Author's Note: Short and sap- sap-sappy!


Callen watched as Nell signed their daughter's birth certificate. It was just a piece of paper. Just a piece of paper that society recognized as the acknowledgement of a new member, a new person. Just a piece of paper that gave the new person a name, an identity, and ties... ties recognized by their peers, tangible ties, ties that announced to the world who loved them. Her mother's name. But not her father's. Never her father's...

He looked down into the presently placid features of his baby girl's sleeping face as he held her bundled in his arms. Would she understand? Would she ever know how much it hurt him, how the necessary act of public rejection (god, that word... it made him sick to his stomach) pained him?

...

Four weeks ago...

"So..." Nell said, shifting awkwardly until he placed hands on her waist and arm to steady her, and she finally settled so that she was facing him on the sofa (one of many of her items that had been moved to fill his empty house). "I was thinking..."

He stared intently at her, but she looked down, playing with her out-turned belly button that poked through a t-shirt that was taxed to cover her round middle. Knowing she would get to the point in her own good time, he didn't press her.

"Amelia Henrietta Callen."

Amelia Henrietta Callen. The name echoed through his head, and he tried to wrap his brain around the feel of it, before trying it on his lips.

"We could call her 'Amy'," Nell said, her tone a study in off-handed-ness. The fact that she still hadn't met his eyes was more than enough to inform him of how nervous she was about sharing the name she'd chosen for their daughter.

Amy... He liked it. And the thoughtfulness of the young woman wanting to honor his sister... Amy Callen.

But there was a problem. He'd been thinking about their daughter's name, too. Hadn't known how to broach the subject with the mother of his unborn child, how to tell her what needed to be said without hurting her.

"I love it, Nell," he said, placing a hand under her chin and gently raising her face so that her big hazel eyes met his gaze. "But it can't be 'Callen.' It has to be 'Jones.'"

She gave him a confused look, partially hurt in the way he'd hoped could've been avoided. He couldn't stand to see her sad, but he had to get it out in the open, could no longer ignore it. So he looked away as he spoke.

"We can't risk it," he said. "My name is a curse, Nell. It's bad enough that I'm being selfish, having you both live here with me. The house isn't in my real name though. And I'm always careful that no one follows me back here. But..." He swallowed back the knot in his throat as he thought of the little girl currently growing inside of Nell Jones, of the woman she might grow into, of what it felt like to have no clear identity. But she would have that. He would be sure she had her parents, knew who she was, even if the rest of the world couldn't know, even if... "...she can't have my name. It's too dangerous. There are people who would..."

He couldn't finish that thought. Not even born yet, and he was dreading any harm that could come to his daughter.

"Come here," Nell Jones pulled him into a kiss, halfway between chaste and sultry, her hands gently pushing against his chest, her body leaning into him, indicating her intention for him to shift position and lay back on the couch. He readily complied. She broke off the embrace, pulling back so she was sitting, straddling his hips. Her nimble little fingers began to unbutton his shirt. They were cold, as they sometimes tended to be, and sent little chills through him as they opened his shirt and ran over his bare skin. And then she was tugging the hem of her strained t-shirt up to reveal the gorgeous, round, very pregnant belly beneath -complete with its adorable popped outward belly button. She leaned forward slowly, until her naked skin was pressed against his, the weight of her swollen womb settling on his stomach. Her forearms rested on his chest, supporting the rest of her weight, so that their unborn child was cradled, enveloped between their bodies but not crushed.

The baby was active, and he could feel it kick through the walls of Nell's womb, the small strikes thumping against his own stomach. He closed his eyes and held his breath, and could almost feel the beating of the small heart. This was probably as close as he could ever get to feeling what Nell felt, what it was like to carry a developing life inside her body.

"Do you feel her?" Nell asked quietly. He opened his eyes and looked into those big, beautiful hazel ones. (God, he hoped their little girl had those eyes.)

"Yes," he said. "She's a feisty little thing, isn't she?"

"And she's yours," Nell said. "Whether she has your name or not, she'll always be yours."

...

Mine, Callen thought, looking down into the cherubic, fat cheeked face. You know that, little Amelia? You're mine.

The infant yawned, her mouth turning into a small 'o', her body squirming slightly in his arms. And then she opened big, round baby blue eyes and stared up at him. Her eyes might not stay that color, but the look would forever be his, the look of a daughter laying eyes upon her father in the first few days of her life.

It did not matter what was written on some piece of paper. The two of them. They knew the Truth.


A/N: More mushy-ness and drama to come…