AN: For the sweet, lovely Marissa. Just because. :)
Comfort
He wakes to silence, stark, almost pulsing, so vastly different from just a few hours ago. His heart hammers against his ribcage, his eyes opening to a darkened room.
Dusk has settled, casting splinters of hazy light through the slants of the blinds, grey jagged edges on the wall, the floor, the bedspread. He presses his thumbs to his eye sockets, rubbing away the crusty remnants of sleep.
Ugh, wow. He must've been out longer than he thought.
The noise-cancelling headphones hang half off his head, the app on his iPod still playing its continuous loop of white noise- the rush of the ocean this time- the crash of waves onto the shore, the softer rustle of water receding before it tumbles in all over again; the brush of wind and the caws of seagulls, familiar and relaxing. Like a summer night in the Hamptons.
He shuts it off, pulls off the headphones, swings his feet out of bed. He's feeling it now, the strain to his muscles, the latent soreness that has crept into his limbs from his continuous pacing, wandering the rooms, climbing up and back down the stairs, with the baby's heavy, whimpering weight in his arms for hours and hours.
He'd been up with her all night so that Kate could get enough rest to go to work, and then all day; his little girl whimpering in the cradle of his arms, so pitiful and weak, her face curled against his neck, cheeks flushed with fever, the tiny hands fisted. He'd rocked her, rubbed her back, sang and paced; given her her meds, a cooling bath, nothing had helped much and so he'd just cradled her to his chest, with a palm on her back and his index finger smudging soft caresses to the fine, sweaty skin of her tiny neck. He'd murmured softly to her, endlessly telling her stories and feeling so utterly helpless.
When Kate came home she'd taken one look at him and had sent him to get some rest, lifting their daughter from his arms. "It's okay," she'd reassured, speaking both to her crying baby and to him. "My turn." She pressed a soft kiss to his lips, lingered for just a second. "And use the app," she'd ordered, just as Jo had wailed, her forehead bouncing onto Kate's clavicle, arms flailing helplessly.
"Momomomomommmm…" she'd whimpered pitifully, the only approximation of a word she could form yet, and his heart was aching with every step he took toward their bedroom.
They're not in the living room so he climbs the stairs, his sock-clad feet noiseless against the wood. He can hear Kate's voice now, a low melodic hum that streaks through the crack of the opened door to the baby's room, too low to make out her words.
Carefully he pushes the door open wider, steps into the mostly dark room, only lit by the moons and stars that dance along the ceiling and walls, small flecks of soft yellow light projected by the pink 'Slumber Buddy' butterfly night light.
He arrests at the sight, his heart squeezing in his chest, emotion like thick molasses in his blood. The light casts a glow around his wife as she cradles their child in her arms, softly swaying in the middle of the room- and the baby is quiet. After hours and hours, she has finally calmed, is finally, finally asleep.
The relief he feels is staggering, rushing through his limbs, leaving him weak. All he hears is an occasional snuffle, a long shuddered breath here and there… and Kate's voice, softly singing to her baby as she slowly sways with her.
'When you're down and troubled, and you need a helping hand, and nothing, nothing is going right…'
He leans against the door frame, his knees a little shaky, unmanly though it may be. Hardly daring to breathe, he watches, soaks in the moment, so beautiful it's almost ethereal. Caught once more, as he so often is, by how extraordinary she truly is. She's so wonderful with Jo, calm and endlessly tender, the joy and warmth just leaking out of her eyes and her smile. He knows she worries all the time- about being back at work, not being around enough for her child, just not being enough- all of which is ridiculous because the truth is, she's amazing, She's got… magic.
'Close your eyes and think of me, and soon I will be there, to brighten up even your darkest night…'
She's slowly turning, dancing small circles onto the carpet until she notices him in the door. Her eyes find his, warm amber, shining with affection, with hushed promise as she sings quietly, her fingers caressing their daughter's back but looking only at him. Promising them both.
You just call out my name and you know wherever I am, I'll come running to see you again…
He steps toward her, ever so carefully wraps his arms around her, unable to take one more moment separated from them. With the baby cradled between them, Kate nestles into his embrace, her cheek against his collarbone. Her free hand curls around his neck, her fingers soft and soothing in the short strands of his hair.
He sneaks his hand between them, runs a fingertip over his daughter's head, feeling her skin, warm and a little sweaty but not nearly as hot; the fever had broken. "She's better," he murmurs, relief rubbing his voice raw. Kate nods, tenderly caresses his nape and he clutches her tighter, tugging them both as close as he can.
With his arms around them he starts swaying, dancing to the silent melody still wrapped around them.
AN: Kate is singing "You've Got a Friend" by James Taylor.