A/N: So this is a bit different because it's not P/O, but Leeham (Alt!Lincoln/Alt!Livia). Someone asked me if I would be able to write a drabble on this paring, so I said 'Gve me a prompt and we shall see'. This came out of the prompt 'candles'. It was greatly inspired by something on tumblr that pretty much said: 'Sometimes I like to depressed myself thinking about Lincoln taking care of baby Henry as the world dies around them.'
So yep. Another very happy drabble. Sorry XD
CANDLES
The candles were dying out.
Their weak light flickered more and more rapidly, as if desperately trying to hold on a little bit longer, as if unwilling to fade away, to give up. This panicked pattern was as frantic as it was hopeless, the light dimming with every passing second.
Lincoln might have bothered getting up from the bed to light up one or two new candles, if he hadn't known those were the very last ones. Power had been out for days now, before the Sun had ceased to be all together, dooming their world to die in Darkness, because really, was there any other way to die?
These were the last candles. Very soon, their last source of Light would disappear, too, and the dark would be inescapable. He found it rather ironic how, behind all his brave demeanor, he had actually always been quite scared of the dark.
As if she could hear his thoughts -he doubted she could hear the change in his breathing over the Noise, that sound outside that simply kept on getting louder and louder and louder, the sound of a universe shattering around them- Olivia moved her hand from Henry's chest to rest it softly on his cheek, trying to soothe his anguish away with the gentle caress of her thumb.
It was as pointless as the candles' battle to keep on burning, to keep the Light on, but what else was there to do, now? They were like everybody else, resigned to this unfathomable fate.
And in those last few hours, minutes, seconds, there was no place else for him to be.
There never was.
He held on to her as long as he still could. He drank in the green of her eyes, knowing that soon, too soon, this color would disappear, too. Maybe if he stared long and hard enough, he could tattoo all the shades that painted her irises deep into his soul, so that when the Darkness came, he would still be able to stare into her eyes.
And somehow, he knew she was doing it, too.
Eventually, she did move her hand away from his face, back to her baby's sleeping body, and he didn't mind; he understood. He understood why she needed to feel the rise and fall of his small chest under her palm while she still could. He understood all too well.
And so he brought his own hand up, covering hers over Henry's warm body, wondering lengthily and briefly if that was what a family felt like.
Because when the candles died out, the feel of them was all he had left.