not wisely but too well (1/3)
anonymous
May 5 2009, 04:42:44 UTC
AUTHOR NOTES: Normally flailanon doesn't care for introductory notes, but I thought I should warn potential readers that this fill takes on the "Going to Hell" bonus in the request. If you're okay with that, flailanon hopes you enjoy the fill--and will probably see you in hell. ;)
Not Wisely But Too Well - part one
The sobs have been wracking little Alfred's body non-stop for so long that Arthur is amazed the child hasn't worn himself out with all the energy it's taking; Arthur is exhausted just from watching and listening to him, from feeling the spasms as he holds Alfred.
"There, there," he says for the umpteenth time. As with each time before, the words and the accompanying bounce do little to slow Alfred down, but Arthur says them again anyhow: "There, there now." When the fit started, Arthur tried following tradition and conventional wisdom and letting Alfred cry himself out-but he cannot bear to listen to the boy's tears. It isn't the noise that bothers him, but the tone and pitch, the utter and abject misery. So Arthur had picked him up. Arthur checked him for fever, tried feeding him, changing him-and Alfred had cried through it all.
Arthur's brow furrows as he looks at Alfred now. He looks into blue eyes too-bright with tears that spill down over skin, normally such a beautiful pale, now flushed a deep pink; those eyes look back at Arthur, fixed on Arthur's face in inarticulate entreaty.
"There, there, Alfred my boy," Arthur says helplessly.
Another wail, higher up the register and marred by hiccoughing pockets of breath, escapes Alfred. Arthur brushes away the newest tears with his thumb. It's a futile gesture; more tears are already coursing down Alfred's cheeks as Arthur lowers his hand, but he doesn't know what else to do, and he must do something for his charge.
He peers into the wet eyes turned on him. "What's wrong, love?" he asks, even though he knows he won't get a response. He longs for the days ahead when Alfred will have language, not just for all the conversations they will have-and Arthur is very much looking forward to those-but so that when something is wrong, Alfred will be able to tell him exactly what it is. And Arthur will be able to fix it.
Again he lifts a hand to Alfred's face, this time to wipe away a thick strand of drool. When his thumb brushes the corner of the child's lip, Alfred turns to mouth it, his sobs subsiding. As soon as Arthur lets his hand drop, though, Alfred bursts into tears.
Experimentally, Arthur touches his mouth again, and again the weeping eases. Gently, Arthur draws down Alfred's lip. He runs the pad of his finger over Alfred's lower gum-and yes, there it is: the telltale bump of Alfred's first tooth, still beneath the surface but getting ready to push through.
The ache in Arthur's chest is washed away by the relief that floods through him. "You're starting to teeth, Alfred, that's all." Arthur smiles into the face looking up at him. He feels an idiot for not having thought of it before, but now that he know what the problem is, he can do something about it.
The crying starts again when Arthur has to take his finger away from Alfred in order to rummage one-handed through the kitchen cupboard, but the search is quick as can be and in a moment he's rubbing the wax gum stick against Alfred's lips.
The sobs slow once more and a curious little hand comes up grasp the stick. Arthur relinquishes his hold on it and watches Alfred try to aim it into his open mouth. Alfred's face starts to scrunch in frustration after two failed attempts, so Arthur gives the stick a helpful nudge. He smiles as Alfred's mouth closes on it.
In the next moment, Alfred stiffens, flings the teething stick to the floor, and begins to cry again.
"Oh, honestly, Alfred!" Hand cupped 'round the back of Alfred's head to support it as he leans down, Alfred cradles the child to his chest and bends to retrieve the wax stick.
A jolt goes through Arthur as Alfred latches onto his nipple.
Usually flailanon does not post correction comments to typos, but this one is potentially confusing. So the second-to-last paragraph above should read:
Hand cupped 'round the back of Alfred's head to support it as he leans down, Arthur cradles the child to his chest and bends to retrieve the wax stick.
Not Wisely But Too Well - part one
The sobs have been wracking little Alfred's body non-stop for so long that Arthur is amazed the child hasn't worn himself out with all the energy it's taking; Arthur is exhausted just from watching and listening to him, from feeling the spasms as he holds Alfred.
"There, there," he says for the umpteenth time. As with each time before, the words and the accompanying bounce do little to slow Alfred down, but Arthur says them again anyhow: "There, there now." When the fit started, Arthur tried following tradition and conventional wisdom and letting Alfred cry himself out-but he cannot bear to listen to the boy's tears. It isn't the noise that bothers him, but the tone and pitch, the utter and abject misery. So Arthur had picked him up. Arthur checked him for fever, tried feeding him, changing him-and Alfred had cried through it all.
Arthur's brow furrows as he looks at Alfred now. He looks into blue eyes too-bright with tears that spill down over skin, normally such a beautiful pale, now flushed a deep pink; those eyes look back at Arthur, fixed on Arthur's face in inarticulate entreaty.
"There, there, Alfred my boy," Arthur says helplessly.
Another wail, higher up the register and marred by hiccoughing pockets of breath, escapes Alfred. Arthur brushes away the newest tears with his thumb. It's a futile gesture; more tears are already coursing down Alfred's cheeks as Arthur lowers his hand, but he doesn't know what else to do, and he must do something for his charge.
He peers into the wet eyes turned on him. "What's wrong, love?" he asks, even though he knows he won't get a response. He longs for the days ahead when Alfred will have language, not just for all the conversations they will have-and Arthur is very much looking forward to those-but so that when something is wrong, Alfred will be able to tell him exactly what it is. And Arthur will be able to fix it.
Again he lifts a hand to Alfred's face, this time to wipe away a thick strand of drool. When his thumb brushes the corner of the child's lip, Alfred turns to mouth it, his sobs subsiding. As soon as Arthur lets his hand drop, though, Alfred bursts into tears.
Experimentally, Arthur touches his mouth again, and again the weeping eases. Gently, Arthur draws down Alfred's lip. He runs the pad of his finger over Alfred's lower gum-and yes, there it is: the telltale bump of Alfred's first tooth, still beneath the surface but getting ready to push through.
The ache in Arthur's chest is washed away by the relief that floods through him. "You're starting to teeth, Alfred, that's all." Arthur smiles into the face looking up at him. He feels an idiot for not having thought of it before, but now that he know what the problem is, he can do something about it.
The crying starts again when Arthur has to take his finger away from Alfred in order to rummage one-handed through the kitchen cupboard, but the search is quick as can be and in a moment he's rubbing the wax gum stick against Alfred's lips.
The sobs slow once more and a curious little hand comes up grasp the stick. Arthur relinquishes his hold on it and watches Alfred try to aim it into his open mouth. Alfred's face starts to scrunch in frustration after two failed attempts, so Arthur gives the stick a helpful nudge. He smiles as Alfred's mouth closes on it.
In the next moment, Alfred stiffens, flings the teething stick to the floor, and begins to cry again.
"Oh, honestly, Alfred!" Hand cupped 'round the back of Alfred's head to support it as he leans down, Alfred cradles the child to his chest and bends to retrieve the wax stick.
A jolt goes through Arthur as Alfred latches onto his nipple.
to be continued
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Hand cupped 'round the back of Alfred's head to support it as he leans down, Arthur cradles the child to his chest and bends to retrieve the wax stick.
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