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

Why would Mallos know that Croe needed to ask permission before hopping planet? That was a rather illogical deduction.

There was a time, not all that long ago, when he would have rolled his eyes at the sentiment, grabbed her by the waist and hopped planets there and then. There was only one fun activity which should require consent from others, and even then only from the parties involved. Now, however, the rules of the game had changed. Life had become a balancing act between lover and child, and brother and child. For at least the duration of his doghouse stay, Mallos needed to live up to the impossible moral standards of the rest of his family in order to win a chance of sliding his way back into their good books. It’d be an awful lot easier of he knew where the bar was and how to reach it.

At least Croe seemed to have an idea. Mallos reined in his frustration and impatience. He did at least quirk an eyebrow at her telepathic correspondence, prepared to express bemusement over why anyone would want to cover up such a fine figure with clothes. It’d probably help her case if she went to see her parole officer topless.

“Hey, angel,” he bent down, plucked Ángela off Croe’s legs and lifted her up into his arms, “shall we go and see Uncle Zed?”

Ángie’s mouth wobbled a little, looking at Croe uncertainly. About fifty percent of visits to Uncle Zed resulted in her being left at the Santiago without her parents.

Just to make a point, Mallos didn’t bother changing his clothes when he teleported away with his daughter a moment later. He was wearing them when he returned some time later though, because Rana had insisted.

It took a whole damn hour of grizzling, crying and leg-hugging before he was able to leave Ángela on the boat. She was eventually half-appeased with the promise that it wouldn’t be for long, she could help Uncle Zed with the ‘big important job’ of painting his and Rana’s bedroom, and she’d get a whole load of new toys on her return home. Thank Aura for the bottomless toybox. Mallos and Croe would have been wading knee-deep in children’s toys by now.

He was wearing dark jeans and a black shirt rolled up at the sleeves when he returned, but hadn’t bothered putting on shoes and socks. The knot in his heart form leaving his daughter behind loosened considerably at the sight of Croe, back before him, and already waiting in the living room. The image of Ángela’s tear-streaked face melted to the back of his mind as his hands found their way to the back of her neck, his lips connecting with hers. Their first kiss alone in months.

The magic needed to teleport two bodies to Granada was so automatic that Mallos’ focus on what he was doing barely needed to waver. The desire, the need to be alone, shut behind a locked door, away from disapproving glares - home - burned in his chest. He brought his hands around her neck and onto her shoulders, pushing her backwards. The transition was so smooth it was barely noticeable: she stepped backwards, he forwards into the clean, modern penthouse overlooking the city of Granada. A wall had appeared behind Croe where one didn’t exist back in the castle. Mallos pushed her against it, moving his lips down her chin, neck, upper chest, his teeth finding her shirt collar.

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