Night Crier 

Gregory had always been a light sleeper, so it didn’t really come as a surprise that the crying from the room down from his pulled him out of his dream. Sitting up, it only took Gregory a second to realize who it was, and he quickly leapt out of bed, fumbling to get out of his sheets.

Simon hardly ever seemed to cry; at least Gregory didn’t think he did. Yet the fact that he was gone for most of the little baby’s short life meant this could be a common thing. But that didn’t stop him from heading to the nursery now.

Once he reached the door, Gregory carefully slid the door open. Simon’s crying became louder instantly, and Gregory hurried inside. He knew Stasia was tired, and the last thing she needed was to be awakened when he could take care of the kid tonight.

With the door closed soundly behind him, Gregory made his way toward the side of the crib. “Hey, Kiddo,” he whispered, slowly bending over the edge of the crib. “Shush, it’s okay. Don’t cry, Daddy’s here. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Simon blinked and locked eyes with Gregory, a tear sliding down his cheek. When he saw Gregory, Simon lifted up his little arms and reached for him, causing Gregory's heart to swell even though the little boy continued to cry.

Hesitating, Gregory slowly reached inside the crib. He felt his heart rate pick up, fear hitting him as he carefully lifted Simon’s little body out of the crib and into his arms.

The thought of accidentally breaking him flickered through Gregory’s mind as he carefully carried him over to the rocking chair and sat down.

Pulling Simon against his chest, Gregory bent down and kissed him on the top of the head, the sweet smell of his son overwhelming him. It had to be God that they smelled so good; they were literally just little pooping machines.

As he held Simon against his chest, his mind began to wander. What if he ended up messing the kid up? It was still hard for him to believe that the little boy in his arms was his, but he was, and Gregory didn’t know if he had it in him to be a better father than he’d had for most of his life.

At least in the end he’d had Mr. Winfield.

Gregory was pulled from his thoughts when Simon caught his finger and tugged on it, drawing his gaze away from where he’d been staring at the wall and back to the little bundle in his arms. 

“Dada.”

For a second, Gregory’s heart stopped as he stared down at his son. “What did you say, little man?” he mumbled, his heart rate picking up again, but for a very different reason this time.

Squirming in Gregory's arms, Simon moved around until the side of his face was pressed against Gregory’s chest. “Dada,” Simon said, his voice muffled against Gregory’s shirt this time, and it was then Gregory realized that Simon had stopped crying.

Gregory’s chest tightened, and he rubbed his nose against Simon’s cheek. “Yeah, Kiddo, I’m ‘Dada’,” he whispered, his voice cracking, and he was so glad no one was there to hear it. I won’t be like my father. “Dada’s here, and he’s going to protect you, I promise. Dada… Dada loves you, Kiddo.”