your whispers are voiceless

Tales of a Soldier

Tales of a Soldier ( o n e - s h o t ) 

[I know, the title sucks and so will the story and so will the theme, but eh. It's Christmas! :D Which is exactly why I wrote this. Merry Christmas everybody!]

". . . . and the dinosaurs all lived happily ever after." Niall closes the book and places it on the sky-blue night stand. A smile etches on his lips when he sees that James is cuddled into his teddy bear beneath the covers, mouth hanging slightly open. He's sound asleep. Niall knows that his son doesn't actually understand the words he had been reading aloud earlier, but he knows how effective reading a story is when you're making a toddler give in to sleep's grasp. And plus he had learned from James' pediatrician that this really helps a growing child's cognitive skills. Silently, Niall leans down and kisses him on the forehead. "Good night, James," he says, smiling. "Merry Christmas." 

He spends a few seconds just looking at his son. Rubs his thumb across his soft tiny cheek. Christmas carols drift by from the closed windows, a  light golden glow edging the panes, illuminated by the numerous fairy-lights strewn across their house and the neighborhood. Everything seems to be full of life. Of the Christmas spirit. And Niall finds it unfair. How come other people get to spend Christmas with their loved ones, with a complete family, all smiling and grinning and loving, and they have to celebrate in total silence? 

It's been two years. Two Christmases without Liam. And it's so, so hard. They get to talk through mail and occasional calls, but it isn't enough. It isn't enough to assure Niall that his boyfriend is going to come home safe and alive and hear his son's first word and be there when James finally stands up and makes his first steps. It isn't enough to fill this rotting hole in his heart that just keeps on expanding every passing day that Liam's not there. He wasn't even there when Niall welcomed James into this world! 

What if Liam doesn't come home . . . ever? What if he never gets to see his--their son's milestones?

Those everyday questions blared louder this evening. Had tugged at his lungs and heart. Niall and James sat by the dining table earlier, three hours before Christmas Eve, waiting for Liam's call. He said in his last mail to Niall that he would call by 9:30 tonight just so he could greet them a Merry Christmas. And Niall was ecstatic. Now, he would have let James sleep because it was way past his bed time, but he knew how much Liam loved hearing their little boy babble away on the phone. So they stayed up. Waited. And waited. And waited. But no call came. The phone on the table remained dead and unmoving, silent like how Niall had held his breath for the longest time.

Thirty minutes into the delay Niall had to taper his thoughts from jumbling and forming scenarios he didn't want to think about. They stayed. An hour and a half later James was getting really impatient from having to sit on Niall's lap for so long, twisting and turning in his father's arms, so Niall had put him down and let him crawl a little while to somehow wear off his impatience. Niall sat there. Waiting. An hour had passed, and within that time James had wiggled into his father's lap again and was barely conscious, head lolling from side to side. 

That was it for Niall. His chest was heavy and steely when he pivoted James in his arms so the toddler could rest his head on his shoulder and walked upstairs. Tears were already brimming his eyes then when he carefully tucked his son, whose eyes were fluttering and struggling to keep open, in his bed and pulled out a story book. 

The tears are heavy and hot behind Niall's eyes again. Thoughts of what if's burn through his mind, delving his skin in ice water and contracting his lungs. His heart cracking with every held breath between his stream of thoughts. Sighing shakily, he decides to lie down beside James. Curls into his sleeping body and holds him as close as possible without waking him up. He breathes in his son's short hair.