A/N: Here we are at the end! Thank you all so much for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and coming with me on this adventure. This story is the longest thing I've ever written, and the most personally rewarding. Thank you again for reading!

Once upon a time...

"Gently," Adalind says to Diana. "You have to be really, really gentle with it, or it'll explode."

Diana rolls her eyes at her mother. She's the most powerful girl in the world—she can put toothpaste on her toothbrush without supervision, thank you very much.

Adalind hides a grin. She remembers giving her mother that same look. The do-you-think-I-was-born-yesterday look that used to get her a spanking. Of course in Diana's case, she very nearly was born yesterday, so there's that. Adalind really tries not to think about that.

"I know," Adalind says. "It seems silly, but getting toothpaste to come out of the tube gently is about really fine magic control. It's harder than it looks."

Diana sighs and goes for it. Lifting the toothpaste tube with her mind, unscrewing the cap, and tipping it over the brush in her hand—squeezing with her magic.

It explodes—all over her new shirt and the brush and the floor and the mirror and… Adalind looks at the ceiling. Yes, it's up there, too.

Harder than it looks, she thinks. Just like motherhood.

"You all right?" she asks. "Did any get in your eyes?"

"No," Diana says, still staring down at the tube that isn't anymore. "Are we sure the toothpaste isn't evil? I think we should behead it, just to make sure."

"That's my girl," Nick says on his way past the bathroom with a fussy Kelly in his arms. "When in doubt, behead the thing."

Adalind laughs. "It's toothpaste, Nick."

"Yeah?" He pokes his head in the bathroom and takes in Diana and the surrounding explosion.

"Definitely evil," he says. "Good work, Diana."

Diana grins at him, and Adalind feels that warmth again. The one that comes from loving these people who also love each other and her and Kelly. The one that comes from finally finding a family together, somehow.

There's a new vibe in the loft these days. Nick and Diana have their own jokes together now, and she'll only eat Nick's pancakes because only Nick knows how to make them the way Diana likes them, apparently. Adalind might be jealous of the connection between them if it wasn't so cute to watch.

It's also helping her to imagine a new kind of life for all of them. One where they're not just living in crisis mode, and the kids don't need her full attention the way they have this past year. A life where she gets to leave the house a lot more often, and maybe even get back to figuring out what she wants to do with her career.

Adalind hasn't had a regular job since she met Nick, and she misses it. She misses walking into a courtroom and owning it. She misses getting coffee with a colleague and arguing about how they want to dissect a case. Sometimes she even misses sitting across from Nick at an interrogation table and taunting him. Just a little.

So she needs a job, and that means Diana needs to go to school. The options for that are not particularly vast. There are hexenbiest academies in the world, but they are extremely exclusive. You have to know someone who knows someone to find them, and you have to be sponsored by an alum. There's a reason most hexenbiests get homeschooled.

Adalind remembers homeschooling with her mother. She's not going to make that mistake with Diana. And there is something to be said for socialization. Diana's been operating without friends her own age for way too long.

Luckily, Sean's mother is famous in the hexenbiest world. If anyone can get Diana into school, it will be Elizabeth. The trick is getting a hold of her, which requires a black candle and a pin drop of Diana's blood at the full moon. When Elizabeth shows up in the candle flame, Adalind feels the kind of satisfaction she hasn't been able to enjoy with a spell since she was cursing Nick every other week.

"Adalind Schade," Elizabeth says, lovely, accented vowels flowing off her tongue like wine. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Diana needs a school," Adalind says in hushed tones. Nick's still out on a case, but Diana is sleeping nearby. "I was wondering if you might be able to help?"

"Of course. Anything for my darling granddaughter. She has been returned to you, then, I take it?"

"It's a long story," Adalind says. "But yes, she's with me and Nick and Sean. Give us a call if you're ever in Portland. You are her grandmother, and she's already lost two. I'm sure she'd love to meet you."

"Of course," Elizabeth says, and Adalind knows that she'll never call again. Even this candle trick might not work the next time, so she'd better make the most of this conversation.

"While I have you," she says, "could I ask—the spell you did for Nick and Juliette—the reversal spell that gave Nick his powers back and turned Juliette into a hexenbiest—did you know that all of this was going to happen?"

Elizabeth straightens in the flame and looks at Adalind with something like respect.

"Did I know that two ill-suited people with much greater potential would be better served apart rather than stuck together in perpetual gridlock while my granddaughter wandered the world without a family to raise her and her brother needed a father?"

Adalind blinks at the flame where Elizabeth is smiling like the most serene goddess she has ever seen.

"Yeah," she says finally. "That."

"Don't be ridiculous," Elizabeth says. "I'm not omniscient."

"Right," Adalind says, shaking herself. "Of course."

"It did work out, though," Elizabeth says, still smiling that terrifyingly calm smile. "Diana has the family she needs. She and her brother have an excellent mother and a very capable father figure. If I had planned it, I'd be very pleased."

"Right," Adalind says again. "Right."

"I'll put in a word at Pemberton, shall I? Lovely little place—a bit gothic, but in the best possible way. Not too far from Portland, so it could be a day school, just until she's old enough and in control of her powers well enough to think about public school. I know the headmistress. She's the perfect woman to help keep an eye on Diana—and she owes me a favor. She'll be in touch."

"Okay," Adalind says, because it's very clear that Elizabeth knows exactly what she's doing, and then Elizabeth is gone. Adalind suspects they may never hear from her again.

When Nick gets home, Adalind is still sitting at the counter, staring at the candle flame that's no longer there.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

Adalind lifts her head to look at him, standing in front of her across the kitchen island—scruffy and tired and hers—and she sends a little mental thank you note to Elizabeth Lascelles, the patron saint of hexenbiests with a questionable taste in men.

"I just talked to Sean's mom," she says. "She knows a good school for Diana."

"That's great," Nick says.

"Yeah," Adalind says. "I think it probably will be."

And that's what she has to tell herself when she sees the price tag for Pemberton. Sean barely bats an eye, but Adalind feels a little sick when she shows it to Nick.

"We'll cover half," he says, barely pausing while he adds broth to the risotto and keeps stirring it. They've really committed to learning how to cook rice lately.

"Are you sure?" Adalind asks. "Nick, this is a lot of money."

"Yeah, I'm sure," he says, still stirring while he smiles at her over the stove. "Diana is important, and I don't just mean to us. Diana has enough power in her little finger to rule the world if she wants to. And honestly, even if she doesn't want to. So we're not taking any chances on Renard controlling her education. We're going halvies, and we're going to be the first two calls anyone makes if Diana needs a parent to come get her at school."

Adalind stares at him. He's got a dish towel thrown over his shoulder like one of Kelly's spit up cloths, and he's stirring the pot with one hand while he adds the broth with the other, and he's still smiling at her like he means it. Like he wants to invest in their daughter and their future together, and if that starts with a ridiculously expensive witch school outside of Portland, then that's what he's going to do.

"Thank you," she says. "Really."

"It's no problem," he says. He glances around the loft and then back to his risotto, which is looking completely delicious. But the loft is getting a little cramped these days, what with all of Kelly's toys, and Diana's school prep books, and Adalind's growing collection of spell and law books.

"We'll have to wait on a new house for a bit," he says, tasting the rice. "We'll manage, though. We haven't killed each other yet."

This is love, she thinks. He's never said it, but he doesn't have to now. She knows it in every cell in her body. He loves her, and she loves him, and if that wasn't enough, he also loves her daughter, and it really doesn't get any better than this.

Except the loft, of course, which definitely needs an upgrade.

They had been looking at an old craftsman house down the road from Monroe and Rosalee's before they got the bill for Diana's school. The place probably should have given her flashbacks to Nick's old house with Juliette, but standing in the cozy living room in front of the old brick fireplace, all Adalind had felt was warmth. It felt like home, and she doesn't want to wait to buy it, not when she's sitting on just enough money to cover the down payment.

That money is her safety net—her fuck you money—her escape plan for every relationship or alliance she's ever been in. But then she looks at Nick, who's got a drowsy Kelly in one arm and a riveted Diana pressed up under his arm on the other side. He's reading them a story about good witches and bad witches and brains and courage and heart, and Adalind knows she's not in Kansas anymore. It's time to buy a house in Oz, because this—this has to be forever.

"Are you telling me that you've always had enough money squirreled away to buy a house in Portland?" Nick asks later, when the kids are in bed. "And in two years of us living together, you never thought to mention it?"

"Well, I thought about it—"

"Not hard enough!" he says—yells really—but then he catches himself and takes a deep breath—in through his nose, out through his mouth—and looks at her with forced calm.

"Okay,' he says, "why now?"

"Well, we need a new house now."

Nick glowers. That's the only word for the way his dark eyes pin hers.

"That's it?" he asks. "It's just necessary now, and it wasn't when you were on the run from Juliette and the Royals and the Resistance and god knows who else?"

"No, it wasn't."

"It wasn't?"

"Of course not," she says, rolling her eyes because he doesn't get it at all. "I had you."

Nick just stares at her, eyes bugged out, taking deep breaths. His eyes fall closed, and his head droops while he pinches his nose with one hand and puts his other hand on his hip, as if all reason has failed him and now he's considering prayer. It probably shouldn't make her feel warm inside—that she's the only one that can upset his applecart like this. It probably shouldn't, but it really does.

"I love you," she says, reaching for his face so he'll open his eyes and see the love buried deep in hers. He reaches for her instinctively—even now—in the middle of what might be their most serious fight since they stopped trying to kill each other, and she reels him in, snuggling close, searching for his heartbeat next to hers.

"I'm so grateful you've taken care of us for two years," she tells him, whispering in the space between them. "I showed up with just about nothing to offer you but a baby you didn't ask for, and you have been the best partner and the best father Kelly or I could ever need. But you have to understand something about me—about the way I was raised. I didn't have a dad. I didn't have anyone I could rely on other than myself. My mother was very clear about that. I was raised to be alone in the world. I was raised to play the game—to barter my services for protection and power, and to do whatever I needed to do to survive.

"This money? It was my fuck-you money. It was my golden parachute if my protector got too dangerous—if the sex got too nauseating or if I finally ran into a problem I couldn't fuck my way out of. Or if one day, I woke up and decided being a nobody in the back of beyond would be better than one more day of selling my body or my brain or my powers just to survive. It's not enough to support me indefinitely. It's enough to leave everything behind and start a new life if I have to. It would not have kept me and Kelly safe and sustained the way you have. It would not have reunited me with Diana. You haven't just supported us with money—you've given us so much more. Your care, your energy, your power. You gave me back Diana, Nick. You gave me and our children a place to be safe and loved. You saved us—all of us—and now I want to invest in us, too. I want to give up my parachute for a better life with you."

"Are you sure?" he asks, dark grey eyes searching hers with worry now, rather than ire. "You're right—I didn't understand. We don't need the money—not if it's at the cost of your safety. Not if you're going to feel trapped with me—like you can't leave if you want to. I never want you to feel like you have to keep me happy to survive."

"Don't I?" she asks, smiling a little, stroking his stubbled cheek. "If you're not happy, then I'm not really happy, Nick. I'm no expert, but I think that might just be what love is."

"There's that," he concedes, lips quirked up. "God knows if you're not happy, I'm in danger."

"I think the feeling is mutual. I think that's okay. That we depend on each other—that we trust each other with our lives and our happiness. I think that's what love is, Nick. I think this is it."

"Yeah," he says, leaning in for a kiss, soft and loving and perfect. "Yeah, I think it is."

"And besides," she says, grinning now, "we both know there will never be a problem between us that I can't fuck my way out of.

"Very funny," he says, trying for stern disapproval and missing by the glimmer of fire that comes into his eyes. It makes her want him even more.

"Should we try that now, do you think?"

He closes his eyes and sighs—another deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. She nips at his lower lip, just for the fun of it, and he pounces, picking her up to toss her on the bed.

"Fine," he says, prowling towards her, grinning back at her, reaching for the hem of his t-shirt and pulling it off—finally—finally—getting just a naked as she wants him.

"This is a huge problem, Adalind," he says, fingers working at his belt buckle, moving with such practiced grace she's getting turned on just from watching. "It's going to take awhile."

Adalind is in the middle of packing the bedroom when Nick proposes.

"I love you," he says finally, while she's trying to figure out how to stuff all of their clothes into one large suitcase, so she looks up at him in distraction and just says: "Duh."

"We're moving in together again, again," she says. "We just paid Diana's school tuition for the year. If you didn't love me before that check cleared, you'd be crazy."

"You make me crazy."

"You love my crazy."

"Yes," he says, pulling out a small ring box from his back pocket and opening it in front of her eyes. "I do. So marry me and drive me crazy for the rest of our lives."

She's crying too hard to see the ring, and Nick is at her side so quickly, she's starting to wonder if he might actually have some magic, too, these days.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I did this wrong. I should have taken you to dinner or something. Something romantic."

"This is romantic," Adalind says, sniffing back tears. She can see the ring now. It's a sapphire, not a cursed diamond. It's perfect. "Packing for our new home together is very, very romantic."

"Yeah?"

"Yes," she says. "Now put the ring on my finger and kiss me, please."

"Right," Nick says, fumbling with the box and the ring to do just that. "Anything you want, Adalind. Anything at all."

What she wants turns out to be a job at Portland's central Legal Aid Bureau. Once they move and Diana starts school, Adalind finds herself with time to devote to this new area of her life.

The job isn't entirely about her own redemption. She's genuinely interested to see what wesen lawyering looks like outside of Evil, Inc. and working with the wesen community gives her an insight into the non-criminal wesen issues that their team has been more than a little myopic about. That's perfectly understandable—they've all just been trying to survive for the past six years—but now that the world's not ending, and Portland seems to be a no fly zone for the Royals, they finally have time to broaden their scope and think about what the wesen in their community need besides criminal investigation.

The list is long. They need help with their landlords, with the IRS, with custody disagreements, and immigration issues, and a whole host of other problems that Adalind never knew even existed. Or she did know, back in law school, but the intervening years of Royal intrigue pushed more pedestrian case law right out of her head. The breadth of focus she encounters at the Legal Aid Bureau is so overwhelming that she finds herself standing in front of the coffee machine on day three, waiting for it to brew just to get a moment of quiet before the next case comes in.

"It's ugly in these trenches, isn't it?" Gloria says. It's phrased like a question, but it's a blunt statement. Gloria has worked in legal aid for ten years. Gloria has survived two mayors, five DAs, and a system so broken only a madwoman would keep showing up every day, trying to slap a Band-Aid on the crumbling façade of the American legal system.

But Adalind has always been a little mad, and she came here for a reason. Murder isn't the only crime worth fighting. Justice comes in many forms.

"It is ugly," Adalind says, thinking of her last client. The woman with a black eye and a baby and nowhere to run. Another mother port-less in Portland, looking for a way out of the storm.

"But I want to help," Adalind says, meeting Gloria's all too knowing eyes, "so I'm going to. Coffee?"

"Fuck yes," Gloria says. "No sugar, please."

A few weeks later, Adalind thinks she must have seen it all by now. She's helping a client with yet another landlord dispute. Eviction law is a real pain, but it's beginning to be a bit of a specialty for her. She's still surprised, though, when she looks up from the lease to find her client woged.

He's an eisbiber, and it turns out that Bud sent him.

"He said you were the best," her client says. "He says you know the Grimm."

Adalind cocks her head. Poor Bud is going to have a heart attack when Nick tells him not to advertise his connection to Adalind. Not that Nick doesn't want people to know she's his fiancé, he's just a little overprotective about strangers knowing his weak points these days. As if Adalind and Diana couldn't wipe out half of Portland if they put their minds to it.

Still, it's nice to know Bud has faith in her. It makes her think of pie and warm, fuzzy socks.

"Should we call the Grimm?" her client asks, face human again.

"Why?" she asks. "Did you murder someone?"

"No!"

"Then how is he going to help?"

"He could—I don't know—scare them?"

Adalind snorts, imagining Nick's face if she were to ask him to be her muscle in a tenancy dispute. He'd do it—of course he would—but he'd look at her the way he looks at Bud—exasperated fondness and just a smidge of Really?—and she's not ready to give up the hot look he's been giving her lately. The one that tells her he thinks she runs his world.

"That won't be necessary," Adalind says. "I'm plenty scary, all on my own."

She grins at her client then, and he gulps. He doesn't bring up the Grimm again.

The wedding is a small affair. Eve declines the invitation, but the rest of the team joins them at city hall for the vows, and even Gloria comes along with biodegradable confetti and some flowers for the bride. The judge who marries them recognizes Adalind from her Evil, Inc. days.

"Why, Ms. Schade," he says, giving her an eye over his pez-nez. "I never thought I'd see the day you married the law rather than thwarted it."

Nick looks like he's ready to punch the guy, but Adalind just laughs. She'll be in court with him in another week or two. No point in getting off on the wrong foot.

"I've grown," she says. "Just enough."

Later it's just the family for dinner at the new house. Kelly and Diana, Monroe and Rosalee—seven months pregnant and completely radiant—Hank and Wu and Trubel, in from her latest adventure in Mexico and excited to tell them all about the ancient Mayan wesen she ran into.

"I'm going to start my own collection of Grimm books," she says. "Monroe, Rosalee, do you have shelf space in the spice shop for me?"

"Of course," Monroe says. "We'll take whatever you've got."

Much later, after they've hugged all of their friends goodbye and made sure the kids brushed their teeth, Adalind finally gets Kelly to sleep in his new big boy bed and shuffles off to bed herself.

Nick is already asleep when she gets there, the bastard. Diana's well on her way to mastering the toothpaste, and she must have fallen asleep easily, which wasn't even fair given the amount of cake Adalind let her sneak throughout the celebration. Some people just have all the luck. Although he is her husband now, which means that half his dumb luck should be hers now, too.

Husband. It's so new and yet not. Nick's her husband now. They have a toddler together, and Diana. He's raising Diana with her. Try telling that story to the witch wailing in the street four years ago. See how far that takes you.

All the way to his bed, she thinks, slipping off her dress at last, letting it pool at her feet. Her husband can pick it up tomorrow. Husband. Her bare feet scrunch into the rug as she pads to her side of the bed that they share. They've shared a bed ever since they moved into the loft, back when every shadow scared her until he moved into her bed and chased them all away.

What a lucky witch she is.

Under the covers his chest is bare. He must be very tired if he didn't bother putting on a t-shirt in case the kids turn up bedside at 3am again. Poor Grimm, she thinks, kissing her way down his chest. She'll have to wake him up.

His hand in her hair sometime later tells her he's awake. He draws her back up his chest, one hand tender against the back of her neck, the other taking a greedy swipe down her back to get her right where he wants her, sprawled against his chest, peering down at him through the fall of her silvery, moonlit hair.

"I love you," he says, voice dark and deep in the space between their noses. "Let me love you."

It's not even a question. It doesn't take much to slide together. Two pieces of a puzzle that just fit, just like magic.

After, he puts on a t-shirt and boxers, throwing her an old, worn pajama shirt that's been a favorite since she was nursing Kelly. She pulls it over her head, and when her head pops out of the collar he sighs with his eyes still on her breasts like he misses them.

"I can't wait until they're both teenagers, and they don't want to talk to us at all, much less in the middle of the night."

"No you don't," she says with a laugh. "You want them to be little forever and always be our babies, and so do I."

"Yeah," he says, crawling into bed and pulling her into him to spoon. "But sleeping with you naked will be a really great consolation."

"Something to look forward to, then."

"Mmmm." He's already starting to fall back to sleep when he kisses her hair softly one more time. "You are my happily ever after girl."

Once upon a time, there was a young witch who met a young Grimm.
He wasn't a prince, and she wasn't a princess, and they loved each other after all...