The station had emptied for the moment. The hum of computers and the soft click of printers were the only reminders that this was still work, not home. You sat in the corner chair, the baby on your lap, humming softly, her tiny hands curling around your fingers.

Horatio leaned casually against the counter nearby, sunglasses pushed up, eyes tracing your every movement. Noticing how naturally the child relaxed in your arms, the way your laughter lit the room even in this quiet, mundane space, he felt something stir—something he rarely let himself feel outside of these private moments.

“You’re really good at this,” he said quietly, voice low enough that the baby didn’t hear it but soft enough for you to feel it.

You glanced up, smiling. “She’s easy. And… I’ve always wanted this, you know. To care for someone like this.”

Horatio took a slow step closer, careful, deliberate, his gaze softening. “I know,” he murmured. “I’ve… noticed.”

You laughed softly, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “You don’t have to make it awkward.”

He smirked faintly, the kind of grin that made your chest warm. “Not awkward. Observant. That’s different.”

The little girl reached up, tugging gently at his sleeve. Horatio’s hand hovered, then moved to brush lightly against her fingers. He looked down at her, then back at you. “She… reminds me that you’d make an amazing mother,” he said carefully, tone quiet but steady.

You swallowed, a flutter in your chest. “It’s… tempting,” you admitted softly. “Even though we’re both so busy, it makes you wonder…”

Horatio stepped closer, lowering his voice, leaning just slightly so you had to meet his gaze. “If you’re wondering… I’m okay with it. With us… with maybe having one of our own someday. Even now.”

Your breath caught. “Even now?”

He nodded slowly. “I’m older. You’re… still younger than I am by quite a bit. But I’d do it with you. If it’s what you want. No one else, no one’s timeline. Just… us.”

The baby cooed, and you laughed softly, setting her gently on the floor between you both. She toddled toward Horatio’s feet, and he knelt, hand hovering just above her head, teasing her fingers with his own. You watched him, warm and quiet, the older, grounded man showing a side of himself he rarely let anyone see.

He looked up at you, a faint, private smirk tugging at his lips. “We’d figure it out,” he said softly, hand brushing lightly against yours now. “Together.”

You leaned in, closing the distance, feeling the calm certainty in his presence. “Together,” you echoed.

Horatio’s smirk widened just a fraction. “And if anyone else ever teases me about it… well,” he said, voice teasing but quiet, “they won’t see what I see right now.”

And for that small, perfect moment—just the three of you—the world outside the station didn’t exist.