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...leave me a little love,
A voice to speak to me in the day end,
A hand to touch me in the dark room
Breaking the long loneliness.
In the dusk of day-shapes
Blurring the sunset,
One little wandering, western star
Thrust out from the changing shores of shadow.
Let me go to the window,
Watch there the day-shapes of dusk
And wait and know the coming
Of a little love.
Pain. So much pain, and a wheeling, disoriented sky of purple and blue, a bruise blooming through the heavens. The ground was wet, like mud and not at all like the dry dust he remembered from the arena before. How had he gotten here? Where was Charles? And how did he escape this endless pain?
A face appeared above him, blotting out what was left of the sun. He knew that face, though he hadn’t seen it for years. A sense of wrongness flooded him suddenly, turning his stomach until he thought he might be ill.
“You should be dead.” He could feel his lips moving, but his words sounded centuries away. Shaw smiled.
“Do you honestly think you’d be rid of me so easily?” He reached out, and his hand when it stroked through Erik’s hair was deceptively gentle. Paternal. In his confusion, it lulled him, and he sagged, drowsily, further into the ground.
Shaw hummed a soothing noise before wrapping his cold fingers around Erik’s throat, squeezing tighter and tighter as Erik choked and scrambled desperately with numb fingers, with no success, air coming slower and thinner until it ceased all together—dying—he was dying—where was Charles—
He awoke, thrashing and gasping frantically for air. It was dark in the bedroom, the moon casting only a sliver of light across the foot of the bed, which was covered in furs in deference to the frigid chill of winter. Sitting up, one hand on his chest to slow his racing heart, to steady his breathing, he instinctively reached out with his other hand for Charles.
Except he only brushed empty sheets and a vacant pillow. His heart leapt painfully into his throat, jarring and startling before he registered the warmth of light outside their bedroom, creeping underneath the door that led to that tiny, secret, beloved room. He could hear the soft sound of Charles’ voice as it murmured through a mindless song, heart breaking in its familiarity.
He pulled himself from the tangle of sheets, drawing one of the large dark furs around his body as the chill of the room clung to his skin like dew, wracking his body with a violent shiver. Gently nudging the lighted door open, he stood for a moment, wrapped in warmth, leaning on the doorframe. The horror of the dream seeped out of his every pore as he laid eyes on everything he loved standing before him, everything important and vital to his very existence together in one room for him to adore, and keep safe.
Charles was there, meandering slowly back and forth, his body a mesmerizing pendulum of movement. David was cradled in his arms, wrapped up in a soft yellow blanket, his little feet sticking out and kicking the air as he fussed. Erik watched as Charles bent his head to murmur something in the baby’s ear, his arms rocking him gently, the coo of David’s voice loud in the hush of the room, his hand coming up to wrap pudgy fingers around one of Charles’ stray curls, tugging the soft hair until Charles extracted himself with a careful hand.
For a moment Erik was frozen, watching his family in the low light of lit candles, his entire body consumed with so fierce a love that he thought he might laugh, or weep uncontrollably, or burst into flames. It was then that Charles turned and saw him, his rueful smile so beautiful, Erik felt himself thaw, and move, able to finally pass through the doorway and into the small sanctuary that was their son’s room.
That small, warm piece of paradise.
“Sorry,” Charles was saying, “did we wake you?” but Erik could only shake his head, bend to place a kiss on David’s forehead above his large watery eyes, the same perfect blue as Charles’ (as he had hoped and dreamed they would be), and then another one on Charles mouth.
He kept one hand on Charles’ back, rubbing slowly up and down the lovely line of his spine as Charles adjusted his grip on David, scooping him up close so that his head was tucked into the hollow where Charles' neck met his shoulder. David grumbled and rubbed his face back and forth against Charles' throat before settling down, one tiny fist clutching the fabric of Charles’ robe as it gaped open.
It was unbelievably adorable, and Erik tried not to smile, tried to maintain some semblance of dignity, but couldn’t help melt in the end. The baby was everything he never knew he wanted, and everything David did seemed precious and wonderful. He was fast becoming one of those obnoxious parents who bragged about every simplistic thing his child accomplished, to Charles’ endless amusement.
Now though, Charles was frowning at him.
“Was it another bad dream?” he whispered, in deference to David’s slowing breaths, his unwilling surrender into sleep. Erik hesitated, and then nodded, unable to keep anything from Charles, as always. Charles nodded and then reached up with his spare hand, winding his fingers into Erik’s hair and pulling him close for another kiss, this time longer, and more lingering, Charles comforting him silently, tenderly, with such ease.
When they separated, Erik looked down to see David, fast asleep, mouth slack and open, little body slumped heavily against Charles’ chest. Charles smiled and moved to put him back in his crib, but Erik couldn’t stop himself from saying,
“Wait—“
And so they ended up back in their bed, Charles curled toward him, the baby placed carefully in between them, their hands brushing over David’s full belly as it raised and lowered in sleep. The cold fear that had permeated the bed was gone, replaced by a calm, a quiet. A sense of peace that cocooned them like blankets, and Erik was finally able to sleep again, with everything he loved at hand, and safely tucked in beside him.
He did not dream again.