Papa Alistair and The Late Night Pacing
Fluff | Papa!Alistair | Parenthood | Teething | 958 Words | AO3 Link |
Note: I haven’t written for a few months, so I’m a bit rusty.
Alistair and Sienna had adjusted well to parenthood over the year their twin boys were born, having traded their weapons and armor for blankies, late night feedings, and all the hills and valleys that accompany new parents. However, as the boys grew and developed, so didn’t other little milestones of toddler and parenthood alike.
It was night three of another teething session when Alistair had finally convinced his wife to go to bed. The poor woman was exhausted to the point of confusion and didn’t put up much of an argument. They had agreed when the boys first started teething they would take turns but it seemed this time had been quite rough on poor Duncan and as such Sienna kicked herself into a state of mothering overdrive to keep her young son as comfortable as possibly, forgoing restful sleep in the meantime. Duncan’s twin, Elliott, was brought to their room so he could sleep (and Alistair found the younger twin quite the flip-flopper, having been kicked in the head more than once that first night) and not risk having two cranky boys on their hands.
Alistair rubbed his face with his hands, scratching lazily at his beard, and quietly walked into the boy’s bedroom in an attempt to not wake the babe if he were sleeping. Amber eyes scanned the bedroom, the clear sky helping to give some illumination to what lay before him and sitting in the middle of his crib was Duncan, arms raised and ready for his father to pick him up.
“Mahm, mahma…” the little one whimpered the only word he could say as he cuddled his father tightly when brought to the other’s chest.
Alistair chuckled softly as he grabbed Duncan’s soft, knit blanket and covered the little one before he took a seat in the nearby plush chair and rocked the toddler gently. “I don’t suppose we can get you to say papa tonight, eh Duncan?” He asked playfully, his voice quiet and low, and was answered with the squirming mass of his son making himself comfortable.
The child’s body radiated a feverish heat (“thank you teething and the small horrors you bring.” Alistair thinks) and Alistair felt terrible for the poor thing as he thought back to Sienna trying desperately to give relief to their son. Using what she learned long ago in the Circle, despite her inexperience in the healing arts, to help the pain and cold-like symptoms that usually accompanied a teething child, altering poultice recipes used for people suffering with oral maladies. He reassured her many times that she was doing the best she could and soon this would all be a memory they would embarrass their sons with years from now.
Another wiggle and the feel of thick snot against his neck snapped Alistair from his thoughts and he grimaced. “Let’s pretend you were aiming for my shirt.” He teased, trying his best to ignore the drying smear.
A few hours had passed with little interruption (and a bit of dozing) when Alistair was suddenly awake, the sounds of his son’s cries being the cause. He checked the toddler for the obvious signs starting with changing him, offering him something to drink, and finally rocking him in the chair. All with little success. Out of options, Alistair stood from the chair with his son’s cheek against his shoulder and started his way towards their bedroom to see if Sienna could decipher what the little one could want. As he walked but before he opened the bedroom door, Alistair noticed his son quieted and when he paused, Duncan’s bubbling cries started again.
“A walk? Why didn’t you just say so?” Alistair sighed with a weary grin and proceeded to walk the floors of their reasonably sized home. The toddler quieted and maneuvered himself higher up onto his father’s broad chest and let out a relieved ‘phew’ sound as the gentle movements soothed him. “Lucky you, I have plenty of practice at these late night pacings.”
“Not easy, huh? This teething business...constantly growing, you’re getting bigger and soon your world will too.” Alistair spoke quietly as the two walked the floors, careful not to bump or trip. “I can’t promise it’ll be easy, or fair, but you have your brother and you will always have me and your mother.” He added, adjusting his arms carefully. Duncan huffed softly and pushed away silky curls from his face with a sleepy hand.
There was an odd peace as he walked around the house, everything was calm and docile - the only sounds were his soft footfalls and those belonging to the night. Even their mabari was slumbering deep tonight. The young spotted creature was curled up in a giant snoring ball in his soft bed in the den.
Alistair walked from room to room quite a number of times, talking about all manner of things to sooth his son. All the places he wanted to take Duncan and his brother, the things he wanted to teach them, and other promises fathers make to their children. During these quiet, nighttime pacing talks he didn’t notice his son had fallen fast (and deep) asleep until the little body had slacked heavy against his chest and shoulder. He chuckled softly when he saw the sleeping, pouty face turned up at him and about-faced from the kitchen and returned to the plush chair set between two cribs. making himself comfortable as he laid his little one upon his chest and let his eyes close while he listened to the steady breathing of the child.
Not long after did Alistair fall asleep in that plush chair between two cribs with Duncan still sleeping upon his chest and that sleeping pouty face nuzzling his father’s neck.