Six months later…

Nick Buchanan had always been an early riser. He had honed the skill as a teenager; he'd grown up in a small house with his mother and three sisters, and he'd quickly discovered the benefits of being the first one up in the mornings. It meant he was first in line for the shower, and so the water was always hot, and he never had to wait while his sisters faffed about with their hair and argued with one another. It also meant that he was often in charge of breakfast, but he'd much rather be showered and dressed and scrambling a pan of eggs than caught up in the girls' early morning dramas. And then he'd left home and joined the police, and used his extra time in the mornings to go for a jog, to keep himself in shape and get his thoughts in order before heading in to work.

Lately, though, he'd discovered a new pleasure in those first quiet moments before dawn, and he indulged himself in it now, leaning forward to let his lips brush against the back of Jen's shoulder. If they woke early enough, if Charlie was sleeping deeply enough, if their mobiles were mercifully silent, he could roll her beneath him and shower her with kisses and start his day with a much more pleasant form of exercise. And even on those mornings when that didn't result in the pair of them naked and tangled up together it was enough to have these few precious minutes to themselves, talking quietly while their hands traveled over one another's skin, delighted and enraptured by one another, joyous in this new life they had found, together.

At the touch of his lips Jen hummed softly and rolled over, draping her leg over his thigh and smiling up at him. She wore a white tank top and a pair of soft black shorts, and when she moved the duvet slid down, revealed the way her shirt had ridden up, the smooth, soft skin of her belly pale and inviting in the early morning light. He loved her always, and she was beautiful always, but there was something about this Jen, the Jen he saw first thing upon waking, no makeup, hair a mess, soft and wrinkled from sleep, in his arms, beside him, with him, that he loved best of all.

"Morning," he whispered, bowing his head and kissing her gently.

"Morning," she answered when he pulled back, smiling up at him. Nick was quite certain that smile was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his entire life.

They did not wake together every morning; sometimes they were working different cases, keeping different hours, and they'd go a night or two or six without falling into bed wrapped around one another. Sometimes Nick had to go back to his, had to do his laundry, check his mail, make sure the house hadn't fallen down in his absence. Most nights, though, Nick found his way to Jen's bed, and he loved it. He loved spending time with their son in the evenings, loved teasing Amy gently at the dinner table, loved Jen's hands tender on his skin. He loved the sense of home, belonging, peace he found in this place, and with each passing day he became more convinced that this was exactly what he wanted for his future. This house, this woman, this life so full of love, was everything he'd ever dreamed of, and he was ready, now, in a way he had never been before, to make it a reality.

And on this particular morning he could not bear to keep such thoughts to himself. Jen was beautiful, so beautiful, and he loved her so much, and the sun was just beginning to rise beyond the curtains, and the whole world seemed to be holding its breath, ripe and lush with potential.

He smiled down at her, ran his hand over her sleep-mussed hair, and she hummed and closed her eyes, pleased at his touch.

"Let's get married," he whispered into the stillness.

Beneath him, around him, Jen sighed, but she did not open her eyes.

"Nick," she said softly, a note of warning to her tone. It was not the first time they'd had this conversation; he knew already the objections she was about to raise, and she knew already the defenses he would use to counter them, but still the dance continued. He had asked, and he intended to keep asking until it stuck.

"I love you," he cut across her protests, leaning forward to let his lips brush against her temple, his arms wrapped around her and holding her close. "And I want us to be together. I want us to wake up like this every day."

She pressed herself a little closer into his embrace, dropping her face so that her nose pressed against his neck, the grip of her thigh against his hip tightening by a fraction.

"We don't have to be married to do that, Nick," she pointed out. It was a half-hearted attempt at best, and Nick intended to seize on it at once. It was not fear of the commitment or disdain for the institution of marriage itself that held her back, he knew; Jen was worried about work, and mistrustful of change. She wanted to have her cake and eat it, too, wanted them to be together at home and on the job. That much Nick could understand, for he wanted the same. Unlike Jen, however, he didn't think marriage would spell the end of Homicide for either of them; don't screw the crew was an unwritten rule, not an official ordinance, and he rather thought that, given their track record, they could make an argument that an exception ought to be made in their case. This was no casual fling, this relationship they'd cultivated for themselves at home, and they had proven already that they could work together and sleep together without either sphere of their lives suffering for it.

"We could be so much more than we are right now," he pointed out. "We could live together, be together, every day. No more back and forth, no more driving separate cars into work, no more lying to our friends, no more questions." He could not see her face, as she'd pressed herself tightly into the crook of his neck, but he could feel her smile against his skin. "Marry me, Jen," he repeated, but before he could argue his case the bedroom door opened, and he lifted his head to watch with a smile on his face as Charlie came shuffling in.

As ever he'd stripped down to his pants at some point in the night, was dragging his little blue blanket behind him and sucking his thumb as he approached the bed where his parents lay, and he was, for lack of a better word, adorable. His dark hair, his chubby cheeks, his eyes so like his father's; Christ, but Nick loved that little boy. He often found his way to Jen's room first thing up waking, and after that first disastrous morning Nick and Jen had both taken pains to ensure they were dressed when they fell asleep. Nick was grateful for their efforts now, glad that he was wearing a t-shirt and his trunks, glad that he did not have to hide.

"Hey, mate," he said softly as Charlie approached his side of the bed.

"Can I?" Charlie asked, raising his arms, and Nick reached out and caught hold of him, lifted him easily and tucked him into the space Jen had made between them. The time they'd spent together had given Nick the chance to learn some of his son's idiosyncrasies, to learn how to interpret Charlie's speech, which was growing clearer by the day. He was growing up so fast, and Nick didn't want to miss a minute of it. Beside him Charlie burrowed beneath the duvet and lay back against the pillows, sandwiched between his parents and content.

Before he'd met Charlie, before he and Jen had fallen back together, Nick had not known what it was to love someone, truly. He had not known his heart could feel so much, had not realized his connection to another person could be so unshakable. He adored them both, his child and his child's mother, loved them fiercely, knew without question that he would trade his own life for either of them. Everything he needed, everything he wanted, was in that bed with him.

"Daddy stay?" Charlie asked him, his voice heavy with sleep. Nick and Jen had finally told him the month before, that Nick was his father, and though Charlie hadn't entirely understood what it meant he had taken to calling Nick daddy, and every time he did Nick felt his heart swell full to bursting with love.

"Daddy has to go to work, mate," he said, somewhat regretfully, reaching out to brush Charlie's dark hair back from his face. He could feel Jen's eyes on him, watching him fondly as he spoke to their son, and he found himself thinking, not for the first time, that he could happily quit his job right there and then, if it meant he could stay in this place, with his family.

"Daddy stay," Charlie said firmly, pouting just a little. This had become a familiar refrain; much to Nick's delight Charlie had warmed to him from the first, and now his son was as eager to spend time with him as Nick was himself. It made Jen happy, he knew, to see how well the pair of them got on, and there were not words for how happy it made Nick.

On the other side of the bed Jen reached for him, her fingertips dragging against his arm until she could catch hold of his hand.

"Hey, Nick?" She said softly, giving his hand a little squeeze, and he looked over at her, at her beautiful smile, her brilliant eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Let's get married."

His mouth dropped open as he stared at her, shell-shocked by how easily, how readily she had said the words. Her eyes were shining as she looked up at him, her gaze open, honest, telling him without need of explanation that she had heard his every argument, and that between his careful wooing of her and his gentle regard for their son he had, somehow, managed to convince her that he was right, that they both of them deserved this hope, this love, this future. There was nothing he wanted more; he was hardly breathing as he looked at her, fancied he could almost feel all the pieces of their lives slotting into place.

"Yeah?" he asked faintly.

"Yeah," she said, nodding.

He could not help himself; he laughed, just a little, breathless and stunned and overcome, and then lifted himself up on his arms to lean over Charlie, and kiss Jen senseless. Beneath him their son wiggled, trying to draw their attention back to himself, and Nick laughed again, more delighted than he could recall having ever been in his entire life. He pulled away from Jen, trying to tell himself that they could save the real celebration for later that night, when they were properly alone and the bedroom door was locked. Christ, he'd need to buy a ring, and they'd need to talk to Wolfie, need to decide whose house they would live in - hers, he was almost certain, and that thought didn't bother him as much as he once thought it might - but all those questions and details could wait, for Jen had accepted him, and they were going to be married.

As he slid back to his side of the bed he stopped just long enough to kiss Charlie's forehead, and then settled back against his own pillows, his heart racing, grinning so wide his cheeks ached with the strain of it.

"What's married?" Charlie asked, looking up at his mother, confused but determined, as ever, to have his answers, to share in the secrets of the grownups who loved him best.

"It means we'll be together, all three of us, forever," Jen said. There were tears in the corners of her eyes, but she was smiling the biggest smile Nick had ever seen, and his heart rejoiced in it. Forever, she'd said, not scared at the prospect, but just as excited, just as hopeful, just as ready for forever as Nick was himself.

"Auntie Amy, too?" Charlie asked apprehensively, and Nick just laughed.

"Yeah, mate," he said, ruffling his son's hair. "Auntie Amy, too."

"That's all right, then," Charlie decided.

That morning had started much like any other, but it had quickly become the single best morning of Nick's entire life. Jen loved him, and he loved her, and they were going to be married. The sun was shining, their son was happy and nestled in between them, no one had called from the office, and it was very difficult, in that moment, for him to imagine that anything could ever possibly go wrong.