Work Text:
Anthony had done many difficult things in his life.
This, he decided, was the hardest: convincing a very small, very angry person that the world was not, in fact, ending at three in the morning.
“I know,” he murmured, pacing the length of the bedroom, Edmund tucked against his chest. “I agree. Frankly, I have several notes.”
Kate watched from the bed through half-lidded eyes.
“You’re doing great,” she whispered.
Anthony looked down at their son, then back at her.
“Edmund disagrees.”
“Well,” Kate propped herself up on one elbow. “Edmund is teething and apparently feels as though he must hold all of Mayfair accountable.”
Anthony hummed in agreement before placing a kiss on the small boy’s dark curls.
Edmund screamed in protest.
“Bring him here,” Kate suggested, motioning to herself.
“I was trying to let you rest,” Anthony tried bouncing the child gently once more. “I know the trip back was taxing.”
Kate smiled at that, soft and fond, and held her arms out a little wider. “I rested in the carriage,” she said mildly. “And besides, I rather like being needed.”
Anthony hesitated only a moment before crossing the room. Edmund’s cries hit a new pitch as if sensing the transfer, tiny fists bunching the front of Anthony’s shirt.
“Yes, yes,” Anthony murmured, pressing another kiss to his son’s temple. “I know. You are very put upon.”
Kate took Edmund with practiced ease, settling him against her shoulder. Almost immediately, his cries faltered—still aggrieved, but less urgent now, more offended than distressed. She laid back in bed, whispering soothing words into his hair, her hand warm and steady at his back.
Anthony crawled back into bed, his hand coming to rest over Kate’s own as she traced soothing circles on Edmund’s tiny back. He watched as the child’s breathing evened out, his cries dissolving into a few indignant huffs before his cheek came to rest against Kate’s collarbone.
Anthony let out a quiet breath. “Traitor.”
Kate smiled, eyes heavy with sleep but bright all the same. “Do you blame him?”
“Not at all,” Anthony replied, letting his gaze rest on the pair of them.
He watched them with nothing short of all-consuming awe.
The way Kate’s hand moved without thought, sure and practiced. The way Edmund melted into her like she was the safest place he knew.
Something in Anthony’s chest went tight and warm all at once.
Not urgency.
Not hunger.
But something quieter. Heavier.
The knowledge that this—this woman, this child, this unexpected life unfolding in the early hours of the morning—was what he wanted to spend the rest of his days earning.
Kate shifted slightly, careful not to wake Edmund, and glanced up at him. Her mouth curved, knowing and soft.
“Think pure thoughts, my lord,” she teased under her breath. “Or we should find ourselves in this situation again rather quickly.”
Anthony huffed a quiet laugh and took her hand, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to her fingers.
“One can only hope.”