Work Text:
Moody slumped into the chair, her spine creaking just as much as the century-old wood. She reached down and tore off her shoes, but set them gently on the rug to muffle any sound. Her aching fingers, throbbing after a day filled with writing, ran over her face. Her eyes closed and she sighed.
When they opened, Moody took note of a thin sliver of light emerging from the curtained windows. It illuminated the crib with a subtle glow, the shine of a dying moon hidden behind wispy summer clouds. She simply stared at the crib, at the bundle of blankets just visible inside, keeping little Jane warm.
The footsteps of a giant attempting at stealth were behind her. She let her arm fall to the armrest, palm open. A hand soon grabbed it, a thumb stroking her skin with care. Still, she did not take her eyes off the crib.
“She’s been sleepin’ for about twenty minutes before you came,” Dwight whispered.
“Did she drift off easy?” Moody replied.
“Hardly. Wanted her mama.” He squeezed her fingers.
Moody huffed. She finally glanced up at him. His drifty black hair obscured part of his face, laying the rest in shadow. There was a small glimmer from his eyes.
Sometimes she resisted him when he said things like that, but tonight it was only a heavy reminder of what she needed to tell him. She didn’t want to. She wanted to stay here, with that crib.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered. Carefully he knelt down next to her chair.
She thought about telling him. It was only fair to him; he would be left alone for a week with a young baby. They likely needed to find some place for Jane to go, so that he could work.
It would ruin this peace, though. Speaking the words would make it a reality.
“Nothing. Just wish we didn’t have to work so much.” It wasn’t a lie. “I like when all of us are here.”
His thumb passed over her hand once more before he let go. He looked away from her and toward the crib. “Me too.”
“Me too.”
They both awoke in the middle of the night to a wailing cries. Moody groaned, rolling over and preparing to put her feet on the cold wooden floor.
“I’ll bring her. You stay here.”
Dwight lit a candle on his nightstand. He shuffled around their bed and out the door, leaving Moody waiting in the darkness. She loosened her robe.
He reemerged, Jane in one arm and the candle held in his other hand. After setting the candle on her nightstand he gave her Jane.
Wrapped in a bundle of knitted blankets, all that was visible was her face. Her small nose that was scrunched up as she cried; her wide blue eyes made orange by candlelight; her tufts of curly brown hair that grew more wild day by day.
As Jane nursed, Dwight sat up in bed beside her. He had grabbed a book, somehow reading it in the dim lighting.
“You can sleep if you need,” she whispered.
He glanced up at her. “I don’t need.”
Moody shook her head and looked back at Jane. Dwight didn’t look back at his book.
“What do you need to tell me?”
So he wasn’t going to let it go. Moody wet her lips. “If you must know, they’ve put me on another campaign up north, to the villages on the outskirts. I leave in three days.”
All of this was so temporary. How could it not be, when she was hardly here?
Dwight sighed. “Okay. We’ll… we’ll figure it out. You did ask for more desk work, though? Less trips?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “You know I did. And of course they did exactly as I asked, like always.”
A beat of silence. “Look, we’ll figure it out, Moody. I just wish you wouldn’t hide these things.”
“I wasn’t hiding it. You know now, don’t you?”
“Only because I asked.”
“I wanted to ignore it for a while. Is that so much to ask?” she whispered, feeling her eyes well up.
Dwight sighed. She didn’t look at him, but she felt his eyes leave her and return to his book. The details of Jane’s face had been smeared by the tears sliding down her cheeks. It was all a blur.