classes, Valiana would slowly heal and process everything through it.

In front of him, her face hardened. Her frown deepened. Her glare darkened.

Her arms were folded on her chest, and everything in her told him how much she was disproving.

She asked,

“Why?”

Cassian started exiting their house, repositioning Maeve in his arms and holding the door open for Valiana.

Surprisingly enough, she followed.

“Because,” he answered, “Nesta was too busy to take you with her to her bookstore, today.”

It was a lie—one Nesta and he had agreed on, just because he knew breaking their routine would take a little convincing, on Valiana’s part.

From the corner of his eyes, he immediately saw the way Valiana’s cheeks turned a little red with the cold.

It was snowing outside—like it usually was in January. And her footsteps were making a soft sound in the coat of snow under their feet as they made their way to his car.

Cassian was almost by the car when he heard her mumble—her voice perhaps weaker than it was supposed to be,

“You said we were staying in the house.”

They had.

They had stayed home all day—Valiana mainly hiding in her bedroom, no matter how hard Cassian had tried to get her to do anything else.

In front of the car, he opened the door for her, and was surprised, again, when she climbed inside without a word—without an argument, or a biting remark.

She wasn’t happy about it, that was for sure—she buckled her seatbelt immediately, and curled in on herself, leaning against the other side of the car where she would be facing away from him. She was trying hard to ignore him, or to keep herself as small as she could.

And the sight was so heartbreaking Cassian would have preferred one of her usual,

I hate you.

He would have preferred,

Leave me alone.

He would have preferred,

I don’t want to go anywhere with you.

Valiana didn’t say any of it.

With gentle motions, Cassian positioned Maeve—smiling and cooing, perfectly oblivious to her sister’s turmoil and heartbreak and pain—in her baby carseat, and he hesitated before he rounded the car. Wondered whether he should offer something, whether he should keep speaking to her.

He finally decided to keep silent, and made his way to his driver’s seat.

Like Feyre had promised when he had called the day before, she was alone when they reached her studio. Or—and Cassian only noticed when they entered it, Valiana frowning more than ever and Maeve carefully pressed against his chest—she was alone except for Nyx, standing before her.

Cassian was about to greet them both, but was interrupted by Valiana’s quiet but determined,

“No.”

She had stopped, too, just a few steps behind him.

And when he turned to look, she was looking at him with one of the darkest glares he had ever seen on her face.

Cassian tried to fight the urge to indulge and bring her back home—just to erase the unease and hatred from her face.

“It’s only one hour, Valia,” he assured quietly, a small smile on his lips. “It’s only one hour and then we go—“

“I hate you.”

She hadn’t spoken the words in a long time.

And it was funny, Cassian thought. Because he had been reflecting, just a few minutes ago, on how he would have preferred this over her silence.

Now, he wasn’t so sure.

He wasn’t so sure because when she voiced them, that day, Cassian almost believed her.

The apologetic expression he offered her was equal parts guilty and hurt.

Still, he repeated,

“One hour, Valiana,” he nodded toward the empty studio. “Just one hour.”

She didn’t want to.

She did anyway.

She followed him into the studio, and her steps were slow and so fucking painful—as if she was trying to fight her instinct to run in the other direction.

“You remember Feyre and Nyx?” Cassian tried once they approached them, Feyre’s hands gently resting on both of Nyx’s shoulders—to keep him from coming too close, perhaps. “Feyre is an Art teacher. She helps children by—“

Cassian slowly shrugged. He wasn’t sure how to explain, exactly, how Feyre’s classes usually helped kids.

“By…”

“She helped me,” Nyx offered when Cassian trailed off again.

He looked over his shoulder, at Feyre, who was still holding him gently, then back at Valiana again.

“So maybe she can help you, too.”

Valiana didn’t offer anything.

And Cassian could almost read the look on her face as one of betrayal.

Feyre tried—her voice soft as she could make it,

“A few other children will join us today,” she said. “But you can take the stool you like best, and you don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to.“

Valiana didn’t move.

When she didn’t react, Nyx gently shrugged out of Feyre’s hold and took a few steps toward them. But instead of approaching Valiana like they had all guessed he would, he neared Cassian instead.

His lips broke into a smile as he took in Maeve, then lifted a hand in the air, not quite touching the baby but hovering behind her back.

He said,

“Maybe she can try, too?”

Like they all were, Valiana’s eyes were trained on Nyx—waiting for his next move.

Nyx continued,

“Can I take her?”

None of them answered—and Cassian almost hesitated. Almost.

Still, he nodded, once, and gently positioned Maeve in Nyx’s outstretched arms. And the fact that Valiana didn’t complain, either, was a surprise in itself.

Before Cassian let go, he told him,

“Careful,” and Nyx was, yet Cassian felt the need to explain, “she’s a little older than Nora. So she’s a little heavier, too.”

Not quite as much as she should be, considering she was almost four months older.

Yet she was a little heavier, and Cassian needed to make sure Nyx would be as gentle as possible with her.

“I know,” Nyx answered with a smile that made him look so much older. “Don’t worry, Uncle Cass.”

He was moving with Maeve in his arms before Cassian could comprehend, and took a few steps toward one corner of the studio.

Which, Cassian only realized a few moments later, was very deliberate of him.

For one, because it gave Nyx the perfect opportunity to lay Maeve down on the floor and set a piece of paper in front of her—giving her a perfect view of the way Nyx’s paintbrush would slide on the paper once he started painting.

Second, because it was the farthest corner of the studio—one that was away from the open door.

And third, because it was also perfectly situated next to one of the stools in the class.

Which, of course, Valiana chose as soon as other kids started to emerge.

From so far away, Cassian couldn’t hear, but he knew Nyx was speaking to Valiana, even though she wasn’t answering.

“It took Nyx a few classes, too, before he started doing anything at all,” Feyre offered, her voice quiet, once all children in the room had started on their canvas, following her gentle instructions. “So, you know,” she shrugged. “I don’t really expect her to do anything at all until—“

“She won’t.”

Cassian’s voice was resigned.

A little defeated, perhaps.

And he knew it had been his idea, of course. Yet at that moment, he just knew. This wouldn’t help Valiana at all.

“Wow,” Feyre chuckled, her voice mocking hurt, “Glad to know my best friend has so much faith in me.”

Her words drew a small smile out of him.

She moved to lean against the wall next to him, mimicking his position.

“You know,” she started, “every kid is different. But I’ve had a lot of different personalities come here, and I think it always… helped. At least to some level.”

Cassian side-eyed her.

He asked,

“You ever had a kid who was just like Nesta?”

Feyre chuckled at his question—a soft chuckle that she tried to rein in immediately.

“As I said,” she continued quietly instead of answering, “Every kid is different.”

Cassian took a deep breath.

They both fell silent, watching from afar as Valiana sat on he stool, very still. Unmoving. Absolutely refusing to do anything at all.

Maeve was still on the floor, though she was almost trying to crawl, without truly being able to.

And beside her, Nyx was speaking—to Maeve or to Valiana, it was hard to tell.

To both of them, most probably.

But he was speaking, and painting on his piece of paper from where it was on the floor, and the sight still brought the slightest smile to Cassian’s lips.

“How are you… holding up?” Feyre asked hesitantly—her voice even quieter now.

He side-eyed her, before finding Valiana again.

“I’m not gonna cry for him, if that’s what you’re asking,” Cassian answered wryly. “Just like you certainly wouldn’t cry for Amarantha.”

Small wrinkles of disgust formed on Feyre’s face at his words, and indeed,

“Agreed,” she nodded. “Though, you know… You are allowed to cry. For her.”

Cassian didn’t answer. And he guessed it didn’t really matter.

His eyes were still trained on Valiana, and for a second her eyes flickered to his as well, almost as if she had felt his gaze on her.

She averted her eyes immediately.

“What…” Feyre tried again, her voice hesitant, now. “What does it mean? For you, I mean—does that change anything?”

“What do you mean?”

“They don’t have a father anymore,” she continued quietly. “Does that mean they might be up for adoption? That they—”

“If you were gone,” Cassian asked instead of answering, his voice a little sour. He couldn’t really tame it down. “Would your kids be up for adoption?”

Feyre furrowed her brows, a little uncomprehending.

“You know they wouldn’t,” she shook her head slowly. “Rhys would be there, for one, and—”

“Well, there you have it,” Cassian sighed again, a little tiredly. He glanced at Feyre and at her still furrowed brows—and when he realized he had been a little snappish, he tried to make his voice a little gentler as he explained, “They still have a mom, Feyre. She might be in rehab, but she’s still…” he shrugged. “She’s still there.”

Not that the thought didn’t make him sick to his stomach.

He didn’t say.

And beside him, Feyre fell silent, too.

After a few minutes, she slowly leaned her head on his shoulder, and Cassian leaned against her, too.

They took a few steadying breaths.

He spent the rest of the class observing Valiana from afar—and watching as she did… nothing at all, really.

Valiana’s second class, a few days later, wasn’t much different.

They had decided to bring her to Feyre’s studio twice a week—and so Cassian did. Always with Maeve in his arms, always with a warm smile from Nyx, and always with gentle words from Feyre.

Sometimes, Elizabeth would be there as well—speaking with the other children and following her mother during most of the class. Sometimes, Nora would be there, too—wrapped against Feyre’s chest in a baby carrier and babbling or cooing loudly.

But Valiana never did anything.

She didn’t want to be around those people, she didn’t want to paint, she didn’t want to be there.

And so she didn’t.

Her third, and fourth classes were exactly the same.

On the fifth, exactly as February came around, she sat down on the floor instead of the stool she had chosen every single day since. She drew her legs to her chest. Looped her arms around them. And leaned her head on her knees.

She didn’t even look at Maeve, anymore.

She didn’t even pretend she was listening to Nyx, anymore.

She just… didn’t.

Feyre tried everything she could. She tried to talk to her, tried to show her how to paint, tried to paint with her. She showed her old sketchbooks and big canvases and some sketches.

And day after day, and week after week, and class after class, Cassian was only met with the realization of what he already knew.

This wouldn’t help Valiana.

There was no way this would help Valiana.

It had been two weeks—almost three, since he’d brought Valiana to her first class with Feyre.

And the only change in her was that she had given up on fighting—she was now following him without a word. Defeated. Resigned.

It just… wasn’t what she needed.

He told Nesta as such.

“You want to try something else?”

She was frowning at him, turning on her heels to face him as he kept drying the pan he was holding with a towel.

“I do,” he confirmed. “I was wrong. This is not helping her.”

Nesta cocked an eyebrow at him,

“And what makes you think it won’t help her in the long run?”

He wasn’t sure why Nesta was pushing on this—couldn’t exactly pinpoint why she was trying to convince him to keep going.

Perhaps because she wanted to make sure they were trying absolutely everything.

Still, at her question, Cassian set the pan down on the counter. He kept drying his hands as he asked,

“You told me Feyre tried to teach you how to paint once, right?”

One of Nesta’s perfectly shaped eyebrows slowly quirked up at his question. Still, she nodded.

“Right.”

“And how did that go?”

It was a rhetorical question. Cassian already knew. He let Nesta answer anyway, a deep sigh leaving her,

“I absolutely hated it. Loathed it. It was awful.” She rolled her eyes—almost as if at herself, or at the memory, perhaps. “Such a waste of my time.”

Slowly, Cassian nodded—and for once, he was almost a little… satisfied.

“So,” he said as he dropped the towel on the table, “I guess it’s safe to say we’ve been wasting Valia’s time as well.”

Nesta shook her head.

She didn’t quite understand.

But Cassian felt more confident than he had been for the past few weeks—he was sure, somehow.

He knew.

He took a few slow steps toward Nesta, and as soon as he was standing in front of her, he slid his hands on her waist—a slow and lazy smile on his lips that Nesta didn’t seem to understand.

He couldn’t really blame her, either. They had been worried and a little desperate for too many days in a row.

“I always said Valia was a mini you,” he explained, then shook his head. “She doesn’t need art lessons.”

Nesta repeated, a little clueless,

“She doesn’t?”

“No. It’s a complete waste of time for her.” He paused, cocking his head to the side. “Just like it was for you.”

Her blue-grey eyes searched his face. And her still furrowed brow made them look so much deeper.

“Then,” she asked—and this time Cassian knew how curious she was. “What does she need?”

Cassian brought a gentle hand to her face, brushing a strand of hair away from her face and tucking it neatly behind her ear.

Nesta’s hair was still short—shorter than he had always known her to wear it—but it had grown, too, in the weeks since they’d cut it.

A part of him wished she would cut it again.

He had always loved her hair—but had gotten quite fond of her new style.

He answered,

“She needs the exact same thing you do when you’re not feeling great,” he said.

Her frown was back on her face.

“A good book and a hot tea?”

Cassian chuckled at that—a loud and absolutely unexpected chuckle.

“No,” he countered, snorting. “She needs something else.”

“What is it?” she asked, a little exasperated, as she rolled her eyes.

He smiled at her—a soft smile.

One that was as confident as him.

“Me.”

And by him, Cassian meant—all of it.

She needed to do things his way.

She needed to trust him.

Just like Nesta, Valiana needed someone who would push her to her limit—but be there for her when she was ready to break.

She needed someone to trust with her emotions—just so she could have a meltdown and be safe feeling it all.

She needed someone who would nudge her, taunt her, exhaust her—and who would wait patiently until she was ready to breathe again.

She needed a little tough love.

And she needed to understand he could provide all of that for her.

And so—like he had planned—he did just that.

The next time they were supposed to go to Feyre’s studio, Cassian brought Valiana to his gym instead.

She didn’t even look surprised, or curious, or disapproving about the change of itinerary, at first.

Cassian was gentle and careful as he opened her car door for her, and he saw her blink slowly at him from her seat in the car—finally realizing they were not where they were supposed to be.

She didn’t say a word though, and climbed out of the car without a word.

“So,” Cassian announced gently, starting to walk a few steps, then waiting for her to follow suit. She did, a little too slowly. “Maeve stayed with Nesta today because I wanted to show you something.”

She didn’t answer.

Cassian hadn’t exactly expected her to.

He kept walking a few steps, holding the door to the main entrance of the gym open for her, and ignored the small glances his way.

He did notice Valiana’s stiffening beside him, and he wondered if it was because of the buzzing of the gym—the noises they could hear reverberating all around them, the humming and squeaking of the machines, and the grunting and breathing of the people who were exercising.

Just to make sure, he assured her quietly,

“We’re going to an empty room, Valia.”

Her eyes slowly found his—the only acknowledgement she was willing to give—before they started walking again.

Cassian kept explaining,

“This is my gym. The place I work at.” He led her through a secluded corridor, then held a door open for her and nodded toward a few flights of stairs. “I’m spending all of my days here, when I’m not with you.”

The ascent up the stairs was quiet on her part—and Cassian made a point to slow his strides so she wouldn’t feel like she should rush.

They were finally at the intended floor when Cassian said,

“I’m going to show you what helps me when I’m not feeling very good.”

When they entered the room Cassian had always used to train Feyre, it was deserted and quiet. Exactly like he had known it would be.

He closed the door gently behind them, then started walking to the middle of the room—nearing the training mat he had used for too many days to count. The one he had used to fight through his arguments, or train through his worst feelings, or push through the most difficult times.

He stood right in the middle, shrugged off his jacket and threw it a couple of feet away, unceremoniously.

Valiana was still standing by the door, observing him.

And for once, she wasn’t even wearing a frown on her face.

Cassian told her,

“Will you come closer?”

She didn’t.

He tried,

“If you want to know what helps me, you have to come closer.”

Again, Valiana didn’t answer. Her eyes slowly darted around him—taking in the room where they were standing.

And since Cassian thought perhaps this would help, he tried,

“My mother died before I even knew her.”

Her eyes snapped up to his. He continued,

“I told you once I didn’t have a mother or a father.” Cassian moved to one side of the mat, kicking off one shoe, then the other. “That’s because my mother died.”

Valiana was still watching him, and he could swear she was waiting for him to continue.

He waved a hand to beckon her closer.

“Come here,” he demanded gently, “and I’ll tell you more about it.”

At first, Cassian didn’t think she would. He thought she might stay right where she was standing and wait for him to come up with anything else to convince her to move.

She didn’t.

She slowly, very quietly, took a few steps toward him until she reached the edge of the mat. She paused, though, looking down at her shoes, then looking at his feet, and then finally, her head turned toward his discarded shoes.

She took him by surprise when she kicked off her shoes as well, then removed her coat before she finally joined him on the mat.

Cassian offered her a proud smile.

“Welcome,” he greeted gently, “to the training mat.”

From so close, Cassian noticed the exhaustion on her features.

He noticed the pain in her eyes.

And he realized, too, how long it had been since she’d started locking herself inside of her own mind.

He promised himself today was the end of it.

Cassian offered,

“My father was a very bad person.” As he spoke, he gently lowered himself to the ground, kneeling to be at a better level for her. “Hands up,” he ordered, and since he saw her hesitate, he continued, “I never knew him. But he did very, very bad things to my mother.”

Valiana slowly blinked at him, and when he nodded toward her hands—still hanging at her sides—she finally lifted them.

As in acknowledgement that Cassian would only give her the information she wanted if she did as he asked.

Good.

He gave her a satisfied smile.

“I come here to train,” he continued, lifting both his hands, “because it helps me process everything that is going on—” he pointed a finger at his head, “—in here, when it gets too loud.”

With gentle hands, Cassian reached forward, and enveloped Valiana’s hands with his. It didn’t last long—just long enough to make her fist both her hands.

As he did, he said, “So, my father was a very bad person. And all my life, I’ve been wondering if I would have rather—” he let go of her hands, and brought his to the same level, palms facing her, “—known him or not.”

With one finger, he pointed at his other open palm, tapped it a couple of times.

“Hit right there.”

She didn’t right away—instead, she frowned, uncomprehending.

Cassian told her anyway, “A part of me is glad that I never knew him. Because I don’t think I would have been able to see his face and—” again, Cassian reached forward, with only one hand this time. He wrapped his hand around Valiana’s wrist and made her arm move, until her tiny fist collided with his still-open palm, the motion a little too soft for what he had planned. “—and I really don’t know how I would have reacted,” he kept explaining, “if I had... actually met him.”

He brought both his hands in front of her once more.

“Your turn,” he said.

Valiana didn’t move.

He tried, “If you want to know the rest Valia…” he trailed off, an eyebrow slowly quirking up.

This time, Valiana moved—hitting his open palm with a fist.

The hit was way too soft though—and messy, too. Her fist hit the side of his palm, and then slid off, making her stumble a step forward. Cassian didn’t have time to blink before she was gaining back her balance, blinking a few times.

So he said,

“Another part of me,” he nodded toward his open palms again, “wishes I had met him.” She landed another hit—still as messy, though she didn’t lose her balance this time. “And that part of me—that part would have been very glad to hurt him. Exactly like he hurt her.”

Valiana paused as her fist collided with his palm again, her eyes snapping up to his so fast it must have hurt.

And Cassian guessed he knew why she was a little taken aback by his words.

“I told you he was a bad person,” he explained. “A very… very bad person.”

And in the quiet of the training room—and in the heavy atmosphere surrounding them—Cassian hadn’t exactly expected her to ask,

“Why?”

Her voice was low and slow, and quiet, too.

Cassian tried to hide his surprise.

“He…” he hesitated. “He did things to my mom that—”

He trailed off on the word.

He trailed off on the thought, too—both because it was always so fucking painful to think about. But also because… well. He wasn’t sure how much he could tell her.

Wasn’t sure how much was appropriate to explain.

And certainly didn't want to linger on the thought that she might understand, too.

Cassian cleared his throat.

“He hurt my mom. A lot.”

He lifted his hands in silent request for her to punch again, and surprisingly enough, she did.

So he kept going.

He kept offering bits and pieces about him—about his parents, about his life, about his feelings. And as he did, Valiana kept punching at his hands.

She was slow at first—messy like that very first punch.

(I was placed in an orphanage when I was very young. It’s like a big house, where a lot of kids without parents live.)

But then her movement started getting a little more precise.

(I grew up there. Alone. And when I was about ten years old, I went into an Illyrian training camp. You know those?)

And more precise, her hits were, indeed. Valiana kept punching, without any prompting from him anymore, without really noticing she was hitting, perhaps.

(That’s where I met Rhys. You know, Nyx’s dad? Him and another kid we met there—we became like brothers.)

She was getting stronger, too. Cassian noticed it the moment her fist collided against his with a little more force.

And just like that, he knew she was reaching that point he wanted to bring her.

He kept going,

(Rhys took us home with him. Offered us shelter, and a family.)

Valiana kept punching,

(It was hard to accept that I was no longer alone.)

And she kept punching—again and again and again against his palms.

She kept punching even when he fell quiet, and she kept punching even when he was looking at her carefully.

Left, right, left, right.

She kept punching even as her face contorted in a small grimace.

She kept punching even as her eyes started getting glassy.

She kept punching even as her face became a little red. Even as her breathing came in panting breaths. Even as some sounds started escaping her—whimpers or repressed sobs, or choked moans.

She kept punching.

Cassian said,

“Your dad was a very bad person, too.”

It wasn’t a question. Cassian already knew.

And Valiana didn’t answer—didn’t look at him, didn’t frown, or shake her head or nod. She didn’t stop punching, either.

He continued,

“It’s okay to feel… weird things about this, Valia.”

Another hit.

Perhaps a little stronger than all the previous ones. And it was accompanied by a whimper, too, but Valiana kept punching.

“And it’s okay to be glad he’s gone, too.”

One tear. One punch.

Another tear. Another punch.

A sob, then—one that shook her whole body, though she hid it with another hit.

Cassian felt his throat contract and his heart tighten.

But Valiana was still punching, still hitting hard, and so he continued,

“It’s okay to be mad at him for what he did to you.”

He let his meaning stretch between them for a few minutes—a few minutes where all they heard in the room was the sound of Valiana’s tiny fists colliding with his palms, mingling with the sounds of her cries and despair.

Cassian chose to let her feel it.

He chose to give her a few more moments—and he guessed she might need it, too, for she didn’t stop punching.

In fact, it seemed like she was only punching more. Harder, and stronger, and faster.

Again and again and again.

And she might have only been six years old, yet Cassian swore she was older.

She had always looked older to him—and today was no different.

He took a deep breath before he tried—and his voice was so fucking quiet it was a wonder she even heard him,

“Do you want to tell me how you feel?”

If anything, he didn’t really expect her to answer.

He didn’t exactly expect her to, and certainly not with a quiet, and desperate, and absolutely broken,

“He hurt me.”

Tears welled in Cassian’s eyes so fast it was a wonder he managed to keep them at bay.

He could do nothing about his heart, though—breaking and crumbling at the sound of her voice.

“I know, Valia,” he murmured, wishing he could say more. Wishing he could do more.

Wishing he could take her pain away, and protect her from all the atrocities of this world.

“I know.”

She kept punching.

Kept punching through her tears (flooding her face, now) and kept punching through her difficult breaths (fighting with her heaving chest, apparently) and kept punching through her sobs. They were so fucking heartbreaking, Cassian was quite sure he would remember the sound forever.

Rarely had she allowed herself to cry in front of him—in front of either of them, actually.

Rarely had she allowed herself to be so vulnerable.

Cassian was grateful she felt comfortable enough to be—no matter how difficult. No matter how agonizing. No matter how heart-wrenching.

He was grateful she trusted him enough to break down in front of him.

So he kept taking her punches—kept his palms up and his hands steady and his breathing deep.

And when he thought perhaps she might need more—when he thought perhaps she might need to punch harder yet, and to break even more—then, he lowered his hands.

And he pointed at his chest.

He let her punch him—again and again and again.

He guessed she was too far gone to even realize.

But her punches were more controlled now, and her whole body was moving—from her still escaping sobs, from her anger, from the weeks (and months, and years, perhaps) of all her repressed emotions.

Cassian let her.

He said,

“Let it all out.”

He guessed she did.

Because she kept punching.

And she said,

“He didn’t—” another punch, ”—have the right to—”

And Cassian wasn’t sure what she was referring to, yet he kept silent.

Another punch.

“He yelled—” punch. “He was mean,” punch. punch. “He shouldn’t—” punch. “He was—” punch. “He was touching things—” punch. punch. punch. “Touching—me—“ punch. A sob, too. “—but he wasn’t allowed.”

Punch.

Punch.

Punch.

She repeated—a broken rasp, really,

“He was mean.”

A sob.

A punch.

Cassian didn’t really feel his tears trail down his face.

He didn’t really feel it, and he didn’t really care, either.

“And I made him dead.”

Because of her wording—or of her meaning, perhaps—it took a minute for Cassian to understand.

Yet when he did, her words echoed like a chant in his mind—over and over again.

And he knew—he was aware, somewhere, in the back of his head, that he was supposed to say something. That he was supposed to tell her no.

He managed to keep his anger in check—this white, paralyzing, hot and cold feeling swirling in his whole body. At least, he managed enough to finally say,

“You didn’t kill him.”

Valiana stopped punching at that—her chest heaving so fucking fast it was probably painful, and her eyes blown so wide Cassian could swear he could see all the way to her soul. They were deep, too—dark like he had never seen them. 

Cassian couldn’t be sure what, from his words or his harsh tone had made her pause.

He didn’t really care.

He repeated, and his voice was still rough—not at her, of course not.

But at him.

“You,” he emphasized, keeping his teary eyes locked with hers and making sure she understood, “did not kill him, Valiana. Do you hear me?”

She blinked.

It only made a few more tears fall.

“You didn’t hurt anybody,” Cassian continued, voice steady and strong. His heart faltering and weak. “You were protecting yourself. You were protecting Maeve, you—you are not a bad person.”

He paused. Made sure she understood. And then he added,

“And he can’t hurt you anymore.”

One, two, three of her panting breaths.

Four, five, six of his.

Neither of them dared to speak—dared to move, either, or to avert their eyes from this promise they were holding between them.

From this truth Cassian had voiced and that he wanted to make sure she understood. She realized. She accepted.

Eventually, he was the one to move.

He lifted a finger at his chest, pointing at it and tapping once, twice.

“Again.”

And it wasn’t an order—it was half a question.

It was half an offering.

It was a way to ask if she still needed to punch. If she still needed to let it all out. If she still needed to feel it all.

She did.

She started punching before Cassian even had the time to realize it, and she found her former pace very quickly—landing quick and strong hits.

More than he could count and more than he could keep up with.

Stronger than most six-year-olds would be able to, he was quite sure.

Then again, he wasn’t sure most six-year-olds had so much pain and anger inside of them.

Cassian took it all.

And if his chest was starting to hurt, he didn’t care.

If his breathing was becoming hard, it didn’t matter.

If his skin was a little bruised tomorrow, so be it.

He would take it—again and again if she needed it.

Right, left, right, left.

Her tears were still trailing down her cheeks.

Punch, punch, punch.

Her breathing was still heaving and hard.

Left, right, left, right.

She was still crying, and still whimpering.

But no longer sobbing—at least less than before.

Hit, hit, hit.

Cassian took just half a second to close his eyes.

He took half a second to accept, too.

To understand, too.

To comprehend, and realize, and make peace with… everything, really.

Just half a second, and then—

Then he snapped his eyes open because a weight had collided against him, and something was pressing him. Tight.

He held Valiana just as tight as she was holding him as soon as he realized the weight was her, and the something was her arms around his chest. As soon as he realized she was holding him and pressing her head against his chest and shaking against him.

As soon as he realized he was allowed to hold her—to comfort her, to soothe her, to cradle her close to his chest.

So he did.

She felt small against him—small like the six-year-old she was, small like the little girl she was, small like the child she was.

But she also felt like home.

Like a part of himself he had lost, a very long time ago, and he was only finding now.

Cassian held her as best as he could. He slid a hand on her back and pressed her closer with his other hand, cradling the back of her head and tangling in her short hair in the process. He pulled her a little closer every single time he felt her tiny arms around him tighten slightly, and even closer when he felt her body shake with yet another sob.

He breathed alongside her and tightened his hold around her. He reassured her that he was there—he made sure she knew this was okay.

He held strong.

And he promised himself he would not break the hug.

Not unless she was pulling away first.

Not unless he had the certainty she had had enough—that she had gotten the comfort she desperately needed from him.

So he held her tight. And he let his heart slowly—so fucking slowly—find its normal rhythm again alongside hers.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

“Okay, one more.”

Valiana did—her fist hitting his palm with precision.

Her balance had gotten better, too. And her focus was almost perfect now.

“Good,” Cassian praised, nodding slowly.

He was so fucking proud, it was hard to contain.

“You’re getting better, Valia.”

“I am?”

Valiana was panting, too. Her forehead was sweaty and her chest heaving—but she looked proud. Accomplished.

Cassian gently lifted a hand to flick her nose—something he’d first tried about a week ago and had done again when she didn’t call him out on it.

“Yes,” he emphasized, nodding. “You’re getting very good.”

He stood, moving toward the end of the room where two towels were waiting for them. Cassian reached for both, then turned to throw the blue one to Valiana. Like she did most days, she caught it without a problem.

“Do you like it?” he asked as he wiped off his sweaty face, “the training?”

Valiana mused over her answer.

She was still as shy—no matter that she’d come here with him almost a dozen times already. And the question was a little useless. A part of Cassian already knew she liked it. He wanted her to admit it anyway.

“It’s okay,” she answered eventually, using her towel to dry the best of the sweat on her forehead. “It helps.”

“Helps with what?”

She met his eyes, took him in, before she lifted a hand to her temple—pointing a single finger.

Just like he’d done that very first time he’d brought her here.

“Here,” she said. “It helps here.”

Cassian smiled at her. And he knew the way her lips twisted was meant to be a smile, too—a shy and small one.

But a smile all the same.

His own widened.

“I’m happy you’re enjoying it,” he said, and meant it. “It’s important to know what works best for you. What helps you unwind when things get loud or hard.”

“Nesta likes to read,” she pointed out, her voice quiet. "To.. help."

“She does,” Cassian nodded, then started walking in the direction of the door. Valiana followed along without a word.

“Do you think we could buy her a book?”

Cassian paused in his steps.

He blinked at Valiana.

And the minute he saw the hint of alarm on her features—the minute he saw the way her cheeks flushed, almost in shame, he answered,

“As a gift?”

Valiana shrugged her shoulders. And he knew—he knew that, just like that, she had lost what little confidence she’d had.

So he told her—his voice certain,

“I’m sure she would love that, Valia.”

Her lips twitched again. A half-smile again.

“We could ask Emerie what she hasn’t read yet,” Cassian offered, opening the door for her, “And sneak into her bookstore to buy the book without her knowing.” He paused, watched as she stepped out of the room, before he added, “You think she needs help to unwind, lately?”

Valiana met his eyes over her shoulder.

And she said—a simple statement,

“She’s always taking care of us, Maeve and me.”

And it was true, too. Cassian and Nesta were taking care of both girls nonstop. Not that either of them would complain.

Valiana kept walking, and was almost by the stairs when Cassian blinked out of it.

“Hey, Valia?” he called before Valiana could start her descent the stairs. She turned to him.

Cassian crouched to her level.

And he made sure she was looking right back at him when he said,

“Buying her a book is an awesome idea,” he told her, and meant it. “She’s going to love it. But—” and for this, he lifted a hand to her. He was about to brush off a strand of her hair when he hesitated. He paused, and instead gave her shoulder a small shrug. “She loves taking care of both of you. This isn’t something she needs to unwind from.” He emphasized his words with his brows slowly rising. And he smiled at her, too. “Okay?”

She nodded. Just once.

And when she rose to his feet, he was surprised to feel her soft palm finding his.

He squeezed it gently in silent comfort.

“Nyx wants to invite her to his birthday.”

Cassian paused at Feyre’s words. He side-eyed her, his heart a little thundering.

“As in…” he tried, frowning. “Like, birthday party? With everyone?”

“Yeah,” she nodded slowly. “I mean, it’d be just family, but uh—“ she cocked her head to the side. “Yeah.”

He tried to contain his grimace. Tried not to let the thought bother him—the thought of everyone being there overwhelming him a little.

Not because he wasn’t comfortable with those people—no.

But because he knew Valiana wouldn’t be.

“I don’t know, Feyre,” Cassian answered with a big sigh. “I don’t—“

“It’s okay,” she reassured, “it’s not—“ she trailed off in a chuckle, then tried again, “he wants to ask her. So you don’t have to make the decision at all.”

Cassian observed his friend for a couple of beats, then turned his head back to the corner of the studio. The same corner Nyx, Valiana and Maeve were always settling in.

They were speaking today—both of them. And whatever they were talking about, it had Valiana look somewhat peaceful. Just like every single time they’d come here, she didn’t paint or draw at all. But she had brought her toy car with her today, and was rolling it all around Maeve.

She’d never seemed this relaxed here.

“In that case,” Cassian told Feyre with a deep sigh, “We’ll see. But if she doesn’t want to—“

“I know,” she nodded. “It’s okay.”

They were on the ride back home, driving to the sound of Maeve’s babbling (only interrupted by Valiana’s so, so quiet voice and whispers of Illyrian words) when she asked him, almost out of nowhere,

“When’s your birthday?”

She was looking at Maeve as she spoke, her finger still caressing her sister’s arm, and with how soft her voice was, Cassian almost could have believed she was speaking to her sister.

He knew better, though.

He cleared his throat gently, tried not to show her how surprised he’d been at her words. And he answered,

“In August.”

From the rearview mirror, he saw how she cocked her head to the side—almost absentmindedly. She was probably musing over his words, trying to make out something—anything—out of that piece of information.

“Nesta’s in April,” he continued, his words slow. Valiana’s eyes snapped up to his immediately, just in time for him to ask, “And you’re in April, too, right?” She only blinked at him, didn’t answer. ”And then we have Maeve in June.”

Cassian wasn’t sure what—between the fact that he knew all of that or the fact that she and Nesta shared a birth month—made Valiana so stuck in place. She’d let go of Maeve entirely, eyes trained on his in the rearview mirror and mouth half-parted.

He smiled at her. Soft and warm.

“Right?”

The babble he was met with wasn’t the answer he expected—and yet when his eyes flickered to Maeve, he was quite sure her bright smile and her hand half-raised toward him was trying to confirm. Cassian chuckled, then turned to glance at Valiana over his shoulder for half a second. Just because he wanted to look at her in the eye a little better.

He asked,

“Was there something you wanted to ask me about birthdays, Valia, or were you just curious?”

A part of him already knew what this was about. If Feyre was correct, Nyx had told her about his birthday, and the discussion must have triggered her thoughts. But Cassian knew her—knew how she worked just like Nesta. And so he opted for the usual tactics he used with Nesta when she didn’t want to be truthful about what was bothering her.

It always worked.

She mumbled something from her backseat—something that sounded a lot like Christmas, but he couldn’t be sure. He furrowed his brows exactly as he turned into their street.

“What did you say?”

Valiana pursed her lips, almost as if she wasn’t sure she was willing to repeat the question. Still, she asked,

“Birthdays—” it sounded more like an affirmation than a question, really. “It’s like Christmas?”

This gave Cassian pause. And he was quite glad he was parked in front of their house by that time, because it gave him the time to blink at her—trying to understand what she meant.

He turned to her, fully.

And perhaps the questions in his eyes were enough because Valiana explained,

“For Christmas, you said—” she cocked her head all the way to the other side, “—you said that it’s about the family.”

Cassian nodded, once. “We did.”

“And you celebrate it because you want to be with your family.”

“Yeah, Valia,” he confirmed. “We’re celebrating Christmas and making it special because we want to spend it with our loved ones.” He hesitated, then added, “And yeah. It’s the same for birthdays.”

The minute or two they spent staring at each other then was meaningful. Her, from her child’s seat at the back of the car, and him, turned around from the driver’s seat.

Cassian could have sworn he heard the questions in her eyes and the gears in her mind.

So he said, almost ceremonially,

“Nyx invited you to his birthday, today.”

Valiana didn’t even seem surprised that he knew. And she didn’t nod, either, yet Cassian thought he could read the confirmation in her eyes.

“He must enjoy spending some time with you, Valiana.”

She was so frozen in her seat that she didn’t even turn to Maeve when she started to fuss. So Cassian kept his gaze locked with hers for a second before he climbed out of the car, opened the door, and gathered Maeve in his arms. He bounced her up and down a couple of times to calm her before he rounded the car, opening Valiana’s door for her. Before she could get out though, he held out a hand for her.

She was hesitantly placing her palm against his when he said,

“You’re his friend, Valia.”

She stopped moving—eyes snapping up to his and hand contracting against his palm.

“You’re Nyx’s friend,” Cassian repeated with very serious eyes. “Of course, he wants you to come to his birthday party.”

That night, Valiana got up with him and drank her usual glass of water while he fed Maeve, and then followed him back into their bedroom. When he came closer to bump his fist against Valiana’s—already bundled in bed as he debated, like every single night, whether he should dare offer her a kiss goodnight—she asked,

“Do you think,” her voice was hesitant. The bedroom was dark but Cassian saw her eyes flicker to the crib, then back to him, “that Maeve would like to go to Nyx’s birthday?”

Cassian smiled at her. And then the smile turned into a small huff, almost a chuckle. He crouched beside her bed, only hesitated for a second before he indulged and brushed a strand of her hair off her face.

“I think,” he said, “she would love to.”

Valiana offered him a tentative smile.

“But I also think,” he continued, leaning in for a mock whisper, “that it would be more than okay if you’d liked that, too.”

Her smile was still as small, this time, but it was shy, too. Cassian reached for the teddy bear behind her, then presented her with it. She wrapped it in her arms immediately, burying her mouth and nose against the soft fabric.

Cassian lifted his fist to her, then felt his smile widen when she bumped hers against it.

“You know,” he said, “you could name him if you want.” He nodded to her teddy bear as he spoke. “Find him a nice little name you like.”

Valiana didn’t answer. Yet, from the look on her face, he could have sworn there were words on the tip of her tongue.

The day of Nyx’s birthday party, in late February, Valiana was strangely relaxed. They arrived a bit late, but Nyx was there to welcome them, and the fact that Valiana kept her palm pressed against Nesta’s was almost becoming casual.

Both Nesta and Cassian were a little surprised, at first when Nyx offered to bring her to his room and when Valiana didn’t refuse. And even more so afterwards, when she looked at them for reassurance. She followed after Nyx easily after that—and they had to wonder whether it was because she felt a little better being alone with him and Elizabeth instead of the crowded living room, or if it was because she simply liked it, being alone with Nyx. With her friend.

Either way, they didn’t see much of them for the whole few hours they spent in Rhys and Feyre’s house. And they were both a little uneasy about not having their eyes on her—and yet overly proud and happy for her.

“Hey, Nes, I’ve been—“

Cassian trailed off the moment he entered the girls’ room, and felt his heart immediately burst in a wave of…

Well. There was no denying it.

Love.

Nesta was on the floor, lying on her side. Maeve was curled against her and breathing so peacefully that it was no wonder they’d both fallen asleep. One of Nesta’s arms was resting around the baby protectively. And, sitting with her back against Nesta’s legs was Valiana, holding Nesta’s other hand in hers. She straightened almost immediately when Cassian entered the room, as if she’d been caught doing something wrong.

Cassian was quite sure she relaxed slightly at the sight of his smile.

“They fell asleep,” Valiana whispered, slowly leaning back against Nesta.

“I see that,” he answered without missing a beat. His smile only widened. “You weren’t tired?”

Slowly, she shook her head.

And there was something on her face then—something that Cassian felt like he was given the privilege of seeing.

Her face was so relaxed and peaceful and… happy, if he dared say. At least as much as he’d ever seen her.

There was no frown on her features and no anger in her eyes. The lines of her face were naive and innocent, and her lips were curved into the smallest ghost of a smile he had ever seen.

Yeah.

Cassian knew it.

She was happy.

And she was exactly where she belonged.

“We’re going out.”

“You’re—” Cassian almost scoffed, his head perking up from where he was sitting on the couch. The computer on his lap was making his head hurt, and he knew he’d been a little swallowed by it for perhaps a little too long, now. “You’re leaving?”

Nesta and Valiana were by the door, both wrapped in their coats to face March’s chilly weather, and Valiana was leaning her head against Nesta’s thigh.

The sight surprised him and gave him pause.

She looked older. Older than she had been the first time she’d set foot in their house. In their home.

And yet, somehow, she looked a little younger, too. More naive, in that carefree manner, kids were supposed to. Exactly as she should be.

“We’re going to a hair salon,” Nesta explained, then placed a gentle palm on the top of Valiana’s head. “Our hair has already grown quite a lot, don’t you think?”

It had—to some extent at least.

But both their hair was still short, and Cassian thought, just like that time they’d cut it, that they were perfect.

He said,

“You didn’t want to cut it from home?”

Nesta and Valiana exchanged a quiet look at that—one that told him perhaps they’d already talked about it. Nesta half-chuckled, and the sound was followed by a small huff—not a laugh but almost—from Valiana.

It was her who answered,

“Nesta said you can’t cut hair.”

Her voice was quiet and meant to be teasing, yet it sounded as though she was afraid to say the words.

“He’s the worst,” Nesta confirmed—probably for the sole purpose of adding to the teasing.

Cassian thought he’d rarely ever seen so much compassion in her eyes. He gasped, bringing a hand to his chest in mock offense.

“I cannot believe,” he told them, amused, “that I’m being treated like that in my own house.”

Nesta laughed at his joke, and Valiana… she looked at him, her eyes sparkling for the first time since he’d met her. For the sole purpose of entertaining her, he continued,

“To think, that I’m here, spending my days caring about you and that you refuse my attempts at hair cutting—when I’ve proven to do so well in the past—“ he paused when a small smile started to curve Valiana’s lips and then trailed off entirely when she turned to bury her face on Nesta’s thigh.

The sound of the chuckle that left her was muffled from their position, making it almost inaudible.

They both heard it anyway.

And when Cassian met Nesta’s eyes, he knew she felt as strongly as him at the sound.

Such a simple sound. Yet such a powerful one, too.

“He’s silly,” Nesta offered after a few minutes, her voice quiet. “Don’t you think Valia?”

Against her thigh, she nodded. And she kept like that for a few minutes, her breath deep.

It was as if Valiana didn’t know what to make of the sound that’d left her. As if she didn’t know how to cope with that laugh.

As if she didn’t really know what to feel.

When she straightened after a few minutes, letting go of Nesta’s thigh entirely, her smile had dropped. She seemed deep in thought.

They both stopped teasing.

“Still wanna go cut that hair?” Nesta tried quietly. When Valiana hesitated, she continued, “They can cut mine first. And then you decide if you want them to cut yours, or if you’d rather come back here and have me cut it for you.”

Because someone else would need to touch her hair, and Nesta knew as much as him how uncomfortable it might make Valiana feel.

She nodded slowly. They were about to move from the threshold, but Valiana hesitated, glancing back at him over her shoulder. She left Nesta’s side and walked toward him, her eyes hesitant. And she lifted her fist to him.

Without showing his surprise, Cassian lifted his own fist, bumping it into hers. He made a point to smile at her, too.

“I’ll see you later,” he said—both a question and a promise.

Since she was still in front of him, he gently lifted his hand to flick her nose playfully.

“And I’ll take care of Maeve, don’t you worry.”

Valiana didn’t even think before she answered,

“I’m not.”

And all Cassian could answer to that was a fucking happy and proud smile.

A few hours later, Cassian was on the living room carpet, Maeve sitting right in front of him. She was bursting out laughing every single time he hid his face behind his hands, only to reappear a second later with a loud, Peekaboo.

He joined her in laughter every single time.

And perhaps it was because of the sound of their joined laughter that he didn’t hear the door opening and closing—and was startled at the sound of Nesta’s voice,

“Looks like you’re enjoying your time here alone.”

Cassian immediately turned at the sound of her voice, and his smile dropped slightly at the sight of them.

Nesta stood in the hallway with her hair cut. But her face wasn’t as relaxed as it usually was, and indeed, beside her stood Valiana—her hair still long and her face closed off and her hand gripping Nesta’s so tight that both their knuckles were turning white.

Still, the look on Nesta’s face told him not to push or pry.

So instead, he tried, his voice gentle,

“Wanna join us? We were playing.”

Valiana and Nesta both exchanged a look—both tilting their head toward the other. It was Nesta who answered, her free palm gently grazing Valiana’s face, brushing her hair off.

“We’re gonna go in the bathroom and cut our hair first,” she offered kindly, even though hers was already cut. “But after that, sure.”

Cassian offered both of them a small smile, and winked at Valiana, though it lacked its usual humor.

“We’ll be here,” he assured them. “We’ll wait for you.”

Later that day, they were sliding under the covers together when Nesta finally explained—not even needing him to ask what she knew he’d been wondering for the last few hours,

“The hairdresser was a guy.”

Her eyes met his in a painful gaze.

“She wasn’t feeling comfortable letting him touch her.”

Cassian took a deep breath. He tried to contain his anger and disgust.

“Do you think…” he hesitated, slowly shaking his head as he dragged Nesta a little closer to him. “Do you think she would have agreed if it had been a girl?”

The look on Nesta’s face was enough for him to guess her answer even before she said,

“I don’t know.” She tucked her head under his chin. “I really don’t know.”

“Valia?”

At the sound of Nesta’s voice, her head perked up. She’d been sitting at the living room table, quietly doing a puzzle Cassian had bought after a few hours of training in his gym one day. Nesta settled down on the chair beside her.

“It’s the fifth of April in two days.”

Valiana didn’t nod.

From where he was sitting on the floor, hand hovering behind Maeve who’d been starting to pull on different furniture to stand, Cassian watched them. He knew what this was about. He made sure to keep very silent.

“So,” Nesta continued, chancing to place a hand on Valiana’s back. Cassian was sure her touch was featherlight at first, at least for the second it took Valiana’s muscles to contract and then to slowly relax under the touch. “We’ve been wondering what you’d like to do.”

This time, Cassian knew the little girl was frowning when she said,

“I don’t understand.”

Nesta slowly cocked her head to the side, wearing a smile Cassian had rarely ever seen so soft.

“It’s your birthday in two days, Valia,” she offered gently. “So you get to choose whatever you’d like to do. Because we’re celebrating.”

For a moment, Valiana only kept her eyes trained on Nesta, appraising. Searching. Wondering. And then she slowly turned to Cassian, who smiled softly but didn’t say anything.

Valiana turned back to Nesta.

“I don’t know.”

They’d been expecting this. Nesta tried,

“We have lots of ideas,” her hand gently rose a little higher on Valiana’s back, caressing in a motion oh so gentle. “But if you have anything you would like to do—” Nesta shrugged. “We’ll make it happen.”

Again, Valiana’s eyes flickered to Cassian, before they met Nesta’s again.

She was deep in thought—deep in worry, or hesitation, or uncertainty, Cassian couldn’t be sure.

Still, he watched as Nesta slowly leaned in, just a little closer to Valiana. And her voice was still loud enough for him to hear, but he averted his eyes for the pretense of giving them privacy as she whispered,

“Whatever you want, Valia.”

From the corner of his eye, Cassian saw Nesta pull back, but it only lasted a second before she was interrupted by Valiana’s hand on her wrist—keeping her close to her. It was her turn to lean in closer, her hand curving over the shell of Nesta’s ear to murmur something Cassian wasn’t privy to, this time.

Valiana’s cheeks were a little reddened in shame or guilt or worry, and her eyes deep and dark like they usually were. Yet Nesta’s face bore nothing but adoration and softness—an unmistakable smile curving her lips the moment Valiana’s words reached her ears.

“You’d want that?” Nesta asked as she pulled away from her, taking the little girl in—her teeth biting her lower lip, and her mouth twisting this way and that.

Valiana didn’t even nod or blink to agree.

Nesta’s smile took it as the confirmation it was. She gently placed her thumb and forefinger around Valiana’s chin to hold it, and assured her,

“Yes,” Nesta was nodding, too, as if to make sure Valiana would understand. “We can absolutely do that.”

It was very subtle, the way Valiana seemed to relax before her. And yet Cassian saw it immediately—melting at the fact that she was feeling confident and trusting enough with Nesta to tell her what she wanted.

Nesta shifted her chair a little closer, giving Cassian her back to stare at. She wrapped an arm over Valiana’s shoulders and dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

As if nothing had ever been so normal. As if the touch was absolutely casual. As if Valiana had always been there and had always considered this her home.

He was quite sure in another universe, she had.

“Want some help with that puzzle?” Nesta offered gently, just for the sake of normalcy they both knew Valiana would crave after having voiced what she wanted. This time, she nodded, though instead of focusing on the puzzle in front of them, she snuggled onto Nesta’s side, almost burying her head against her—almost as if she wanted to crawl in her and never let go. Almost as if she wanted to make sure she was there.

Nesta didn’t even react, simply keeping her arm around the little girl, sometimes tightening her hold around her.

Touching and holding Valiana was still tentative and uncertain, for both of them. They were all still getting accustomed to it—both still trying to make sure it was okay, every single time. And her, in turn, was still getting accustomed to them. Accustomed to being touched like that, to allowing them to hold her or kiss her hair.

And yet, times like these made Cassian realize how comfortable she was with them.

How home she was, indeed.

Cassian still had no idea of what Valiana had asked for. And as he looked at them so close; as he turned back to Maeve, who was bouncing slowly on her feet and gripping the coffee table tight—he didn’t think it really mattered.

Whatever it was, he was quite sure he would love it all the same.

“What was it?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Wha—come on Nes!”

“No,” she chucked, shaking her head in refusal. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Cassian rolled his eyes, but it was fond. His hand found her hip, keeping her from taking too many steps away from him, and she yelped when he tugged at her to come closer to him.

His other hand rose to her face, knuckles brushing her cheeks.

“What’s that?” Nesta asked, her head cocking to the side in a teasing smile and a sparkling gaze.

“What’s what?” he countered, both eyebrows slowly perking up.

He’d taken a few steps as he spoke, prompting her to take a couple of steps backwards until her back met the wall. Of course, Nesta went willingly. She let her head lean back against it, eyes searching his.

“You,” she moved her head as if to point to him. “This. Being all—” she trailed off with a smirk he wanted to devour, “—like this.”

The hand on her face stilled, his own smile growing wider and wider on his lips.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Nesta rolled her eyes at him—a motion he had missed oh so much.

“You’re being flirty,” she said—almost an accusation.

“I’m in love.”

“Okay,” she chuckled, then rolled her eyes again. “Perhaps you weren’t for the last couple of months? Because you didn’t act like—”

“I’m happy,” he amended quietly, cutting her off. “And before you ask—yes, I’ve been happy for a long while. But I feel like Valia is getting more and more comfortable here with us, and I see all the growth Maeve is doing, and I just—” he trailed off in a huff, smile soft on his lips. Nesta’s matched his own.

“I just love what we’re building,” he finished quietly. “I’m in love with this little peace we found, all four of us.”

When Nesta’s palm met his cheek, mirroring his position, he leaned his head against her touch immediately.

“So I’ve been happy for quite a while,” he continued—and his voice had rarely been so quiet. “But today I’m just feeling—a thousand times more.”

Her movements were slow when she slowly rose on her toes, pulling him a little closer until her lips met his in a featherlight kiss.

“I know,” Nesta said—an admission in the shape of a murmur. “I—” she took a deep breath. “I feel it, too.”

Cassian pulled her in for another kiss, a deeper one.

“And I love you,” he whispered against her lips, made sure she understood, breathed into her. “Do you know that, Nes? How much I love you?”

He felt the smile that stretched her lips against his own. The smile he usually was the only lucky bastard to see—the one she reserved for him, the one he was feral for.

The one he’d only ever noticed her give to two other people.

The one he was only willing to share with the two little girls sleeping in the other bedroom.

“I love you,” he repeated, then kissed her cheekbone, her forehead, her hairline, before tucking her head under his chin and keeping her there. Right beside his heart, where her home was.

“I love you, too,” she murmured against him. “I’d never be able to do this without you.”

“And I,” he murmured against her scalp, “already told you there’s no—”

Cassian trailed off when they heard a phone ring in the room, startling them both. They were fast to move then, neither willing to wake up the girls.

Nesta was the first to reach the bedside table where their phones were charging.

“It’s yours,” she threw at him as she reached for it, then glanced at him over her shoulder as he approached. “Myriam.”

“Oh?” Cassian frowned as Nesta stared at the phone in her hands, then softened when she guessed,

“Maybe she wants to make sure we know it’s Valiana's birthday in two days.” She was already bringing the phone to her ear when she continued, “That’s nice of her to call—Hello?”

Cassian couldn’t hear Myriam’s voice on the other end, but he observed Nesta’s face intently.

He watched as she smiled at the phone, Yeah, we’re great, thank you. How are you?

He watched as she brushed a hand in the air, almost dismissively. No, you’re not bothering us. Not at all. We were actually—

He watched as she trailed off on the words, her face turning into a more neutral one. Oh? Yeah. Yeah, that’s—

And then, he watched, too, as she blinked. As her eyes flickered to his. As she blinked again. And as she nodded, once. Yeah. He’s right there beside me. He—

Her eyes searched his, as if he was the one speaking in her ear.

Let me just—Nesta paused, clearing her throat in a motion he understood as anxious. Nesta slid her palm in his, tilting her head to their adjacent bathroom and dragging him along with her.

Nesta was careful to close the door behind them, ignoring Cassian’s furrowed brows as she turned on the tap and let the sound of the water spray echo all around them.

Only then did she come to stand right in front of him, her own brows furrowed. Her own frown deep. Her own throat constricting.

Just like his.

Nesta raised her hand to hold the phone between them like an offering—like a torment, like a threat, like a curse.

Her thumb was hovering over the speaker button for what felt like hours, but was really seconds. And Cassian couldn’t exactly tell why his heart had started to feel a little uneasy in his chest.

Yet it did, and Nesta’s deep breath before him didn’t help it relax.

Her thumb finally tapped the phone screen. Her eyes finally met his.

She finally said,

“We can both hear you.” Her voice was quiet—drowned in the sounds of the water still running in the room. “We’re both here.”

Myriam didn’t answer right away. And when she did, it was with a quiet,

“Good.”

Cassian wasn’t sure it would be good.

He nodded, his head moving up and down a few times without really understanding why.

A way to convince himself it was good, perhaps.

“I wanted you both to be there for this,” Myriam’s voice cut through his thoughts, cut through his heartbeats, cut through the water running and Nesta’s foot tapping relentlessly on the floor. “Seeing what I know about your relationship with the girls, I just—I thought you might want to hear this. Both of you.”

Nesta opened her mouth to answer, and Cassian thought it was a fucking wonder. His throat was too hoarse to even try to speak. Too tight to even swallow. Too sore to feel anything other than the ache paralyzing him. Nesta demanded,

“Tell us.”

Her voice was soft, even. Gentle. Almost kind. It was a fucking wonder, indeed.

Myriam answered,

“We’ve just heard from the girls’ mother.”

Cassian watched as Nesta closed her eyes.

As her face closed off before him.

As her hand constricted around the device.

“She’s been discharged from rehab tonight.”

Cassian kept watching.

Kept watching a tear trail down Nesta’s cheek—her understanding of something he wasn’t willing to admit just yet.

Kept watching the hard press of her eyes shutting tighter—her refusal to make more tears fall.

Kept watching her face trying hard to contain the grimace she was fighting—her strength taking over her whole body when he was left… Absolutely hollow. Unwilling to move. Unable to understand.

“She’s legally permitted to regain custody.”

Nesta’s eyes snapped open—endless pools of pain and hurt and despair. Cassian’s eyes snapped shut—unfathomable, unable, unwilling.

“The girls will be picked up in five days.”

There was a weight colliding with his chest—a hand as familiar as his own, gripping his shirt tight as if trying to cling to him, to gather a comfort he didn’t know how to give, to shake him awake from this nightmare that was trying to shape their reality right now.

Such a different feeling from what he'd been feeling just a couple of minutes ago. 

“I’m very sorry.” Myriam's voice even sounded like it. “I wanted to give you a couple of days to prepare.”

Prepare.

But prepare for what, exactly?

Prepare to mess with their lives?

Prepare to get their happiness crushed to dust?

Almost the universe's way of telling them, 

No.

Of making them understand, 

You don't get to have this.

Of confirming,

No happiness for you.

Prepare.

Prepare for something they knew would happen. Yet they’d been ignoring for a little too long.

Prepare to break exactly four hearts.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Cassian was startled when he heard a knock on the door.

Everything had been silent in their house for a few hours now. The sun was long set—the moonlight casting shadows from the windows.

Nesta had eventually fallen asleep—in the girls’ bedroom, on the rocking chair she’d used sometimes, clutching the teddy bear close to her heart as if it could replace the two little girls they’d had to say goodbye to.

Cassian had been unable to. He’d tried—tried to fall asleep on the couch, failed. Tried to fall asleep in their bed, only to toss and turn. Tried to fall asleep beside Nesta, in that room where two people were missing. He’d given up.

He’d busied himself with cleaning the living room instead. Slowly removing each ornament from the tree. Quietly replacing each decoration in a box.

So he was startled, indeed, when there was a knock on the door.

He glanced up to the hallway as if it could tell him who was knocking on their front door at this time of night. He checked the clock on the wall—it was past midnight. He swallowed.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Still, he placed the light garland he was holding down on the coffee table and walked to the front door.

He heard another knock. A little more frantic, this time.

He furrowed his brows.

He was about to open the door when he heard the sound again.

This time, he didn’t wait to open the door.

A messy sniffle was the first thing he heard. The first thing he noticed, because there was nothing outside. Nothing except—

He glanced down. Down. Down.

His eyes blew wide with surprise and fear and incomprehension when he took in Valiana, standing before him in the darkness of the night.

Her eyes were puffy and red, and her cheeks tear-streaked, and her hands curled into fists at her sides.

Cassian crouched down immediately. Took her in.

“Valiana,” he breathed, alert, worried, afraid. He placed both his hands on her shoulders. “What are you—“ He let his eyes rake her up and down. “Are you hurt?“ He noted no injuries. “Where’s Maeve?” She wasn’t wearing a coat, either. “What are you doing here?“

A couple of heavy tears fell from her eyes.

A sob then, a quiet one.

And then, she took a single step forward and crushed him into a hug.

“I forgot something,” she breathed against him.

And he could hardly breathe, with how tight she was holding him, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t sure he could really breathe without her anyway.

He pulled her closer. Closer to him, closer to his heart—as close as he could get her.

“You can’t be here,” he murmured, even as he dragged her closer still.

His hands were caging her in, protecting her. Enveloping her and keeping her from everything. One cradling the back of her head and the other pressing on her back, trying to soothe the sobs shaking her relentlessly.

“You can’t—“ he tried again, choked on a sob as well. “Be here.”

It was the truth.

Nesta and Cassian had been warned a couple of hours ago—both by Myriam and Madja.

They couldn’t keep in touch, couldn’t reach out, couldn’t see the girls unless their mother expressly agreed to.

So, to have Valiana come here, alone…

Cassian shifted so he sat on the floor, kicked the door closed with his foot while holding Valiana as tight and close as he possibly could.

The goodbye he hadn’t been able to give her earlier.

After a couple of seconds, he managed to calm down—managed to rein in his tears, to swallow his sobs. He murmured,

“Where’s Maeve?”

“At the hotel.” Valiana almost moaned in his neck. She sniffled. Messily. “With our mother.”

Because they were spending the night here in Prythian before leaving for Illyria tomorrow. Or so they’d been told.

He clarified, needing the confirmation,

“She’s okay?”

Valiana moved against his neck—nodding. Cassian felt a part of his heart relax at that.

“Sleeping.” She sniffled again. “They’re both sleeping.”

He asked,

“Why are you here, Valia?”

She repeated her earlier words,

“I forgot something.”

There was something looping around his neck, pressing tight, and holding even tighter. Her tiny arms.

Cassian tried to guess,

“Your teddy bear?”

There was a pause.

One he thought he might not have an answer to.

But then,

“No.”

He was about to ask, then what? But she didn’t give him the time before she moved again. Her face hidden in the crook of his neck so deep, it was a wonder he heard her muffled voice when she mumbled,

“I don’t hate you.”

Cassian closed his eyes. It did nothing to keep his fresh tears from rising. To keep his heart from squeezing and bursting in a mix of love and pain and happiness and heartbreak.

“I don’t—“ Valiana repeated, sobbing on the word. “I don’t hate you.”

“I know, Valia,” he pressed his eyes shut tighter. His throat was feeling so fucking tight again. “I know. Nesta and I both know.” He took a deep breath. Pressed a kiss to the side of her head, never releasing his hold around her. “And we,” he continued, moving his hand to hold her head and make her understand. “We love you. You hear me? We love you so, so much.”

In his arms, she kept sobbing. Kept shedding all the tears she must have been trying so fucking hard to contain for the last almost two days.

Cassian let her. He cried along with her, and held her through it. He pressed her close, and then closer, and answered to every single one of her tightening squeezes.

He moved, though, eventually. Never letting go of her, even as he rose to his feet. Never holding her any less, even as he crossed their empty house and their quiet living room. Never releasing his hold around her, even as he entered the little girls’ bedroom.

Nesta was still sound asleep on the rocking chair. He approached without a word, lowered Valiana on her lap without a sound. Didn’t even have to speak to tell the little girl Nesta was there.

Didn’t even have to call Nesta to shake her awake.

Her eyes flew open the moment Valiana nestled against her chest instead—pupils blown wide in surprise, then softening in understanding, and finally turning glassy in pain. Her arms, too, looped around Valiana, and she held her, without a sound.

As if it made sense, that she was here. That she’d crossed the city all on her own, that she’d found their house—her home—all alone, in the dead of night.

Perhaps it did.

Perhaps it made perfect sense.

Either way, Nesta didn’t ask. Didn’t speak. Didn’t so much as breathe.

She simply held Valiana as tight as Valiana was holding her. Cassian looped his arms around both of them. Brought his forehead against Valiana’s temple—her face perfectly tucked in between his and Nesta’s neck.

They took a couple of shallow breaths, all of them.

And Valiana murmured—or sobbed, or broke; words she had perhaps never offered anyone. Words she had perhaps never felt.

An answer to his earlier words.

An exact match to their feelings.

“I love you, too.”

An hour or a heartbeat or an eternity.

A lifetime or a decade or the blink of an eye.

That’s how long they stayed like that.

How long they spent without daring to move a single inch. How long they kept crying alongside each other.

How long Valiana kept burying her head in between both of them deeper and deeper, sobbing less and less, and relishing in their comfort more and more.

Cassian couldn’t tell who moved first.

If Valiana had slowly straightened or if Nesta had gently started rocking the chair. If he’d pulled away for a kiss, or if they’d all shifted to share a fond look.

He had no idea. He didn’t think it mattered anyway.

What he knew was that he was now a little further away—not by much. But just enough to be able to look at Valiana’s face. To offer her the ghost of a smile.

A sad one and a heartbreaking one.

One she didn’t manage to reciprocate.

Cassian grazed his fingers over her face, brushed her hair off her eyes, tangled his fingers with Nesta at the back of the little girl’s head.

And he said, in a murmur,

“You’re going to be happy, Valia.”

She blinked at him. Not exactly an acknowledgment, but he made an effort to let his smile spread wider on his lips.

“You and Maeve both. You’re going to be happy because you’ll be together.”

Valiana sniffled. Something messy. Nesta didn’t dare to move.

“You know how to celebrate Christmas,” he continued. “You know it’s not about the trees or the cookies. You know how to spend time with the people you love and to make something special. Know to love your little sister and to be there for her.” He leaned in, nuzzled his nose against hers. “You know how to play and have fun.” Cassian huffed on the word. Something almost amused, yet not really. Sour, perhaps. “I want you to have fun. To never stop playing. To never—ever—stop doing things you love.”

Nesta hid a quiet and desperate whimper in Valiana’s neck.

And Valiana sounded equally broken when she rasped,

“You won’t be here with us.”

Her seven-year-old voice and the truth in her words sent shivers down his spine and dread to his stomach. Cassian nodded, very slowly.

“We won’t,” he agreed, brushed her hair again. “But we’ll be there.”

He tapped the fingers of his free hand on his heart, then moved so he could tap hers.

“Always.”

“You won’t forget about us?”

This time, the huff that left Cassian was amused. It was amused because the thought was so fucking ridiculous.

He shook his head, smile broken and eyes glinting with tears.

He leaned his forehead against hers. Saw her eyes flutter closed for a second.

“Never,” Cassian breathed. “We will never—ever—forget about you. You’re a part of us now. You—“ he trailed off. Swallowed around the lump in his throat and felt Nesta’s hand find his again. A silent support when she didn’t manage to speak. A guidance. An assurance that she felt the same. “You’re our little girls, Valia. We love you like our own little girls. We could never forget about you.”

He shifted to press his lips on her forehead in an almost harsh kiss. The kind he’d given Nesta not so long ago. The kind he hoped she’d remember forever.

The kind he knew she’d probably need.

“If we had it our way,” he breathed, “you’d stay with us forever.”

The words rang so fucking true it was almost visceral, the way it made him ache. He felt it all the way down to his stomach, making his heart ache and beat in every single one of his bones. Cassian could feel it everywhere.

He couldn’t remember a time he’d felt so fucking hollow.

“It’s not fair,” Valiana almost moaned—sounding, for once, like the little girl she was. “Nyx—” she sniffled, lifted a clumsy hand to her face to wipe away a couple of tears. “Nyx said he could choose who his Mommy was.”

A sharp inhale from Nesta both broke and mended Cassian’s heart. His eyes flickered to hers, found them equally devastated and in love.

Because Valiana’s words—those were as much of a declaration as it could get.

Cassian nodded. A slow thing.

His gaze met Valiana’s again, and he squeezed Nesta’s hand at the same time.

He breathed,

“I know it’s not fair.”

And Oh, how much he did.

“But,” he tried, his half smile still as ghostly. “You can choose who you love.”

Nesta was the one to press a kiss on the little girl’s hairline this time. Valiana turned to her, blinked at her. Their faces were so close they were almost touching and their gazes locked so deep that Cassian almost felt like he was intruding.

It was in a breath, when Nesta finally spoke.

“I love you, Valiana. With all my heart. I—“ she blinked, the motion making a couple of tears roll down her cheeks. “I hope you remember that. Whatever happens. Wherever you are. You are loved.”

If the world was spinning, it was most probably because of the twirling of emotions threatening to swallow Cassian whole. And if his eyes were blurry, it didn’t matter. He could see everything clearly.

Valiana’s and Nesta’s faces collided when the little girl leaned forward again, her forehead bumping against Nesta’s lips, then her chin, before finally burying her face deep in her neck.

“You are loved,” Nesta continued in a murmur, her tears slowly trailing down her cheeks like droplets of rain.

There was a messy sniffle—another one. Then a small whimper. And finally her voice—almost teasing, almost amused. Almost trying to seal this,

“Rights? Or rules?”

Cassian huffed a little laugh. It perfectly matched Nesta’s.

“Both,” he answered for her, then smiled when Valiana turned to him and searched his face. It didn’t take her long to lift a fist his way. He bumped it with his immediately. “Both, Valia.”

He enveloped her fist with his palm, covering all of it save for a small area of her hand where he pressed his lips to seal their words with a kiss as well.

He held her gaze, just for a few seconds, before he took a deep breath. Nesta’s eyes fluttered closed.

They all knew what was coming.

“You know you have to go back, Valia, right?”

She nodded slowly. She murmured, “I don’t want to.”

“I know, baby.” Cassian kissed her forehead again. “I know.”

The sigh that left him made him sound like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. He felt like that, too.

Still, with a strength he didn’t know he had left, he rose to his feet, squeezed Nesta’s shoulder gently, and announced,

“You’re not supposed to be here, though.” Both Nesta’s and Valiana’s eyes were trained on him, wondering. “I have an idea.”

As soon as Cassian found his phone in the living room, he dialed Feyre’s number. He hoped she’d answer him, no matter the late hour.