How many unrelated fluffy bedtime oneshots can a person write for the same pairing in a few short months? Apparently, at least three. Yes, we're back with yet another fluffy bedtime with the Carsons oneshot existing in yet another set of headcanons. I promise I can write other things... And yes,"Family Home" is on a bit of a delay, but I wanted to get something out in the meantime and just rewatched a certain episode.
As always, I don't own 'em and would love your feedback on 'em!
Cold. She was aware of very little except that she was suddenly, very, cold. Her eyes cracked open. She couldn't feel Charles behind her. Odd.
She turned over, was just able to make out his back in the dim moonlight. Hmm. He must have rolled over in his sleep. Is he cold too?
She scooted toward him, draped one arm over his chest. Warmer now. Content. She closed her eyes, nuzzled her face into his back and let sleep overtake her once again. "Love you," she managed to mumble almost to herself, her lips brushing against him, before she fell back to sleep.
xx
It was a ghastly dream, really, though it didn't seem like much. Elsie had merely asked him to pass her a spoon so she could cook supper, and his damned, massive, shaking hands refused to comply. He wasn't even sure which hurt worse: the irritation on dream-Elsie's face, or the pity.
He awoke with a start, horrified to realize the tremor had returned. He pulled away from his wife as gently as he could, wanting nothing less than to wake her.
He closed his eyes, feeling not in the least tired but hoping it would stave off the worries that had collected over the first several months of his retirement. Worries that the tremor would spread, worsen, that his wife would spend her twilight years caring for the family, her sister and him instead of easing into the relaxation she so deserved. He opened his eyes again, propped himself up to look at his Elsie's sleeping face. Even deep in sleep she never looked quite at peace, he'd noticed early on. Perhaps a mind as quick, as active as hers couldn't rest. The thought troubled him almost as much as the dream.
The tremor grew worse. He rolled onto his other side, hoped that trapping his traitor arm between his body and the bed might force it to still. He managed to suppress a frustrated groan.
Then, the sudden, slight weight of a dainty arm fell around his waist. He started to twist his neck toward her, but felt her bury her face into him and stilled lest he disturb her.
"Love you," the quiet, sleepy voice muttered. She pressed her lips to the column of his spine, and he smiled despite himself. His affectionate Elsie. How many decades of maids and footmen, spurred widowers and meddling gossips, believed her a cold, stern, unfeeling woman? And perhaps Mrs. Hughes had to be. But Charles was blessed with the most loving of wives, a woman who could sooth his nerves with an eye roll as well as a kiss, a woman who had every day made him feel wholly and irrevocably loved.
Her breathing soon evened out once more, and he was relieved to find the tremor in his hand had ceased. Good. He wrapped it gently around the hand Elsie held him close with, closed his eyes once more, and finally, blessedly, fell back to sleep.
You can always hold my hand if you need to feel steady.