#dad!luke

He creeps in, groggy but pained to see Bud with reaching out to him, the cloth on his forehead on his lap and tears streaming down his cheeks. Luke moves the cloth onto the nightstand and scoops Bud into his arms slowly, carefully, rubbing his back gently as Bud snuggles into Luke’s shoulder, his cries becoming sobs as his tears feel warm seeping into Luke’s shirt. 

“Hey, hey, daddy’s here.” He comforts softly, “What’s wrong, Bud?”

He knows what’s wrong. Of course he does, but he wants to know what’s bothering Bud from Bud’s perspective, letting him communicate the best he can for a toddler still learning how to do so.  

“Daddy!” He wails, his cheeks burning and Luke can feel how warm he is, too warm as you’d said but Luke continues to soothe his back, “Tummy hurts.”

Luke dips sideways awkwardly to pick up Bud’s moose stuffed toy and the damp cloth. Bud’s cries muffle into sobs, pushing away from Luke’s shoulder and taking Moose from Luke, clutching him to his chest with a wobbly lip. 

“Your tummy hurts? Mummy told me you were sick in the night, is that right?” Luke speaks ever so calmly, throwing the cloth over his shoulder and watching Bud nod his head and sniff. “Let’s get you comfy on the couch, yeah?”

Luke offers him a smile and Bud falls quiet again, his tears and sobs coming to a natural stop with Luke being there, listening and he believes he can make it go away. Though Luke doesn’t truly think Bud’s stomach hurts, it’s more a nauseous feeling that Bud can’t describe but either way he’s not well. 

They enter the living room and Luke places Bud on the sofa, disappearing briefly to find a towel and lay on the cushions before putting together a make-shift bed, laying Bud down and leaving again quickly. Bud doesn’t fuss, nor whine, or cry, he cuddles to his stuffed toy and watches the birds hop on the garden fence. Luke returns shortly with a thin blanket over one arm, medicine and a sippy cup in his hands and a bowl tucked under his arm, settling beside Bud with the designated sick bowl on the coffee table just in case. But Bud doesn’t stay lying down in this make-shift bed, he sits, giving Luke the opportunity to pour a small dose of medicine and feed it to him before Bud curls into Luke’s side, peering up at him despite being sleepy still. 

“Where mummy?” He asks, rubbing his feet together as Luke wraps his arm around him.

Luke pats down his bedhead while turning the TV on, switching to the children’s channel for a little while. You and Luke monitor how much TV Bud watches, but usually on a Saturday you would take Bud down the rink for a skating lesson but since he’s unwell, Luke can’t do that - even though he has two weeks off because of the Winter Olympics - so all he can do is keep him entertained until he wants to sleep. But Bud doesn’t get to see Luke like this, not often so why would he want to sleep? He’s got his dad for a whole day and all he wants to do is be with him. 

“Mummy’s getting her nails painted, you know how she has the pretty colours?” Luke replies, pointing to Bud’s fingernails, “There’s a person who paints them for her. Aaand sometimes they put stickers of animals or glitter on too.” 

He does his best to explain a nail appointment as simple as he can, Bud nodding along. Luke knows he probably has no idea what he’s talking about, but he’ll understand when you return with new nails. 

“Water…” Bud croaks, making grabby hands at the sippy cup on the coffee table, but Luke waits, asking him for the magic word, “Please.”

 “Good boy.” He hands him the sippy cup, “I’ll get you a snack, kiddo. Hang in there.”

Bud watches Luke, tracking him, as he walks into the kitchen behind them. He places the sippy cup on the cushions and swivels around, kneeling and watching Luke put bread in the toaster from behind the sofa. Luke expects the TV to keep Bud a little occupied while he waits, but two small arms wrap around his leg, whimpering like a lost puppy. Luke peers down as the toast pops and he drops it onto a small plate before guiding Bud back to the sofa. Except he does go back to the sofa, he wanders over to the bookshelf and pulls out a book, bringing it back and then Luke lifts him back to the make-shift bed just for him to snuggle back into Luke’s side. Luke sets the plate on Bud’s lap in exchange for the book, the title one he read to him three days ago - The Very Hungry Caterpillar. He chuckles, winding an arm around the boy and opening the page. 

“Alright, the very hungry caterpillar…” Luke begins, feeling Bud lean into him.

Taking a break from hunching over, he leans back against the sofa again, huffing and stretching his arms and back while Bud’s keyboard falls silent, swivelling around to see what Luke’s doing. He crawls over in a hurry, perching his hands on Luke’s thigh and takes a look at the wrapping paper and items in front of Luke while also clocking that the TV is also on.  

“Hey, Bud. You okay?” Luke asks, wrapping his arm around the boy and stroking his hair gently. 

He looks up with curious bug eyes and Luke notices Bud’s lost a sock somehow but there’s no doubt he’ll find it later in an unlikely place, last time he found a rogue sock in his hockey bag while on the road. Luke smiles at him, watching him think about his words.

“What Daddy doing?” he asks, glancing down at the wrapping station and back up to Luke. 

“I’m wrapping Mummy’s Christmas present I got for her. Do you wanna help?” 

Bud nods silently, awaiting some sort of instruction. Luke removes his hand from his head, only for Bud to make a whining noise and pout his lips. It’s then Luke knows where he got that from, he does the same thing when you stop scratching his back. So, he continues stroking the boy’s hair, watching his eyes meet his again.

“Where Mummy?” Bud continues, as if he’s just noticed you’re not home despite hugging you goodbye earlier that day. 

Luke chuckles, pointing to the TV where Santa appears, Bud’s head following his finger, “Mummy is talking to Santa about your Christmas presents. She’s telling him about what a good boy you’ve been.”

Bud snaps his head back around to face Luke and he feels it coming. He knows that look on Bud’s face, the big eyes, parted lips, the way he’s getting fidgety. Luke scoops him up from under his arms, lifting him to sit between his legs and planting a kiss to the crown of his head. 

“Why?” Bud tips his head back into Luke’s chest, asking exactly what Luke knew was coming because he’s come to grow closer to this phase of asking ‘why’ after everything. 

He knew this would come, but sometimes even he doesn’t know how to answer and neither do you. Earlier before you’d left, Bud asked why you were going out, and you had told him to see Santa. He asked why again, and you replied by telling him that if you didn’t, he wouldn’t get any presents for Christmas. And he asked again until Luke managed to intervene and somehow, with his Luke charm, persuaded Bud to say goodbye and lure him away with the offer of a snack. 

Luke gives a small laugh, pulling one of the smaller presents towards Bud’s legs, unrolling a tube of wrapping paper and setting the gift on it, mapping out how much he needs to cut off while Bud tilts his head forward to watch his hands move, tucking his feet closer to him as if to try and keep out the way, his toes wiggling. 

“Because only good boys and girls get presents from Santa. If you’re on his naughty list, no presents.” Luke explains, hearing Bud’s tiny gasp at the no presents part of the story, his hands covering his mouth as Luke glides the scissors through the paper before setting them out of Bud’s reach. He peers down at him and his surprise, tickling him gently as Bud’s giggles radiate a warm joy between them before he stops and kisses his head again. “But you’ve been good, little man, lots of presents for you.”

Bud kicks his little legs at the praise, his attention being slowly obtained by the film playing on the TV until he’s entranced as Luke continues his clumsy wrapping, now with the addition of a child cosying against him. 

“Good…” Bud whispers, repeating Luke like a personal mimic. 

He does that a lot with Luke, repeats what he says and does, so Luke tries his best to be on his best behaviour (as you say) around him. He’s the example and quite a few times he’s caught the child copying him like this. If he’s not repeating what he says, it’s those toys that make noises he has - animal names, sounds, even tunes and songs. He once went through a phase of meowing when he learned about it. 

Luke pulls off tape from the dispenser, his other hand holding the paper around the gift, Bud’s attention caught by the ‘snap!’ sound, flinching and blinking slightly. Luke pinches the tape between his fingers, bringing it closer to Bud.

“Can you stick this here?” Luke asks, his finger tapping the gift as Bud pinches the tape as Luke did, laying it over the paper where he was directed with no argument, just his usual curiosity. It’s crumpled but it’ll do, you’ll be tearing it apart anyway. “Good job, Buddy! Wanna do the next one?” 

The difficult part was feeding him, discovering he was a picky eater was frustrating enough but when there was something he did like, he happily took the spoon into his mouth, followed by a smile of satisfaction. When he didn’t enjoy the food, you were shocked to find no fuss, no tears, no spitting anything out, just his face screwing up unpleasantly with firm refusal to open his mouth. And it wasn’t so bad, the happy hums he made brightened the room and reminded you that he is your life, your blood and your soul. 

As a baby and infant, his hand was always quick to hold either yours or Luke’s finger, sometimes falling asleep while doing so. It was a sweet gesture…until he realised that he could put things in his mouth. Your finger, Luke’s finger, hoodie strings, teddies, all would be attempted to go into the mouth and slobbered on.

Even through infancy to now as a toddler, Bud adores playing with Luke, and once again, he’s not rambunctious, or prone to being destructive but he does enjoy launching a stuffed toy or three across the living room…and smacking Luke with anything he can get his hands on. Toys that make noise are his favourites, musical ones specifically and it’s often the bane of your existence, hearing him hit the same button on the keyboard that makes animal noises repeatedly, only encouraged by Luke yet the giggles that follow make it all okay. Cars and trucks fascinate him, but also bring a lot of dirt and mud, his clothes and knees constantly stained with grass or mud from playing outside but he loves it, loves exploring and loves playing with next door’s pets that find themselves in your garden. When he was younger, Bud’s other favourite toy was found by accident. Luke decided to lay on the floor, holding out a toy for Bud to grab but instead, Bud’s little hand grabbed Luke’s hair, hard. Now, Luke doesn’t mind when you grab his hair, but babies have no sense of strength or other’s pain, and his son seemed to enjoy Luke’s face twisting up. It then meant Luke’s hair was pulled at every opportunity. Now, at two-years-old, thankfully he’s seemed to outgrow that phase, replacing it with telling you that your hair is pretty (and you’re sure Luke’s influenced that). 

What Bud does love, is being cuddled. Man, does he love to be held. Not in an extremely clingy way, he won’t fuss if he’s alone (he never did much even as an infant) but if you or Luke are sat on the sofa, Bud must follow, must be sat with or on one of you and he sits and stares at you with wide and adoring eyes, as if memorising both of your faces. He’s much clingier with you, Luke thinks he prefers you, if he’s honest, but a small pang of guilt creates that idea - guilty that he’s not around as much as you due to hockey but your voice reminding him that he’s there when it really matters soothes the biting feeling. It doesn’t occur to Bud, however, he’s two, as long as he can eat macaroni cheese and pet next door’s cat, he’s happy. 

There is one thing about Bud’s personality that you take pride in, Luke too and it’s how much of a sweetheart he is. You know it, Luke knows it, his nursery teachers know it. He knows when you miss Luke, and those are the moments where he’ll cuddle up with his moose stuffed toy. He knows when you’re upset and if he hears you cry, he’s hugging your legs because he’s learned that hugs make people feel better. Sometimes if you’re out at the playground, he’ll approach with a flower he’s picked and every flower you receive, you press into a book and keep them forever. His nursery teachers relay similar stories of how he brings them a daisy.

“That’s right, Buddy, we do have curly hair. What else do we have; can you point again?” Luke praises with a smile, watching how Bud’s eyes crinkle in the corners as he tries his best to smile with an open mouth. 

Some say he’s looking a lot like Luke the older he gets, but Luke disagrees heavily every time it’s brought up. He thinks Bud looks more like you, give and take a couple of features. Some of your friends also assume that he’s going to grow up to be a little Luke but as usual, Luke argues back his point that Bud is a little you - his behaviour, personality, interests. The only thing Luke thinks he shares with Bud is hockey, but everything else is all you and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He loves how gentle he is with animals, how interested he is by them, he loves how it’s your legs he hides behind when he’s shy, how when he’s feeling ill or hurt, it’s you he calls for. 

Bud thinks for a second, watching Luke brush his teeth in the mirror before the thought reaches his head. He looks back at Luke, then points to his eye enthusiastically, almost poking himself. 

“Almost, I’d say your eyes are like Mummy’s, but Mummy has very pretty eyes, you’re very lucky.” Luke smiles wide, the words leaving his mouth with no real thought, just straight from the heart but it’s important for him to show Bud that he loves you dearly, he wants him to grow up around a loving household, show him that showing his feelings is okay. 

Luke pulls the toothbrush out, using it to point into the sink, “Spit, into the sink this time, preferably.”

You stifle a giggle hearing his request but seeing the dried toothpaste on the counter for the past two days, it makes sense. It’s fine though, Bud’s only three and he’s doing his best with the stool. Bud spits the toothpaste froth into the sink, looking pleased with himself and reaching for his face cloth as Luke rinses the toothbrush. He places it back into the cup, dries his hands and helps Bud wash his face before hanging the cloth over the tap.

“Good boy. What else?” Luke ruffles his son’s hair, sitting on the toilet seat to reach an approximate eye level. 

Bud hops off the stool, stands between Luke’s legs and points to his nose and the mole on Luke’s, his eyes wide, “This mark here!” 

Luke sees the stars in his eyes, maybe it’s the lighting or maybe it’s because in Bud’s world, Luke’s his hero and every passing moment with him is special. Your eyes water slightly at the sight, and you lean your head onto the doorframe, well aware that Luke’s seen you, but he doesn’t say or do anything. He knows you want him to cherish these small moments. 

“Nice one! This is called a mole. You have one here and here, too, like me.” Luke explains, his smile matching Bud’s and points to his own mole and then gently pressing his fingertip to Bud’s matching ones on his cheek, watching Bud cross his eyes to follow his finger. 

You wish you didn’t have to interrupt, but it’s getting late, and you open the door a little wider, standing straight and placing your hands on your hips. 

“What are you two up to in here?”

Bud whips his head around, opens his arms and rushes towards you, his curls bouncing and he stands in front of you. Crouching down, you hold his hands, his grip tight with excitement.

“Mummy! Look!” He grins wide, showing his teeth off to you as if to prove he’d brushed them himself. 

“Sparkly clean! Good job, superstar!” You congratulate him with a bright enthusiasm, pulling him into a warm hug and smothering his cheek with a plethora of kisses, his giggles filling and warming Luke’s chest as he watches adoringly.  “Now let’s get to bed, yeah? You have practice tomorrow and didn’t you want to show Coach how your skating’s improved? We’ll come tuck you in in a minute.”

Bud nods, slipping past you and you watch him run down the hall to his bedroom. When you turn to face Luke, you’re met with his chest, his arms winding around your waist as he pulls you into him, humming as you place your hands on his pectorals and he sways you both gently. There’s a moment of silence between you both, just gazing into each other’s sleepy eyes with lazy smiles.

“You are coming tomorrow, right? It would mean the world to him, he really wants to show you his skating.” You ask, a tinge of sadness underlining the softness in your voice. 

He sighs, cupping your cheeks and placing a kiss to your forehead. Every time the mention of Bud’s skating or hockey lessons comes up, he feels his heart sink to his stomach a little because as his father, there’s nothing more he wants than to watch his son progress and fall in love with a sport. You’ve been taking Bud to the free skates between his lessons, letting him practise his balance and Luke hopes to one day join in.  You tell him all the time what you and Bud get up to when he’s either at the rink, on the road or doing something that pulls him away from home for a while and he wishes he could be there. His teammates tell him all the time that it gets easier and that he’ll naturally find a way, and that summer becomes the most important time in the year but right now, he’s battling with himself. He just wants to be there for Bud like his dad was there for him.

The adrenaline rushes through him and he moves without much thought, his lips colliding with yours firm and heated, pushing you against the doorframe and your head bumps the wood. You don’t know what’s gotten into him so suddenly, but you don’t complain when his tongue swipes across your lip and you fall into a rhythm. It’s been a long time since he kissed you like this, a long time since he’s had the opportunity to. 

He pulls away slowly, breathless and his thumbs caress over your cheeks, “I’ll get there as soon as I can, angel. I should be leaving the rink as his class starts. Fuck, I’ll jump a light if I have to.” 

Bud isn’t due to finish nursery until four when Luke’s supposed to pick him up, so all the worst possibilities run through Luke’s head at once. Illness and injury mainly - he couldn’t fathom seeing his two-year-old little pride and joy red cheeked and in pain. Bud had just recovered from a scrape to the knees (he tripped over his own toy digger on the patio), he couldn't have fallen over twice.

He exhales deeply when the traffic begins to move, ears twitching as the radio reports the lunchtime news of a virus spreading amongst school children and he feels the sweat drip down his back. His jaw clenches, mutes the radio and takes another deep breath, eyeing the wooden star ornament hanging from his rear-view mirror, one Bud had made for him in nursery. It wasn’t much and the wood was painted red with smears of black and white, just as Bud had seen Luke wear on the odd matinee game, but the gift alone brings comfort to his nerves, his heart thumping less as it dangles. 

Twenty minutes later, Luke pulls into the car park of the nursery, and he realises how panicked he really is when he slams the car door harder than usual. There’s no other parent around, and he’s so fixed on his worries that he doesn’t notice the deserted outside play area, or that Leo kid who usually screams at him isn’t there.

Even the hallway leading to the main room’s quiet, and when he reaches the door, he takes a shaky breath before pushing the door and stepping in. But the shaky breath means nothing when he sees an empty playroom, all the toys and sets tidied and now he’s just confused.

From the quiet book nook in the corner, a small bundle of children sits huddled, and the familiar curls bounce in the corner of his eye. 

“Daddy!” Brings Luke back to the present and out of his head, and his eyes meets Bud running over to him with stars in his eyes.

He crouches, scroops Bud up in his arms and spins him around once before holding him secure in his arms. “Hey, Buddy, you okay?” 

“He’s been a delight.” Niamh, the staff member who called him, approaches with Bud’s little Lighting McQueen rucksack, “He’s been asking when you were getting here non-stop.”

“Uh, yeah, what’s that about? Is he okay?” Luke can’t help but ask, taking Bud’s rucksack from her.

“Y/n didn’t tell you?” She raises her eyebrows, surprised at him shaking his head while he takes his hoodie drawstring out of Bud’s mouth. “We’re closing early today; pipe maintenance and we can’t have the kids around the chaos of it.”

Luke’s body visibly relaxes, shoulders dropping and a sigh of relief leaving his lungs, a ‘thank God’ being mumbled under his breath. He spent so long worrying over nothing, not even his job made him freak out like that. And while he was losing his patience over the slow traffic, Bud was happily playing the whole time. 

“She mentioned it, but I thought it was next week, my bad, really.” He gives a chuckle, unable to push back the slight embarrassment rising to his cheeks. 

▸ He didn’t like to do so, but he asked his teammates who were already fathers for any advice - a lot of advice, actually. From furniture, to nurseries, for what to watch out for. He didn’t want to ask Quinn all the time, but the different perspectives were helpful for him. Luke just needed the reassurance that he was going to be okay. He also needed to ensure his building furniture ability was up to standard but a small part of his friends and teammates knew they’d be called a couple of times for assistance.

▸ He took his husband duties seriously. You tried to do everything normally, keep you grounded but to Luke, you were to remain as relaxed as possible, not allowed to lift a finger, especially closing into the due date. He meant well, he was worried, even if he knew the chore he was doing was wrong, he’d rather you told him how to do it than stress over it (but sometimes watching him was more stressful). 

▸ If there was another thing Luke was determined to master before you went into labour, it was learning the essentials of childcare. He was adamant to learn how to swaddle perfectly, sometimes getting it wrong on purpose so you’d have to take his hands and guide him just because he wanted to feel your touch. There were countless times you’d peered around the nursery doorframe to see him on FaceTime with Quinn, copying how to hold a baby using a teddy bear. He had no shame in asking you for help, but Luke wanted to learn and surprise you, it would have eaten him alive if it came across as him relying on you.

▸ There were nights where you had both sat in bed, having the serious conversations where decisions needed to be made. But some of these started as small spats that eventually evened out, one being the sex of the baby. Luke had no preference and wanted it to be a surprise, but you wanted to know. His reason being that a surprise could be something more to look forward too, double the excitement, a thrill but after you had explained to him that you wanted to know because it made planning names and buying outfits and toys easier, allowing more preparation time, he understood and the spat dissolved into the decision that the sex were to be known. Another mini argument occurred after dinner one night when you’d told Luke that you couldn’t rely on Jack to babysit all the time. Luke had understood that, but he was just stubborn and scared but soon apologised after. 

▸ The further the months moved on and the more pregnant you became, the softer Luke grew. Most evenings you’d be cuddled on the sofa, watching a show together and a large palm would slide under your shirt and soothe over the bump in circular motions. The second he found out talking to the baby helps with connection, not only were you listening to his talking, but your unborn child too, Luke taking time out to tell your son all about his day, who made what joke, who was who on the team and about his family. Sometimes when watching a film, he’d not only tell you random facts but also your stomach too. 

▸ One thing Luke knew he wouldn’t miss were your cravings. They weren’t too obscure, but getting caught straight after a hockey game buying seven bars of chocolate only fuelled his teammates’ fire. He already had the reputation for eating and the chocolate didn’t help his case, even if the boys knew it was for you. But Luke loved you too much to take it to heart, all he cared about was you and so when you wanted chocolate, you got chocolate, even if you didn’t eat much of it before or after your pregnancy. He definitely wouldn’t miss being woken up at one in the morning to your doe eyes and hands teasing over his chest because you needed a sweet treat. 

▸ You hated how your mood shifted so much, none of it came from anywhere except a hormone spike and each time made you feel awful afterwards, especially since Luke received most of it. But as much as he panicked in the beginning, walking on egg shells, cautious with his words, called his mum for help, he was always there standing with open arms for you and you couldn’t have appreciated him more for not losing his temper or walking away. He let you cry into his chest even when you didn’t know why you were upset, he held your hands when a minor inconvenience tipped you over the edge, he listened all the time and showed you all his love endlessly.