Page 66 of Baby and the Beast

"This is where you belong," Casimir said, gesturing to the room, to the safety and community it represented. "Both of you."

"And you don't?" Nash asked, looking up.

Casimir turned away. "I've been alone a long time."

"By necessity or by choice?"

The question hit too close to a truth Casimir didn't want to examine. He didn't answer.

Nash sighed. "You saved us, Cas. You delivered my daughter. You carried her through the snow." His voice softened. "You read her stories."

"Anyone would have—"

"No," Nash interrupted firmly. "They wouldn't. Most humans would have panicked at finding a male omega in labor. Most would have been disgusted or frightened." He adjusted Copper in his arms. "You saved her life.”

Nash carefully placed Copper in the small crib by the window, tucking the blanket around her tiny form. He stood watching her for a moment, his heart so full it ached. Then he turned and crossed the room to where Casimir stood, still as a statue near the door.

"I never properly thanked you," Nash said, his voice barely above a whisper. He moved closer, close enough that Casimir could smell the clean scent of soap from his recent shower, mingled with his natural fox-sweet fragrance.

Before Casimir could react, Nash reached up, placing a hand on his chest, and rose on his toes. His intention was clear in his eyes as he leaned in.

Casimir jerked backward, his face hardening into a mask. "Don't."

Nash froze, confusion flickering across his features. "I thought—"

"I don't need that kind of payment," Casimir growled, his voice low and dangerous. He stepped away, putting distance between them, his jaw tight with anger. "Is that what you think this was about? That I helped you expecting something in return?"

"No! That's not—" Nash's cheeks flushed crimson. "I wasn't trying to pay you. I just... I wanted to..."

"You don't owe me anything," Casimir cut him off, his words clipped and cold. "Not gratitude. Not... that." He gestured vaguely between them. "I did what any decent person would do."

"This isn't about owing," Nash insisted, hurt creeping into his voice. "I care about you. I thought maybe you felt something, too."

Casimir turned away, his shoulders rigid with tension. "You don't know me."

"I know enough," Nash countered. "I know you're gentle with my daughter. I know you risked your life for us. I know when you think no one's looking, you watch us like we're something precious."

"Stop." The word came out harsher than Casimir intended. He closed his eyes briefly, struggling for control. "You're confused. Vulnerable. Your hormones are still adjusting after birth."

Nash's expression hardened. "Don't you dare dismiss what I'm feeling as hormones. I'm not some hysterical omega who can't tell the difference between gratitude and attraction."

"You need to focus on your daughter," Casimir said, his voice deliberately flat. "On building a life here. Not on some... fantasy about a man who's lived alone so long he's forgotten how to be human."

"Is that what you think you are? Not human anymore?"

The question struck too close to the truth. Casimir moved toward the door. "I'm leaving at first light. I just wanted to make sure you were settled."

Nash stared at him, hurt and frustration warring in his expression. "Running away again?"

Casimir's hand froze on the doorknob. "What did you say?"

Nash took a deep breath, steeling himself against the dangerous edge in Casimir's voice. "You're running away. Just like you've been running for eleven years."

Casimir turned, his face a storm. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know enough," Nash said quietly. "Those scars—they're not just on your face. And whatever happened, whatever you did or didn't do, you've been punishing yourself ever since."

Casimir's jaw worked silently, muscles flexing beneath his beard. He looked like a man fighting a war within himself.

---