Author's Note: Probably not worth the wait, I know...

Nell came to full wakefulness in an instant, the confusion of snapping from dream state to reality quickly dissipating as she soon realized what had roused her. There was a static buzz coming from the glowing green eye on the nightstand. And beneath the low hum of interference being broadcast from the small speaker were the first indications of a fussing baby. It'd been 15 days since she'd given birth, but Nell was so attuned to the infant that the little girl might as well have still been inside of her, a part of her. The new mother, however, simply lay still, her eyes closed, making no move to rush to the call of her offspring. The need to do so was a knot in her chest, but she fought it. She needed to fight it, or else things would truly get out of control. So she just lay there as Amelia began to fuss in earnest. Soon she would be up to an audible cry and then a wail. Used to be Nell would sleep through such noise. She'd always been the type that when she was awake, she was awake. And when she was asleep, she was asleep. But she'd become quite the light sleeper over the past couple of weeks.

As for G Callen, he'd always been the lightest of light sleepers (except, Nell had discovered, for a half hour or so right after sexual release). The man stirred beside her, climbing out of bed before Amelia had even worked up to her first official 'cry'. There was a rush of cold air as he vacated the bed and then she heard the quiet padding of his bare feet on the wood floor.

Nell lay still, staring into the dark, straining her ears to listen to the sounds the baby monitor transmitted to her from the room just down the hall, trying to convince herself to go back to sleep but failing. She had to let go of the control freak in her. They'd made a deal. She loved him and she would keep to it. They'd decided that Nell would take six months off to take care of Amelia during the day. If work didn't absolutely demand his presence, the three of them had evenings together, and nights were G's alone time with Amelia. And so instead of setting her up in their own bedroom (something Nell had been regretting not doing), they put the newborn in the nursery, so Nell could sleep while Callen cared for their daughter. But it was hard on Nell to let go, to let him do the late night diaper changes and feedings. You'd think being on call for breastfeeding 24/7 for the first week and then afterward for 14-plus hours a day with the infant would be enough, but her fingers itched to brush over the smooth skin of her chubby cheek, to feel the tiny fingers wrap about one of her larger digits. Or to feel the delicate hand, warm and active, curling and uncurling against her breast as the small mouth worked at her nipple. The soft cooing and humming sounds as the newborn sucked eagerly, filling her little tummy until it was visibly fatter. Her cat-like yawns. Her big, baby blue eyes. Running her hand over the thick yet so very soft dark hair that sat like a mop on the top of the little round head. Nell already had all kinds of plans for that hair. She as an infant herself had been so fair and hadn't had grown her red curls until she was nearly two.

Sounds not amplified and transmitted via radio frequency drew her gaze to the open doorway as G walked nearly silently past, the only noticeable noise his low, soothing tones and Amelia's louder fussing cries as he carried the infant by their bedroom and into the kitchen to retrieve and prepare a bottle. Luckily, the infant seemed perfectly contented to be nursed by breast or bottle. And it was a routine she'd already seemed to have adapted to, having Nell during the day, and a bottle with her father by night. Well, it would still be a while yet before the newborn could identify the difference between day and night, but maybe the routine would help. Routine was good. Almost as good as organization. Nell could picture the perfectly aligned row of breast milk she'd put up on the second shelf of the obsessively organized fridge. Did he know to use the leftmost bottle because it was the oldest? Maybe she should... No! He knew. She'd told him, probably a dozen times, how she'd arranged the contents of the fridge. And the nursery. And their closet (Well, she hadn't exactly told him, just took the initiative in arranging his button-down shirts by hue and shade so that the ones that best brought out the blue of his eyes were central, and he was more likely to pick one when he just grabbed a shirt out of the closet). But even had he not noticed his sorted wardrobe, he must be aware of how she'd organized the contents of the medicine cabinet alphabetically. God, how could he stand her?!

Just leave him be, Nell. Go back to sleep.

She tried. She really did. But she found herself listening to the baby monitor once more as the new father settled into the rocking chair with his daughter, whispering soft things to the infant as he gave her the bottle. Nell hadn't realized until the previous night that it wasn't just gibberish he was saying to the baby, finally picking up a clear phrase or two in the dulcet tones he used with the child. He was speaking to her in Russian. And it hurt Nell's heart a little to know that the likely reason he soothed their daughter in the foreign tongue was probably that the only words of affection or comfort he'd ever heard as a child were in Russian. And it'd been such a short period of time that he'd been in any situation to hear the language during his childhood. He'd received so little kindness in his life that it seemed a downright miracle he'd turned out to be such a good man.

And why couldn't she just let him do this for her, for Amelia? Not only did he want to take the night baby care shift, but it made sense. He'd argued that he was more than accustomed to fragmented sleeping, catching if he were lucky a couple hours here and there, and Nell wasn't. He didn't want her to burn out, especially not when there was such an easy solution. But unfortunately, her stupid obsessive, anxiety-prone brain just wouldn't cooperate.

Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Go. To. Sleep.

She was still quite awake when she heard the soft thumps of footsteps marking his return. However, the rush of cold air and then succeeding wave of heat as his body slid in beside hers did not arrive. In fact... she blinked her eyes open. And even before they'd adjusted to the dark, she felt his presence standing over her.

"You're awake," he said softly.

"Yes." A sudden wave of panic hit her before she could realize its utter ridiculousness, and rein it in. "Is there something wrong? Is Amelia okay?"

"Amelia's fine." He crouched down, bringing his face close to hers as he reached for the bedside lamp. Nell shut her eyes hastily as the soft light cut through the dark, and then opened them slowly, allowing her pupils to adjust. G was staring at her with a concerned expression wrinkling his brow. "But you're not."

Her lips twitched as she immediately thought about denying his assertion, but what was the point in lying to him? Except for sparing him some worry... some worry he'd apparently already developed. He reached out and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, the sort of tender and completely honest expression of emotion that was rare on the man (except for when the two of them were alone with one another... or anytime he held his little girl in his arms).

"You haven't been sleeping, Nell, have you?"

She shook her head, feeling exposed in a way she hadn't for a long while, not with G Callen, whom she shared every aspect of her life, every thought and feeling she had. Being certain of a person's love, of its unconditional and encompassing nature, lent a person a sort of confidence in their identity, their nature, even their quirks and failings. But this, this she felt ashamed of... because she'd promised... because she didn't want to be this way... because she feared it might hurt him, that he might think it was because she didn't trust him. But she did. She did!

"I can't help it," she said, hearing the strain in her own voice, feeling the tightness of frustration and despair in her vocal chords.

"I know," he said. "It's alright. It's going to be alright."

He leaned in and she pushed herself up to be encompassed by his arms, warm and soothing. The aroma that engulfed her was composed of new baby mingled with the more familiar scent of his skin, and she inhaled deeply to savor the smell of home. His lips were soft against her cheek.

"I want to help." His voice was low but tense with emotion, which caused Nell's eyes to tear up. "How can I help?"

"I don't kn-know." Damn. She had tried to keep the tension from her voice, but the knot in her throat had won out.

"Is it the OCD?" he asked, pulling back to study her face. She was sure she looked awful, with dark circles under her eyes. "Anxiety?"

"Both." She had to look away. It was sort of ironic, the fact that she couldn't control being a control freak. And it was something she'd always been ashamed of, not being able to control her borderline mental disorders. And not being able to let go of the need to have control over every aspect of Amelia's care was giving her quite bad anxiety. Because she loved G and she... oh to hell with it. How else was he to know her anxiety wasn't a criticism of him if she didn't tell him?

"I trust you," she said. "I really do. With my life. With Amelia's. But I just can't..." Oh, and here came the hot tears of frustration burning her cheeks. "I can't seem to let go."

"Would you take medication, if it could help?" he asked without any sign of judgment or accusation, without a glimpse into his opinion beyond the fact that he wanted her to feel better.

She felt herself shaking her head vehemently, trying to marshal the sobs attempting to claw their way out of her throat. It was stupid of her, she knew, because chemical imbalances, mental disorders, sometimes could only be overcome with medications. And yet, she couldn't stand the thought of using something that might change her personality, her perception and experience of the world, even if it only improved her quality of life. There must be another way for her to get through this. She was fighting her exacerbated Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, and she wouldn't stop doing so, but eventually she might just become too exhausted to keep up the battle.

"I-I don't want to take anything..."

"You don't have to, Nell. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do." His hands were cupping her face, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears on her cheeks. He smiled reassuringly at her, before he leaned in and rested his forehead against hers. They stayed like that for several minutes, and the calm his presence undeniably gave her gradually settled upon her in the silence and touch of his hands on her face.

"Do you think we could convince your subconscious that it is in control, even when I'm up with Amelia and you're not?"

Nell felt her brow furrow.

"What are you thinking?"

He drew back from her slightly, his dark blue eyes studying her intently, a look of concentration on his attractive face.

"What if we make the control freak in you believe it's still in charge? We're learning how to be Amelia's parents together, a little at a time. And that's great. But maybe your brain needs to think its completely in control."

Nell felt her lips quirk and brow furrow in a skeptical expression, but her curiosity was aroused.

"Continue..." she said.

"Since you just lie here wide awake anyway, I think you should take over the next few feedings. I'll come with you. You show me precisely how to do it. And then the next few times, I'll do the work but you instruct me. Then you can just supervise, and eventually maybe your brain will just let my 'properly trained' self take over.

"What do you think?" He was looking at her with an eager expression.

"It might work," she said, not entirely convinced. She felt the frustration of the utterly exhausted, that no relief would ever come, that she was a hopeless case. But G Callen obviously didn't think she was a lost cause, so... "It's definitely worth a try."

She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, and found herself pulled into a tight hug.

"We'll figure this out, Nell," he said. "I promise."

Nell felt some of the weary tension leave her. G Callen always kept his promises.

"I love you."

A/N: This chapter is a result of my belief that 'happily ever after' is rarely 'happily ever after.' Every day of our lives is a stuggle, in wonderful ways and in trying ones. Otherwise, what is the point of life?

A/N 2: If you're looking for the inevitable smut in this piece, never fear... it's on its way. Along with more banal drama, sickeningly sweet fluff and delicious angst. (Maybe some humor in a few chapters...)