"Chicken bones"
Title: Chicken bones
Fandom: X-Men
Pairing: None, past Erik/Magda
Genre: Family fic
Rating: K
Warnings: None
Word Count: ~750
Summary: Erik takes care of what he loves, and he never loved anything more than he does his daughter.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, least of all copyright to these guys.
Author's note: So, that's a very late gift for scrapbullet who requested some daddy!Erik. I don't think it falls exactly into what you wanted, but I wasn't sure what to write and this happened on my keyboard so there. I hope you still like it <3
Erik stands in front of the canned foods shelf and looks miserably at all the choices presented to him. It’s not that he couldn’t make the damn soup himself, but apparently some liquid that might not even be nutritious at all is better than his home-made chicken broth. He’s not miffed about it all. He puts two cans of the stuff in his basket and checks if he has everything his little girl has asked for. She was very specific about the stuff she wanted and didn’t want. He’s sure it’s because of growing up with his mother when she wasn’t cared for as carefully as she is now that Erik finally got her home. Stupid Magda. Stupid, immature, irresponsible Magda that broke his daughter’s taste.
He adds another box of Kleenex to his basket when he passes the toiletries shelf, just in case.
The house is silent when he gets there and he would be worried if he couldn’t sense the silver ring on Anya’s finger laying in her bed upstairs. Sometimes, it’s good to be able to keep track of your child without making them aware of that. He heats the soup in the kitchen and pours it in the dark blue bowl, which has been dubbed hers months ago and puts it on the tray. Soon enough there’s a mug with a cookie monster, steaming with hot tea with honey and lemon right next to it; together with a little plate of crackers, and some apple sauce if she felt like eating something sweeter. He’s just thankful he’s allowed to make that himself.
Anya is sleeping, just as he predicted. Her hand is curled around half-used tissue and put right next to her face, and she’s breathing noisily, nor her throat nor nose up to business yet. Erik smiles softly and sets the tray on her overflowing nightstand, full of medicine and balled up tissue, and sits on the bed, carding his fingers slowly through her short, blond hair.
She awakens shortly after and grumbles at him moodily, swatting at his hand blindly, too old in her opinion to be babied like that. It’s hard to explain to her that he’s not treating her like a child, he just wants to show her how much she means to him. He steals a kiss to the forehead before she’s fully awake yet, and straightens up, taking his hand away before she can really hit him.
She grumbles some more but leans up, propped on the mountain of pillows he supplied her earlier, blinking the rest of the sleep from her eyes. It’s adorable really. Erik sighs and places the tray on her knees, aware that she can’t take any medication before she actually eats something and telling her so. He gets a rebellious eye for that, but she sips the soup obediently so he counts that as a win.
He’s ushered out when the tray is empty and medicine taken, Anya having her own plans for the afternoon that don’t require his presence.
He wishes she would need him more sometimes, he didn’t have a chance to be with her during her childhood and now it’s seems to be too late for any paternal affections to be welcomed.
He’s roused from his sleep by a short yell and he’s half to his daughter’s door before he even registers getting out of bed. It seems the years of being a mercenary pay off sometimes. He finds Anya curled against her headboard, knees pulled under her chin, shaking and crying. He doesn’t hesitate to go to her and pull her into a tight hug, even though he knows she doesn’t like it. It seems to not be a problem this time, Anya tucking her face into his shoulder and clinging as if afraid he’d disappear at any moment. He’s making some nonsense noises that he thinks are more annoying than comforting, but he think they help after all, his daughter’s body slowly relaxing into his own.
She pulls away and wipes her eyes, not looking at him and he sighs forlornly, already missing the feel of her protected like that. He wipes a hand over his tired eyes and makes a move to get off the bed, but he’s stopped with a hand on his wrist.
“Could you stay with me tonight, Daddy?” Anya asks, looking up at him with eyes still filled with tears.
He doesn’t even think about saying no, sliding under the covers and pulling her onto his chest. They sleep well, both of them, surrounded by familial love and comforting knowledge of being close to someone who cares.