I may not always know what's right, but I know I want you here tonight.

Never. Maybe. Mallos could accept that, an opening for him to roll out his best persuasive charm at a later date.

Of course, being a man, he was quicker to dismiss the toll of pregnancy on the woman. Being a divine man, he barely considered the pain at all.

His revelation out, Croe looked how he felt: stunned, ecstatically so. He supposed, like him, she had never given the best case scenario much thought. Her expression was so uncharacteristic that he couldn’t help feeling a flutter of amusement for it, expressed through a very small, impish grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

Possibly because he’d half-expected never to receive one again, her kiss was… spectacular. His chest felt light, adrenaline spiked. His senses sharpened, more acutely aware of the feel of her lips against his, the faint scent of saltwater, the taste of warmth. As she pulled back more gently, the colours of the room seemed to leap out from every angle, vying to be noticed.

The baby stirred, diverting his attention, which had just become more fragile and changeable. Mallos knew this feeling, but it was usually one he had to wake up to. Hyper-attentiveness could be easily slipped into, but neither that nor hyper-activity had ever been triggered by a kiss before. Maybe it was something to do with the relentless emotional stabbing of the last few hours.

The knife twisted a little with the subtle shake of her head. In this, his less reasonable, more reckless frame of mind, Mallos had to resist the urge to burst down the door of Arthur’s office and demand to know what was going on. Patience was a virtue which usually paid off in the end, even if it was hard to tell that to his racing heart.

Mallos was usually too skilled in the art of conversation not to recognise a detour, but on this occasion Croe’s deviation had the desired effect. Now it was his turn to feel stunned. Mallos was, by nature, present-oriented; he had expended energy trying to build relationships with his family which could be enjoyed for the now, without considering much the moments he’d already missed. Naming his older daughter. Teaching his son the magic he already excelled at. His grandson’s first steps.

Missing the birth had bothered him, but mostly for Croe’s sake. She had experienced all of that alone – and held off on the next special moment until he came home.

Instinctively, he returned her reaction to her. The energy pulsing through his veins, more than anything else, drove the kiss. He cupped her cheek with one hand and pushed the other through her hair, luxuriating in the feel of it. The adrenaline felt like electricity under his skin. He might not have stopped if it weren’t for their child who, feeling the weight of the shifting bodies, chose that moment to protest vocally. Mallos pulled back an inch or two to relieve her, his attention agonisingly caught between his daughter’s cry and his lover’s embrace.

Even with her pink mouth puckered, her lower lip wobbling, the child was stunning. Her huge, dark eyes were ringed with long eyelashes; her skin the soft, caramel-brown legions of white, sun-worshipping women aspired to. There was only one name which was fitting.

“Ángela.”

Mallos
I've learned enough to know I'm never letting go