Archive of Our Own

The moment she answers the phone, Karadec pulls open his desk drawer and grabs his keys. 

“What’s going on?” he asks, already halfway out the squad room. 

She was supposed to meet him at the crime scene an hour ago, but she never showed. That concerned him, as did his phone call that went unanswered, and the only thing that kept him from doing a wellness check was the text she’d sent fifteen minutes after the missed call. 

Sorry
Ludo can’t come get Chloe for another hour 

On its own, it’s a perfectly normal explanation. 

And if Morgan hadn’t brought Chloe to work on more than one occasion—into the field in her stroller, into the squad room and plopped onto Oz’s desk, into the interrogation viewing room on her hip—it would remain a perfectly normal explanation. But she has, and so it’s not, and he can sense that there’s something else going on.

As soon as the call clicks through, he’s proven correct. 

He isn’t greeted by Morgan’s voice, but by the loud wailing of a clearly very upset Chloe. His chest tightens listening to the girl scream, and he winces on Morgan’s behalf. 

When she does finally speak, she sounds frazzled. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, a rushed apology. “Ludo got held up, he—Chloe, baby, please—”

There’s a crash, a thud, Chloe crying louder in the background, and Morgan’s muffled curse as he can only assume the phone clatters to the floor. He slides into the driver’s seat of his cruiser, puts the call on speaker with his phone in his lap, and shifts the gear into drive. 

“Morgan,” he calls out as he pulls away from the curb. 

He hears more shuffling, a scratching noise, like the phone’s being dragged across carpet, and then she returns with a breathless, “Hi. Yeah. I’m here. Sorry.” 

“Is Chloe okay?” he asks, a furrow between his brows. 

He’s never heard her like that before. And granted, he doesn’t have extensive experience with Chloe, but he’s been around her enough to know that this isn’t normal behavior for her. She’s a pretty easygoing baby from what he’s seen. 

“She has a low-grade fever, but this isn’t…” Morgan pauses, and he hears her take a shaky breath. He pushes on the gas just a little harder. “I don’t know what she wants and I can’t—” 

Karadec’s never been more grateful for the short drive from the precinct to Morgan’s house. It takes sixteen minutes on a normal day, but he admits he might’ve broken a traffic law or two to pull up to her front door in only nine. 

Morgan murmurs softly to Chloe, and Chloe’s still wailing—so loud he can hear her from his place outside the house now—and he takes long strides up the front walkway. He rings the bell, listening to it echo through the speaker. 

“Shit, hold on,” she says, probably more to herself than to him, but he hears her footfalls and Chloe’s crying grow nearer. When she opens the door to find him there, her eyes widen, and his name is a surprised exhale. “Karadec.” 

“Hi.” 

He didn’t actually think this through, he realizes. Just showing up at her front door. But now that he’s here he can’t exactly pretend that he’s not. So he offers a small, sympathetic smile. 

“What are you doing here?” Chloe wriggles on her hip, agitated, and Morgan inclines her head before turning on her heel and moving back inside. Her back to him as she walks away, she says: “You should be at work.”

“I was, and now I’m here,” he says.

He closes the front door behind him and follows Morgan into the house. 

As he does, his eyes catch on the multiple visible displays of the morning she’s been having: a crumpled cloth draped haphazardly across the back of the couch, toys strewn on the floor in the hallway and around the coffee table, a mostly full baby plate of food on the high chair’s tray, dry cereal littering the floor surrounding it. 

Morgan’s in a pair of pajama shorts and a blouse she’s worn to work before, like she started getting dressed and got interrupted midway through the process. He has to look away from her long legs, all of the bare skin on display thanks to the length of her shorts, and the sliver of skin above the waistline that peeks through where Chloe’s legs scrunch up the hem of the shirt. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong, baby,” Morgan coos, her tone purposefully light but teetering on hysterical as she holds Chloe’s head to her neck. 

He can see just how much of a toll this is taking on her. Her hair’s falling out of its ponytail, a mess of strawberry blonde waves curling around her face. She looks exhausted and weary and on the verge of tears herself, and his heart aches for her.  

“What’s going on here,” he says, speaking very softly to the girl. Her face is red, her eyes are big and glossy, and her little cheeks are wet with tears. 

“I put her down, she cries,” Morgan starts, standing before him while she bounces Chloe on her hip. “I pick her up, she cries. I try to feed her, she cries. She’s never like this, and Ludo won’t be here to take her for another hour at least, and I can’t—Karadec, I don’t know what else to do.”

Her eyes are damp when they meet his, and that alone has him making up his mind quickly.

“Here, let me take her,” he says. Firm, decisive. 

Morgan just stares at him, her arms moving on autopilot to bounce her daughter. “What?” 

“Let me take her,” he repeats, holding out his hands for emphasis. 

“Karadec, no, you don’t have to… she’s a lot right now, there’s clearly something—”

“I can handle a crying baby,” he says. Whether or not that’s true is neither here nor there. He’s never actually had to deal with a crying baby before, and he’s not exactly known for being great with kids, but he can’t just stand here and do nothing while Morgan looks like she’s going to break. “Can’t be any worse than a murderer, and I deal with those every day.” 

“Murderers aren’t sticky.”

“Morgan.”

She doesn’t look convinced. “Seriously, she’s sticky. You hate being sticky.”

“Morgan.”

“And snotty. Look at her—” 

Karadec reaches out further. “Give me the baby.” 

“Okay.” Morgan obliges, transferring a wiggly, red-faced Chloe into his waiting arms. Once she’s free of her daughter, her own arms fall limply at her side. “I’m serious, though, if it’s too much or too overwhelming, just hand her back and…” 

He holds Chloe against his chest, one arm under her bum and his other hand cupping the back of her head. At first, he questions his choices. She’s loud and squirmy and really what was he thinking? He has no business believing he could help calm an upset baby—

But after a few incredibly long seconds, the wailing gets quieter; the piercing cries simmer first into splintered whimpers and then into sniffles as she tucks her wet face under his chin. She takes a few stuttering breaths and his hand travels down to her back; his palm dwarfs her small frame as he rubs a tentative, calming path along her spine. 

Morgan blinks. She lets out a shaky exhale, incredulous. “What the hell did you do?” 

He shrugs. “Nothing? I don’t know.” She takes a step closer and leans in, takes an exaggerated sniff of his shirt. “What are you doing?”

“Seeing if you have a particular smell.” She says it as if he should’ve known that’s what she was doing, as if that’s just something that makes total sense. “Are you wearing cologne?” 

“No.” He shakes his head. “I usually don’t. Most of them give me a headache.” 

Morgan hums. In complete awe, she says, “Interesting.” She eyes the two of them for a moment longer, looking from Chloe’s back to Karadec’s face, before she backs up into the island and slumps against it. “I can’t believe she stopped crying.” 

Neither can he. 

He just wanted to help her out, take Chloe off of her hands—literally—and give her a little break. He didn’t expect the girl to actually settle down. 

“Maybe I smell like the apple fritter I ate before I called,” he says, mostly joking. He ate the apple fritter earlier this morning, and he knows he doesn’t smell of it. No crumbs fell onto his clothes. 

There’s a curious expression on Morgan’s face, caught somewhere between continued amazement and disbelief. Her chest heaves as she rests against the island, the elbows she has braced on the countertop seemingly the only things keeping her upright. 

“Let me see something,” she says.

He watches as she takes a deep breath, mentally prepping herself to straighten back up. When she does, she steps toward them and reaches out to take Chloe back into her arms. She cradles her against her own chest and waits one, two, three seconds before she begins to whimper again.

Tears well up in her round eyes and her bottom lip juts out into an admittedly adorable pout.

Morgan kisses her damp cheek, wipes away some of the tears with the pad of her thumb, and then hands her back to Karadec. Chloe’s already twisting in her hold and reaching for him before she even finishes the hand-off, a displeased grunt slipping free from her little body. 

Back in his arms, held securely against his broad chest, she relaxes almost instantly. 

Morgan’s brow arches. “It’s just… you,” she says, astonished. “Should I be offended? I think I should be offended.”

Karadec laughs. “No. I’m just… a change of scenery. You’re still her favorite.” 

“Not today,” she mutters, though it’s clear she’s not truly upset. She perks up a beat later. “I don’t mind sharing her favoritism with you. Honestly, I’m just grateful she’s not screaming.”

He feels the weight of this little girl against him, both physically and metaphorically. His heart beats a little faster, something foreign and unexpectedly soft slipping into his veins, twisting around his ribs. Swallowing around the sudden, suspicious lump in his throat, he lifts his eyes back to Morgan’s face. 

“Go,” he tells her. 

Her brows draw together, confused. “What?” 

“Go… do what you need to do. Finish getting dressed, take a shower. I can almost guarantee that you haven’t eaten anything this morning, so eat breakfast, have a cup of coffee. Whatever you need to do right now, go do it.” 

Morgan regards him with shiny eyes for a long moment, her bottom lip caught indecisively between her teeth. He itches to reach out for her, to take her hand or squeeze her shoulder for reassurance that it’s okay to take the time he’s offering for herself, but he doesn’t want to risk disturbing the now very quiet girl in his arms. 

Her gaze slides to where her daughter lays content against his chest, her snotty face pressed into his shoulder and two sticky hands fisted in the fabric of his blazer, one at the front, one at the back. 

At least he’s leveled out, she thinks; equally sticky on both sides. 

“Are you sure?” she asks. 

Her voice sounds as brittle and tired as she looks. It’s unusual for her, or at least unusual for him to see her like this. When it comes to her kids, she always seems so put together, always has everything under control; he’s never seen her look this exhausted or taken down by the reality of having a small child. 

He wonders if there have been other mornings like this since he’s known her. Other mornings where Morgan was overwhelmed and nearing a breaking point, but she pulled it together, came to work like nothing happened, and he was none the wiser.

He hopes not, but he has a sinking suspicion that the answer is a resounding yes. He’s going to be paying closer attention from here on out.

Karadec offers what he hopes is an encouraging smile. Nodding toward the hallway he knows leads to her bedroom, he promises: 

“I’m positive. We’ll be okay.”

Morgan sucks in another deep breath, drags her fingers through the unruly hair at the top of her head before she scrubs her palms over her face. And then she nods. 

“Okay,” she agrees at last. “Thank you. I won’t be long. I owe you.”

He shakes his head. “You owe me nothing,” he says seriously. “Take your time. I’ve got her.” 

Morgan’s lips roll into a thin line. She nods again, and with one gentle caress of her daughter’s shoulder she turns and disappears down the hall. 

He hears Morgan’s footsteps as she pads into her room, and then the door to the bathroom as it clicks shut, and finally the hiss of the shower when it kicks on a minute later. 

Bouncing Chloe lightly in his arms, Karadec redirects them to the living room. He does a few slow laps around the room with her before he takes a chance and settles carefully onto the couch. He holds his breath for a couple long seconds, waiting for her to grow restless or start crying again, but she remains quiet and he lets go of his exhale.

He sits there on Morgan’s couch, rubbing Chloe’s back, for about ten minutes before she begins to stir. She lifts her head from his shoulder and leans back, two impossibly small palms flat against his chest to stabilize herself. 

There are tear tracks on her face, and he takes his thumb and dusts gently across her puffy cheeks. She blinks at him, those big, dark eyes roaming his face. He’s just now realizing they’re also blue, but they’re a deeper shade than Morgan’s. 

Chloe really is an adorable baby. She looks like Ludo, he thinks, perhaps because of the dark hair and rounder cheeks, but there are bits and pieces of Morgan when he takes in her little face.

The slope of her nose, the shape of her mouth, she gets those from her mother. And that fiery personality of hers… yeah, that is definitely all Morgan.

“Why are you giving your mom a hard time, hm?” he murmurs, brushing a few wild curls back from her face. They spring right back into place and he chuckles, at least moving them out of her eyes again.

Chloe babbles, her eyes trained on the tie she drags between her chubby fingers. She tugs on the material hard enough to surprise him and pull his neck forward. He lets out a quiet, shocked sound and she looks up at him, grinning at his reaction. 

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” he asks her, unable to stop the smile on his face. He tickles gently at her sides. “You think that’s funny?” 

The girl bursts into delighted giggles, her small body doubling over in his grasp in an attempt to wiggle away from the tickling. The sound has his heart expanding against his ribs. He much prefers this to the wailing from before, and he’s pleased to have gotten her to laugh. 

They sit together for a few minutes, Chloe content to lounge against his chest some more, her fingers resuming their previous fiddling with the end of his tie. He tries very diligently not to think about how sticky the fabric is going to be after this.

Karadec looks toward the kitchen, and then back at the girl. “How about you and I make your mom some breakfast?” he asks. Chloe stares at him. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

He knows there’s a non-zero chance that Morgan hasn’t eaten a single thing yet today, and she’s not likely to make her own breakfast this morning. He wanders past the remnants of the breakfast she attempted to feed Chloe—again, most of it on the high chair tray and the floor—and props her on his hip while he searches between the cabinets and the fridge for potential ingredients. 

It’s expectedly barren, but he does manage to find some eggs, cheese, and deli ham that all appear to be well within the expiration date. He can work with that. 

He considers putting Chloe in her high chair, but she’s resting so nicely, her cheek pressed flush to his shoulder, and he doesn’t want to risk disturbing the peace. So, instead, he works as carefully as he can, balancing Chloe in one arm while he makes a ham and cheese omelette with the other. 

For someone with little to no child-related multi-tasking experience, he thinks he manages surprisingly well. 

In the end, the omelette isn’t his best work but it’s decent enough. At the very least, it’s edible. Besides, he doesn’t drop the kid or burn down Morgan’s kitchen in the process, so he’s going to consider it a win. 

Chloe murmurs nonsense in his ear and he responds, little comments like, “oh, is that so?” or “tell me more” that succeeds in getting more baby talk out of her. It makes him smile. 

He turns the burner off but keeps the omelette covered so it’ll hopefully retain some of the heat and won’t go cold by the time Morgan finishes her shower. 

Chloe lets out a loud squeal and wriggles in his grip. It takes him by such surprise that he gasps, but the girl isn’t agitated; when he looks at her, she’s grinning, her cheeks puffed out adorably with her smile. 

He smiles back, holding Chloe out in front of him and bouncing her a few times to hear her laugh. He’s not confident enough to let go of her and actually toss her in the air, not while he’s standing and the floor below them isn’t soft, but he simulates the movements anyway. 

Chloe’s eyes squint as she giggles and his chest tightens, that same unfamiliar feeling from earlier slipping in between the gaps in his ribs, winding around them like vines. 

He’s never been much of a baby person, if he’s being honest. He’s never been much of a kid person in general. For years, fatherhood just wasn’t something he saw for himself. 

When he met Lucia, that changed, and he started to wonder if maybe that was something he wanted. Maybe he just hadn’t met the right person yet.

After they got engaged they’d have conversations about starting a family, but it was almost always in hypotheticals, in abstract concepts and what-ifs, never concrete plans. Even during those discussions, though, it never felt real and he couldn’t really picture himself as a father. He never sat around and imagined himself cradling a newborn in his arms. 

When Morgan came bulldozing into his life, Ava, Elliot, and Chloe in tow, it was the first time in a long time that he’s really had any first-hand interactions with children. 

Over time, he’s been given small glimpses of what it might’ve been like. Morgan’s kids aren’t his kids, of course, and he knows that, but he can’t deny that he’s come to care for them as if they were. He knows without a shadow of a doubt that he’d protect any one of them with his life. He’d do anything to keep them safe and happy. 

Them, and their mother.

He likes to think they don’t mind him, either. He’s fairly certain they know they can count on him, and at the very least that makes him feel good. Chloe sighs against him, and the apparent fact that she feels safe with him… well, it makes him feel like he’s doing something right. 

He might not be the best at showing his emotions—he thinks about Morgan calling him a police robot early on in their partnership, and while the comment stung he can’t exactly say she was entirely wrong—but he’d drop everything in a heartbeat for any one of them. 

Something tickles at the back of his brain. Kind of like you did this morning for Morgan, leaving work without question and coming over here in the first place.

Karadec takes a deep breath, trying to reset the nerves that have started to buzz beneath his skin. Chloe curls herself back into his side and he rubs her back for a few moments. 

Once she’s gotten herself comfortable again, he seeks out Morgan’s coffee maker. He rinses out what he thinks must’ve been yesterday’s coffee and brews a fresh pot so there’ll be some for her to have with her breakfast. 

By the time he’s finished, Chloe’s growing just a little more restless; she makes quiet grunting noises as she points behind him, back toward the other room.

“Okay,” he tells her, rocking her again. “All right, I hear you, we’ll go back in the living room.”

First, he wipes down Chloe’s high chair with a damp rag and then crouches down to clean up the mess of food on the floor. One less thing for Morgan to have to deal with. 

It doesn’t take long, and when he’s done he lowers himself onto the couch, Chloe on his lap. He holds her hands, her tiny fingers wrapping around his in a way that makes his heart clench, and begins to bounce his leg beneath her. 

“We’ll wait here until your mom gets out of her shower, okay? How’s that sound to you?” 

Chloe makes a humming noise as her lips smack together, and he nods. 

“Perfect. You and me, kid.”

As soon as the bathroom door closes behind her, Morgan backs herself against it. She tips her head back, the towel hanging on the hook blocking her from knocking directly into the wood. 

Her eyes slip closed and she brings one hand to press between her breasts, just over her heart. She takes a deep breath, feels her chest rising steadily beneath her palm. 

She allows herself thirty seconds. 

Thirty seconds to stand there, unmoving, and breathe through the overwhelm that’s been clawing at her ribs since Chloe woke up on the metaphorical wrong side of the crib earlier this morning. Warm to the touch, screaming, inconsolable no matter what she tried. 

When her time is up, thirty long seconds that might’ve been closer to forty-five if she were actually counting, she pushes off of the door, pulls back the bright pink floral curtain, and turns on the shower. 

While the steam begins to fill the small space around her, Morgan strips out of her clothes. 

The shirt she’s changed twice already, thanks to the soft banana Chloe smushed into her collar in a fit of irritation, floats to the floor, followed by the pajama shorts she never even got the chance to change out of. She steps out of her underwear and unhooks her bra, lets the straps slip down her arms until the material falls into the pile at her feet.

The sting of the water soothes her tense muscles. Her hands raise to her hair, pushing it back from her forehead as it slowly gets saturated by the water and cascades down her back. 

Bit by bit, her shoulders begin to drop. 

She makes quick work of scrubbing the morning from her body, not wanting to leave Karadec alone with Chloe for longer than necessary. Not because she doesn’t trust him—up there with Ludo, there’s no one else she trusts her kids with more—but because Chloe is in rare form today. 

Morgan can count on one hand the number of times her girl has been in this terrible of a mood. Overall, Chloe’s a relatively calm, happy baby; she’s not immune to having off days, but this is the first time it’s been this bad. She’s normally settled by a bottle or being rocked in her arms, but this morning she was having none of it. 

Nothing that typically works was working, and she was this close to losing her cool—not on Chloe, of course, but inwardly, breaking into an unpleasant silent spiral—when Karadec just… showed up out of nowhere and calmed her. 

She still has no idea how he did it, but she’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

He didn’t have to come over here and check on her. She knew, realistically, that he was going to worry when she didn’t show up to the crime scene this morning like she was supposed to. She also knew that his worry was going to increase when she missed his initial call after failing to show up at the crime scene. 

Chloe was screaming and throwing cereal and she could only listen to her phone ring in the other room, unable to get to it, all the while just knowing that it was Karadec. 

She was correct, of course, but what she didn’t expect is for that worry to manifest in him physically showing up at her door. 

Karadec is… a good guy. A great guy. One of the best guys she’s probably ever met. 

And he’s great with her kids, especially for someone who claims to be clueless around them. He might not have a bunch of experience, and he might be a little awkward sometimes, but her kids are giving him a crash course and he’s passing with flying colors. 

They adore him. 

Especially Chloe. 

Sometimes she wonders if it all goes back to her shoving her youngest into Karadec’s arms the very first day she met him. He’d taken Chloe from her, confused by the sudden child in his arms but without question. He sat her on his lap, wrapped a protective arm around her little body, and fed her some admittedly nasty looking baby mush. 

Chloe didn’t fuss, either; she just sat in his arms, content to be there. 

Not much has changed since then. He doesn’t see Chloe a lot, usually only when she brings her into the precinct or if he stops over around dinner time with insights on a case, but when he’s around Chloe always has a smile for him. She especially loves to make grabby-hands at him when she sees him over her shoulder. 

The discovery that Chloe is calmed by him, though… that’s something else entirely. In his arms, her body sagging against his chest, she settled. Just like that. 

Morgan turns so she’s facing the spray. She lets the stream of water beat down on her for a few long seconds, reveling in the warmth on her skin. When she thinks she might be dangerously close to waterboarding herself, she lifts her head back and blinks open her eyes, droplets of water falling from her lashes, dripping from her nose, cascading over the ridge of her lips. 

She raises a hand, dragging it down her face as she takes a deep breath. 

A tiny voice in the back of her mind pipes up, has her heart beating a little faster.

Like mother, like daughter.

The bathroom is completely filled with thick steam by the time Morgan pulls back the curtain and steps out of the shower, her feet sinking into the bath mat beside the porcelain.  

She grabs a towel and wraps it around her body, and then she pads over to the sink. Her clothes are piled haphazardly on the counter; she usually gets dressed in her room, but thankfully she had the forethought to grab a change of clothes to bring into the bathroom with her. 

The last thing she needs is to have Karadec somehow catch her in the hallway, damp and naked save for a towel. 

She dries off quickly; some moisture clings to her skin from the humidity of the steam, leaving her skin still feeling damp to the touch. Normally she’d open the bathroom door to let some cool, non-shower air in to counteract that, but again, the whole Karadec in the other room and her being naked thing stops her from doing that. 

Instead, Morgan powers through, pulling on a deep burgundy skirt and one of her more colorfully patterned blouses. 

Freshly showered and dressed, she feels marginally more like a person again. 

She wrings out her hair, considers getting the blow dryer out, and then decides against it. She scrunches it with a towel and figures she’ll let it air dry. She doesn’t have the energy. 

The mirror is still fogged up and she takes a hand towel, smearing an uneven patch to see into. 

Knowing Chloe is in good hands—and because it’s quiet, no faint cries to be heard through the bathroom door when she listens—Morgan decides she’ll take a few extra minutes to do her skincare. She’ll probably throw on some makeup before they leave, at least enough to look less corpse-like, but for now she just needs to be moisturized. 

In the tiny sliver of cleared mirror, especially under this harsh lighting, she notices every little imperfection. 

“Yikes,” she mutters to herself. 

As she digs her skincare bag from the cabinet below the sink, she tries not to think about the lines in her face or the deep-set circles beneath her eyes from a bone-deep kind of exhaustion that she can’t keep running from. She looks tired. 

For a split second she considers grabbing her makeup after all, if only so she won’t be showcasing just how run down she looks, but she forces away the thought. 

She really does not have the energy, and it’s only Karadec. 

He’s never seen her without makeup before, and she tries not to stare at her reflection and wonder what he’ll see when he looks at her. And then she shakes her head, because why is she worried about what he’ll be thinking? 

Morgan rubs a pink peptide serum into her skin, dragging it down to her neck. Her lips pull into a slight frown. 

He isn’t going to judge her or comment on how bad she looks without all her armor. Besides, he’s probably not looking at her like that anyway. It doesn’t matter what she looks like. 

She doesn’t know if the twist in her gut is relief or disappointment. 

Whichever it is, she pushes it back, shoves it down, far, far, down. There’s way too much going on this morning for her to even begin to unpack all of that. 

Morgan tucks her skincare back under the sink when she’s done, takes one last look at herself in the mirror that’s now mostly cleared of fog, and makes her way out of the bathroom. 

As she gets farther down the hallway, the faint echo of Karadec’s voice and light, airy giggles from Chloe float toward her. Her smile is immediate, as is the drop of her shoulders. 

She knew Chloe wasn’t screaming, but she’s relieved to hear laughter, relieved to know she isn’t giving Karadec too much of a hard time. 

She’s about to call out and announce her presence, but the greeting dies on her tongue when the scene before her comes into full focus. 

Karadec’s sitting on the floor in the living room, his back to the couch and his legs stretched out. Chloe stands between his legs, her hands wrapped around his fingers for balance while she bounces around. 

After a few seconds he switches his grip on her, holding her around her middle instead and lifting her into the air. More roaring laughter bubbles out of her tiny body as he raises her above his head. 

Morgan’s stomach does an inconvenient somersault, the sensation of it making her lean sideways against the island. One hand lifts to cover her mouth, her nails tapping against her upper lip. 

Karadec makes quiet ahhhh and ohhhh noises each time he raises Chloe into the air, and it’s almost difficult for her to imagine that this is the same man she first met. Hell, the same man as Detective Adam Karadec. Because Detective Karadec isn’t soft, doesn’t make airplane noises and playfully toss her daughter into the air. 

No, this is just Adam, and the realization makes her chest tight. 

Something about the way he smiles at Chloe while she grins down at him makes her heart catapult into her throat. 

He might not have all the experience in the world, but he really would be a great dad one day. Her breath catches and her heart seizes in her chest then, the thought alone catching her off guard; she thinks about him being with someone else, watching him raise children with a nameless, faceless woman. Children with his dimples and dark curls. 

Thought sours in her stomach. 

She shakes it off. She doesn’t even know why it bothers her. 

It shouldn’t, anyway. Because right now he’s here, with her daughter in his arms, making her laugh. Tears spring to her eyes against her will.

He’s too busy holding Chloe’s hands while she bounces on her feet in the v of his legs, soft baby murmurs filling his ears, to hear the shower switch off in the bathroom. 

He’s too busy hoisting Chloe above his head, making a bunch of wooshing noises that make him feel silly just so she’ll laugh, to hear the quiet padding of Morgan’s bare feet against the hallway’s hardwood floor. 

Because of this, he doesn’t notice her when she enters the room. He doesn’t notice her watching them. He doesn’t notice her leaning against the kitchen island, her hip cocked and her fingers steepled over her mouth. 

Not until Chloe looks over and sees her, big doe eyes lighting up as she does. 

“Mamamamama,” she grins, bouncing excitedly in Karadec’s grip. 

He follows her line of sight and finds Morgan, head tilted and eyes bright with what he thinks might be unshed tears. It could also be the lighting, but his stomach twists regardless. Her hand lowers from her face, revealing a soft smile. 

“You feel better?” he asks.

Her hair is wet and falling in soft waves over her shoulders, the pieces at the front curling around her bare face. She’s changed into a fresh outfit, one of her usual short skirts and a blouse that’s not yet tucked into the waistband. There’s something about seeing her like this, about being allowed to see her like this—fresh-faced, water droplets dampening the front of her shirt from the edges of her hair, her clothes not yet “in place”—that makes his chest warm. 

Morgan’s lips quirk at the edges. “Yeah,” she says. “Much.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

“Thank you again for entertaining my little terror.” 

He does an impressive job of keeping his eyes on her face, though his gaze is tempted to drag to the long expanse of her bare, tanned legs. 

“No need. We had fun,” Karadec says, before turning back to the girl in front of him. “Didn’t we, Chloe?”

She beams, her six baby teeth on display when she smiles. 

And then, without warning, Chloe goes limp. Her legs collapse beneath her as she all but throws herself into Karadec’s chest, the movement knocking a surprised “oof” from the man. 

“Woah there.” He chuckles, one large palm coming to rest on Chloe’s back. “Gotta give me a heads up before you drop like that, okay?” 

Chloe, of course, remains unbothered and unaware of what he’s saying to her. She has her legs curled under her, the whole of her body collected neatly over the length of his torso. 

She lets out a heavy sigh that makes him laugh. “Rough morning,” he says to Morgan.

“Less rough now,” she points out. Her eyes trail from Chloe’s small form, scrunched and comfortable, up to his face. “You’re really good with her.” 

Karadec’s cheeks flush an endearing shade of pink. His gaze flicks down to the girl on his chest, his hand raising to rub back and forth along her spine. 

He clears his throat. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

Morgan rolls her eyes at his sudden bashfulness. “I would,” she says. “And I have it on good authority that Chloe would agree.”

“Chloe can’t defend herself.”

“She doesn’t need to.” She taps her temple with her index finger. “A mother knows.”

Chloe adjusts her position, pushing off the carpet between his legs with her feet so she slides higher up his chest. His arm remains around her back to keep her steady. 

Glancing at the clock, Morgan says, “Ludo should be here in about thirty minutes, and then we’ll be good to go.” She pauses, and then amends: “If you were going to hang out here, that is. You don’t have to. You can go back to work, and I can meet you—”

“I’m hanging out,” he cuts in. 

“Are you sure? Because it’s really not a big deal if you want to get back to the case. You’ve already done more than enough here.”

Karadec shakes his head. “Morgan, I really don’t mind.” He smiles at Chloe when she leans her head back and looks up at him. “Oz and Daphne can handle it until we get there.” 

She lets out a breath, her mouth twitching into an appreciative almost-smile. Her hands land on her hips, beneath the flowing blouse still not tucked in, and he tries not to focus on the way her fingers tap mindlessly against her belt or the sliver of skin he can see. 

“Okay,” she says. “Let me grab a banana or something real quick, finish getting ready, and then hopefully Ludo will be on his way.”

Morgan moves into the kitchen, but stops in her tracks when she notices the empty plate on the countertop beside the fridge and the covered pan on the stove. 

“What’s this?” she asks, her voice a little breathless. 

“I figured there was a good chance I was right when I guessed that you probably haven’t eaten, so I just whipped something up,” he says. “Your kitchen didn’t offer much in the way of options, but I was able to make an omelette. It should still be warm.” 

Morgan continues to stare at the stove, unmoving, and he worries for a moment that he overstepped or did the wrong thing somehow. Maybe she doesn’t even like omelettes. He’s never actually seen her eat one, now that he thinks about it. 

But then she looks over at him, and the expression on her face is one that makes every nerve-ending in his body ignite.  

“Karadec,” she exhales, shaking her head. “You didn’t have to do this.” 

He shrugs. “I wanted to. There’s a fresh pot of coffee there, too.” 

She lets out an exaggerated groan. “Oh, I could kiss you.”

His heart stutters in his chest, his mouth suddenly incredibly dry. Morgan doesn’t seem to know what she’s said, or at the very least she doesn’t show it if she does, because she doesn’t falter in her steps toward the coffee pot. She grabs a mug, pours in her coffee, and as she’s pulling a carton of oat milk from the fridge she asks:

“Do you want a cup?”

The question forces him to gather himself quickly. “Sure, thanks,” he manages, watching her move around the kitchen and absolutely not thinking about kissing her. 

She joins them in the living room briefly, placing his mug on the coffee table before returning to the kitchen to grab her own coffee and her breakfast. Karadec wraps his arms around Chloe, still draped over his chest, so he can stand and relocate to the couch. 

Morgan plops down beside him, settling in so close their thighs are touching. It makes his skin warm, and his attention trails to where her bare legs brush against his trousers. 

He wants to reach over and touch her, wants to feel how smooth her skin is with the pads of his fingers. Instead, he averts his gaze and focuses on the little girl mumbling a bunch of baby gibberish quietly into his neck. 

“Want some?” 

Her voice is muffled around a bite of omelette, and when he glances over she’s holding out a second piece on her fork. Her cheeks are adorably puffed out as she chews; she looks like a chipmunk, storing food for later. 

When he doesn’t answer right away, she arches a brow. She slowly inches the fork closer to his mouth, her free hand cupped beneath it in case a piece of egg falls off. 

He huffs but it’s fond, almost a laugh. He concedes with a small nod, and the genuine delight on her face tells him he made the right choice. She feeds him the piece of omelette and then retracts the fork, stuffing another bite of omelette into her own mouth. Her smirk tells him she’s very pleased with herself. 

“This is a damn good omelette,” she says, her palm hovering over her mouth as she chews. 

He has to agree, it is a pretty good omelette. Still not his best, but pretty good.

“Not too bad,” he concurs. 

Chloe lets out a heavy sigh against his chest; when he glances down at her, her eyes are closed, dark eyelashes fluttering. His palm continues to trace calming lines up and down her back. 

“You want some more?” Morgan asks.

He shakes his head. “No, I’m good. You finish it.” 

“You sure?”

Karadec nods. “I ate breakfast.” 

She accepts his answer and continues to scarf down the rest of her food. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, she says: “I’m proud of you.”

“For what?” he asks, turning to her. 

“A year ago you wouldn’t even take a bite out of a sandwich if I’d already taken a bite, and now you’re eating eggs off of my germy little fork,” she says, raising said fork for emphasis. “You’ve come so far.”

With an undignified snort, he shakes his head. He can’t just tell her that he doesn’t care about eating after her or using her fork because he’d actually very much like to have her tongue in his mouth, so he just says, “I suppose I have.”

When she’s finished, she places her empty plate on the coffee table beside their near-empty mugs. She asks if he wants more coffee, but he declines; he’s already had three cups this morning, counting this one, and if he has a fourth he thinks his heart might burst out of his chest. 

Morgan does make a second cup for herself, though, and his eyes follow after her, watching each of her movements. 

She sips on it as she walks back into the living room, and when she settles in next to him she’s somehow even closer than she was before. She crosses one leg over the other, the motion knocking her foot into his shin and making her already short skirt ride up further, exposing even more of her upper thigh. 

His attention is drawn to it, and a deep flush creeps from his chest all the way up his neck when his gaze rises and he realizes he’s been caught. Morgan’s regarding him curiously, her head tilted slightly and her eyes narrowed just that little bit. 

The hint of a smirk curving at the corner of her mouth is what keeps him from freaking out too much. Chloe, too, because she snuffles against his neck and one small fist curls into the collar of his shirt and his attention is blissfully diverted from Morgan’s knowing expression and her bare legs. 

She reaches over, brushing her daughter’s hair out of her slack face. She presses the back of her hand to her forehead then. 

“She still warm?” 

Morgan shakes her head. “No, fever seems to have broken.” 

“Good, that’s good.”

“She’s out,” she says, and he releases a quiet breath when it becomes clear that she isn’t going to comment on his staring. At least not right now. Her thumb ghosts over Chloe’s cheek. “She really does like you, you know.” 

Karadec glances down at the girl’s small, sleeping form. “I’m sure this doesn’t come as a surprise, but I don’t have much experience with kids,” he says, taking a deep breath. 

“You don’t say?” she teases, her eyes widened in faux-shock. 

He laughs, and then sobers some. “Your kids are good kids, though.” Morgan’s expression softens. “And Miss Chloe here… I admit I’m pretty fond of her, too.” 

As if she hears what he’s saying and is pleased by it, Chloe makes a contented little noise in her sleep, her face pressing more closely into his chest. 

He smiles, bringing his own hand to the back of her head; it’s so small in his palm and he holds her so carefully, so gently, that Morgan’s heart swells, ballooning almost painfully against her ribs. 

Watching her partner with her daughter, holding her close, she realizes just how lucky she is. She realizes how lucky her kids are.

The men she’s let meet her kids are few and far between. The number might actually be zero, if she really sits and thinks about it. While that’s mostly her own doing, because unless it’s something serious they don’t need to meet her kids, a good handful of men show themselves to the door the second she mentions being a single mom of three.

They balk almost immediately. 

And she gets it. That’s fine. She doesn’t want men like that around her kids anyway. 

But Karadec… 

The comparison of Karadec to previous romantic and/or sexual partners makes her skin buzz. Not that she’s seeing him, of course, it’s not… that. She swallows down whatever ill-timed emotion lodges itself in her throat. 

Non-romantic partners or not, he’s still a man in her life, and one she’d entrust the lives of all of her kids to without a second’s hesitation. 

She’d trust Oz, too, she thinks, smiling as she remembers plopping Chloe’s carrier down onto his desk and asking him to keep her alive for a few minutes. He’d done well. 

And then a tiny voice in the back of her mind pipes up, it’s different with Karadec, though, isn’t it?, and a fluttering that feels suspiciously like butterflies takes up residence in her gut. She wants to stomp them out. Not now. 

But it is different with him, and she can’t deny that. As much as she might want to. 

While she might trust Oz with her kids, the feelings she has for him are not the same feelings she has for or about Karadec. Not by a long shot. Oz is like the little brother she never had, the one she takes great joy in annoying. 

Karadec is… 

Looking over at the man now, leaning back against the couch with Chloe sleeping peacefully on his chest, she knows she’s fucked. 

He’s definitely not like a brother. 

“You okay?” he asks, and when she blinks again he’s staring at her. 

She nods. “Yeah, fine. Just tired.” 

He doesn’t question her, but it doesn’t look like he believes her either. Nevertheless, he lets it go, and his attention shifts back to the little girl in his arms. She stirs every so often, but she doesn’t wake; she just moves positions, one leg straightening, foot slamming against his upper thigh with impressive force and nearly kicking him in the crotch. 

“Ooh, that was a close one, big guy,” Morgan says, trying very valiantly not to laugh at the mild panic on his face. “Her limbs still have a mind of their own.”

He really thought he was about to get a heel to the balls. Carefully, he curls Chloe’s leg back into place, safely away from anywhere sensitive.

After a few minutes, he looks over at Morgan. She’s slumped down on the cushion, her eyes open but hooded as she stares down at her nails. They’re bright pink, vibrant, like she is. 

He isn’t sure how much time passes before he feels a weight against his side, heavier now, more than just her pressed up beside him. His mouth opens, ready to speak, but the words die on his tongue when he turns his head and finds Morgan’s read resting on his shoulder, her eyes closed. 

Her chest rises and falls steadily, her breathing even, and his lips curve into a small smile. 

Not for the first time, he wishes he could wrap his arm around her. He thinks about what it might be like to hold her close while she dozes, the steady rhythm of her heart thumping against his, her breath warm against his chest. 

Sometimes, he thinks she might let him. If he asked, if he told her how he felt. 

But he isn’t sure, and that uncertainty is what keeps the words tucked away. He won’t jeopardize what they have; this friendship, even if that’s all it’s meant to be, means too much to him. He’d rather have Morgan in his orbit as a friend, as his partner, than risk losing her all together. 

He glances at Chloe. He focuses on her small, warm breaths against his skin where the collar of his shirt ends, the gentle beating of her heart against his chest. 

Losing Morgan would mean losing her kids, too, and he admits to himself that he wouldn’t be okay with never seeing them again. Somewhere along the way, Ava, Elliot, and Chloe have become welcome additions to his life. 

Karadec peers down at Morgan, at the way her eyelashes flutter as she rests. He hopes if she’s dreaming, it’s something nice. 

This is how Ludo finds them maybe twenty minutes later. 

There’s a key in the lock, the squeak of the front door, and suddenly a voice piercing the quiet. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I know, how’s Chlo—” His question comes to an abrupt halt, and although Karadec can’t twist around to look, he knows he must’ve noticed them. “Oh.” 

Yup. Definitely noticed. 

He hears the door close, and then Ludo appears in his line of sight.  

“Hi,” Karadec manages, suddenly feeling self-conscious of his position with this man’s child on his chest and Morgan asleep on his shoulder. 

Ludo seems surprised, but amused. “Hi,” he says, his eyes trailing from Chloe to Morgan. 

Feeling the need to explain—though explain what exactly or why, he’s not entirely sure—he clears his throat. “Chloe was having a rough morning, I’m sure Morgan told you. I came to check on her and give her a hand, and uh…”

“Thanks for helping her out,” Ludo sighs, earnest. “I was supposed to be here earlier, but I got held up and I know how difficult Chloe can be when she doesn’t feel well..”

“Don’t worry about it. I think she tired herself out after a while, so she settled down not too long after I showed up.” He downplays it, not quite interested in finding the least weird way to say your daughter calmed down as soon as I picked her up. “I just kept her company so Morgan could take a shower and have something to eat.” 

Ludo nods toward Morgan. “Looks like Chloe isn’t the only one who tired herself out.”

He cracks a small smile. “I think that was this one’s doing,” he says, rubbing Chloe’s back. 

“Yeah.” Ludo frowns. “Maybe I’ll take Chloe for the night so Morgan can at least try to get a good night’s sleep.” 

“She could probably use that,” he finds himself saying, though he second-guesses it as soon as it comes out of his mouth. He doesn’t want to speak for her, but he can see how exhausted she is. She does need the rest. 

“I’m sure,” he agrees. Looking at Morgan, he asks: “She fall asleep on you?” 

His eyes instinctively fall down to her again. “Yeah.”

Ludo nods, unsurprised. “Yeah, she does that. I’d be in the middle of talking to her and she’d just stop responding, and when I’d look over she’d be passed out in the corner of the couch.”

Karadec hums, his lips twitching at the corners. There’s a small section of hair that’s fallen into her face, moving slightly with each shallow breath she takes. Without thinking, he lifts one hand from Chloe’s back to gently brush the hair back, tucking it behind her ear. 

He realizes what he’s doing when he feels Ludo’s eyes on him, knowing in a way that makes something unsettling coil low in his gut. 

“You’re good for her.”

Karadec’s head snaps up. He feels caught. “What?” 

Ludo shrugs, a half-smile on his face. “Morgan. You’re good for her,” he repeats, seemingly unbothered by his obvious discomfort. “She needs someone like you, you know, someone who doesn’t mind being challenged. Or challenging her, for that matter.”

“Oh, we’re not—we’re just—this isn’t—” He can’t finish a single one of his explanations. The words won’t come, and the ones he considers feel wrong. “I, uh…”

“Yeah, I know. She’s said the same thing. But man to man, there’s something there,” he muses, waving a finger between the two of them. Karadec thinks his skin might be on fire. He glances down, praying Morgan’s not showing signs of being able to hear this. “Oh, don’t worry. She’s notoriously terrible at feigning sleep. You’ll know when she’s faking. She’s really out.”

Morgan does not stir. 

Ludo’s expression sobers. “I’m serious, though. Morgan’s had a rough go of it, relationship wise, and she comes across really tough. But it’s nice for her to have someone in her corner who recognizes that she’s not as infallible as she likes to pretend, someone who reminds her that it’s okay to be human.”

Are you really apologizing for being human, Morgan?

Karadec’s pulse kicks up. 

“Anyway,” he says then, nonchalant, as if he hasn’t just flipped all of his insides around. “Just something to think about. I’ll get this one out of your hair so you two can get to work.” 

He leans down, gently peeling Chloe’s small body off of his chest with an exaggerated groan. He feels the absence of the little girl immediately and has to tamper that down. 

Chloe grows fussy in Ludo’s arms, and her whimpering is what finally rouses the woman resting on his shoulder. It makes him smile, but he supposes he’s not shocked that she can tune out the sounds of normal conversation, while the tiniest whine from her daughter wakes her up. 

Her eyes slowly blink open.

“Morning, sleepy head,” he says lightly. 

Morgan lifts her head, turning her sleepy gaze on him. “Sorry,” she says after a long beat. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

She looks softer like this, sleep still clinging to her skin. 

Karadec shakes his head. “You needed the nap.” 

She hums, licking her lips as she seeks out the source of the irritated baby grumbles. It only takes a few seconds to find Ludo, Chloe on his hip as he shoves a few things into her baby bag.

“Good morning, Morgan,” he says, teasingly. He raises a brow, voice full of faux-innocence when he adds: “Glad to see you’ve found someone else to fall asleep on.” 

A very subtle flush rises to her cheeks. “Maybe Karadec just bored me to sleep.”

He huffs. “Thanks.”

She grins at him, and his stomach twists furiously in his gut. 

Looking at Ludo, she says, “She’s in rare form today.” She reaches over the back of the couch and brushes her finger along the sole of Chloe’s socked food. “Isn’t that right, baby?”

Chloe wriggles in Ludo’s grip, twisting around at the sound of her mother’s voice. 

One chubby hand extends out. “Mamamamama.” 

“You’re spending today with daddy, okay?” Morgan says, holding her tiny fingers. “Mommy needs to go to work.” Quieter, mostly to Karadec, she adds: “And some more caffeine in an IV drip.”

He snorts. The noise gets Chloe’s attention, and her eyes trail over to him. 

“Dec,” she babbles, swinging Morgan’s hand in hers. 

Karadec looks at Chloe, and then at Morgan, who’s pressing her lips together. 

“Aw, Karadec,” Morgan grins, turning her gaze to his. “That’s right, Chloe. Who’s this?”

She points at her partner. 

“Dec,” Chloe repeats. Her cheeks puff out when she smiles, those few teeth peeking through her gums. “Dec!” 

“Did you teach her that while I was in the shower?”

He shoots her a look. “Yes, I taught your daughter to call me Karadec,” he deadpans. 

Morgan shrugs. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Have they?”

“Like, in general, yeah,” she says. He rolls his eyes. “You know, it kind of sounds like she’s calling you a dick.” 

Karadec laughs. “Well, she wouldn’t be the first Gillory woman to do so.” 

She turns an amused smirk on him, and then her face morphs into something softer, more thoughtful. She looks at Chloe for a long moment, her thumb brushing back and forth against the delicate skin of her daughter’s hand. 

“What can I say,” she murmurs, her eyes lifting to meet his. “Like mother, like daughter, I guess.”

They hold each other’s gaze, the air around them shifting into something thick and poignant. It’s broken only by a high-pitched squeal from Chloe, the sound knocking them both from whatever shared moment had transpired for a few lingering seconds. 

When Morgan turns back, Ludo’s eyes are bouncing comically between them. 

“Okay,” he says, dragging the word out. With one hand on Chloe’s belly, he hovers her in front of Morgan like a football. “Give mommy a kiss.” 

Morgan makes a show of pressing a big kiss to her chubby cheek, letting out an exaggerated mwah as she pulls away. “I love you, baby,” she says, brushing her hair back. “Be good for your dad, and I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” she echos, a brow raised. “You kidnapping our daughter?” 

“Thinking about it,” Ludo confirms. “Thought I might take her for the night so you can get some rest. I packed some of her stuff in her bag.” 

She shoots him an appreciative smile. “Well, in that case,” she starts, pinching gently at Chloe’s cheek. “Show your dad exactly what you were doing this morning. It’s only fair.”

Ludo huffs. “Thanks,” he says. He pulls Chloe back, eyes her. “Don’t listen to your mother.” 

Karadec watches on with amusement, giving the girl a small wave as they make their way toward the front door. Under his breath, they hear Ludo mumbling, they’re both clueless, Chloe. Ridiculous. 

The door closes behind him, and they’re left alone. 

Neither of them speak for a few painfully long seconds, and then Morgan, not quite looking at him, points a thumb behind her. 

“I’m gonna go finish…” She gestures vaguely to herself. 

Finish getting ready, he fills in the blank. 

He nods. “Right. Yeah.” 

Morgan’s up in a flash. He expects her to make a beeline down the hall, but she stalls, her back to him, right in front of the couch. She’d made it all of two feet. 

He watches the careful expansion of her ribs as she sucks in a deep breath, and then she spins on her heel. She faces him, and for a beat she just… stares. 

“Everything okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” she says, though it sounds as if she’s not sure. 

She turns back halfway, like she’s second-guessing whatever it is she’s doing. And then she blows out an almost irritated exhale, faces him again, and closes the gap between them in two short strides. 

His face is suddenly cupped in her palms and her mouth is on his. It’s over before he even fully registers what’s just happened, the press of her lips against his brief and gentle. 

“That's for the coffee,” she rasps, her bright blue eyes completely clear as they meet his. Her hands remain on his face. "Thank you, Adam."

She hopes he knows it's about more than the coffee. 

“Uh huh.” His brows furrow, and he licks his lips. “I mean, it’s um, it’s not—it was no problem.”

Morgan bites on the inside of her cheek, her smirk subtle as she tries to hold it back. And then her touch drops away from his face and she finally does turn away.

He watches her retreating form, all long legs and ease and soft, soft lips. 

He thinks there must be a burn on his cheeks in the shape of her fingers. He lifts his own fingers, and his skin is warm. 

“Hey, Karadec,” Morgan shouts from the hallway. The sound of her voice makes him blink around the fog. “Can we stop for donuts on the way in? We’re already late anyway.” 

He’s almost too stunned to speak. He shakes free of his shocked stupor and clears his throat. 

“Yeah,” he manages. His tongue feels incredibly dry. Louder, then: “Yeah, sure.” 

“Great,” she yells back. He can hear the quiet clink of glass against glass. He assumes it’s the bottles to her makeup products. “Be done in 5!” 

When she comes sauntering back down the hall, she’s the Morgan he’s used to seeing every day. Her makeup is done, her hair is pulled back in a half up, half down style tied with a pink bow in the back, and the flowy, patterned blouse is tucked into her skirt now. 

She grabs her purse from the hook in the entryway, and he watches as she pulls on a pair of bright heeled boots. 

She straightens up, purse slung over her shoulder, and looks at him. “Ready?” she asks.

Karadec can only nod. “Yeah. You good?”

“I’m good,” she says. “You?”

She doesn’t bring up the kiss, but he can see the barest hint of uncertainty peeking through behind the bravado when he really looks at her. Oddly enough, it makes him feel better. At least he knows he didn’t hallucinate the whole thing. 

When he says, “I’m good,” he makes a point of holding her gaze. 

We’re okay. 

Morgan smiles, and he watches her shoulders drop. It’s a minute shift, one he probably wouldn’t notice at all if he didn’t know her so well. 

“Well, let’s get going then, partner. We’ve got donuts to eat.” 

He trails behind her with a huffed laugh. “Can’t keep the donuts waiting,” he muses. “The team, absolutely. But the donuts…”

“Exactly. Say,” she starts, waiting in the open doorway for him to pass through. “Now that you’ve decided I don’t have germs you’re scared of, can I try a bite of your apple fritter?”

“Yes, Morgan, you can try a bite of my apple fritter.” The door closes behind them, and she falls into step beside him on the front walkway. “You know, you can even have your own apple fritter.”

"No, it’ll taste better if it’s yours.”

“Of course it will,” he mumbles, shaking his head. 

Morgan pats him on the bicep as she passes by, walking ahead of him now. “Buck up, big guy. You can try a bite of mine, too.” 

“A bite of your what?” he asks.

She tends to get the most sugary, colorful abomination the bakery has on any given day. 

Her eyes glitter as she watches him over her shoulder. “You’ll just have to wait and find out.”

The smirk that pulls at the edges of her lips has him faltering in his next step. Was that flirting? Is she flirting? He’s not so sure she’s even talking about donuts. 

Morgan opens the passenger door to the cruiser, looks back at him, and laughs before she lowers herself into the seat. 

Well. 

With a deep breath and his heart pounding in his chest, Karadec joins her in the car. She might kill him today, but at least she no longer looks frazzled. 

And when he glances over at her, the expression on her face relaxes him. Despite the confidence she exudes, he sees her; the nerves, the lingering unsteadiness, a little bit of the same fear he's sure she sees reflected back at her. She's feigning a lot of that composure.

It makes him think that they're on the same uncertain, uncharted page.

Even more, it makes him think that maybe, just maybe, some kind of future with Morgan and her kids isn’t as far-fetched as he thought.