Work Text:
The first time Henry sleeps through the night, Ilsa barely sleeps at all.
She spends most of the night staring down at their sleeping child, worrying over each furrowed brow and grizzle, unnerved by the sudden change in the baby who refused to sleep for more than two hours at a time. He had been so fussy, unwilling to be put down for too long and much preferring to be held close to one of his parents’ chests as he dreamed about whatever babies dream about.
It’s odd, really, to find herself already missing the sleepless nights, the extra cuddles with half closed eyes, the comfort that his solid warmth against her chest would grant her each evening.
Perhaps she should be rejoicing in the change, relishing the extra sleep that they have both been missing out on, but Ilsa can’t bring herself to be happy about their new routine. Even when she falls asleep for several hours, tucked safely in Ethan’s arms, and wakes up feeling refreshed, Ilsa is still not happy.
The second night isn’t much better.
Ilsa stares at him from across the room, unable to listen to a word Ethan is saying as they get ready for bed. She finds her hopes rise each and every time there’s movement from the crib, only to deflate as Henry's eyes remain firmly closed.
With a sigh, Ilsa removes her glasses and dumps them on the bedside table beside the book she’d promised herself she would read tonight.
“Maybe it’s time for us to move him into his own room,” Ethan suggests, jostling Ilsa as she climbs into bed beside him. “A lot of the books recommended six months, and now that he’s sleeping through the night—”
“No,” Ilsa sharply cuts him off. “No, it’s much too soon.” She frowns and flicks her lamp off, turning away from Ethan as she stares into the darkness.
“I think Henry's more than ready, babe, but if you aren’t then—”
“It’s late, Ethan.” Ilsa sighs, interrupting him once again, “let’s talk about this in the morning.”
She feels Ethan curl into her from behind, her husband's hand resting flat against her stomach. Ilsa has only recently allowed him to touch the loose skin, still self conscious about the small pouch of flesh that hadn’t been there before her pregnancy, but Ethan seems to adore it; often running his fingertips across the raised bumps of stretch marks that still shine a vivid crimson.
“I’m sorry,” Ilsa whispers into the darkness, embarrassed about snapping at the one who has done nothing but love every inch of her. “It’s stupid, I know, but I’d prefer for him to stay here with us for a little longer. I just…. I can’t move him yet, darling.”
“It’s not stupid.” Ethan kisses her shoulder and pulls her closer, “your feelings are never stupid." He sighs and massages Ilsa's stomach with his fingers, “I don’t mind if he stays in here until he’s a teenager if that’s what you need, baby.”
Ilsa chuckles softly and shakes her head.
“I don’t think Henry will agree with you on that one, darling.”
“Maybe not,” Ethan grins, “but at least I got to hear that beautiful laugh again.” He sighs and curls himself further around Ilsa’s body, the warmth of his chest radiating against Ilsa's spine. “Maybe he’s sleeping better because he knows Mommy is right here watching over him,” Ethan murmurs. “I know I feel safe knowing you’re right beside me each and every night.”
“Right,” Ilsa scoffs. “Because the Ethan Hunt needs me to sleep well at night.”
“It’s not "the Ethan Hunt" sleeping next to you,” He whispers. “It's just Ethan, your husband, and I need to have a safe place to go every night just as much as everyone else, of course that my badass wife is the best to make the place safe.”
Ilsa sighs gently and turns over until she and Ethan are face to face, their noses only inches away from brushing. She feels guilty, disliking herself for momentarily forgetting that her husband has needs, too, that Ethan has been dealing with everything she has been dealing with—that he is more than just a spy who works his butt off and risks his life to keep everyone safe.
“I’m sorry,” Ilsa murmurs. “Of course you do. I know that, I’m just…”
“Exhausted, running on fumes, keeping our baby strong and healthy with your body?” Ethan smiles softly, “you’re allowed to get a little muddled every now and then.” He shifts closer and leans forward, nuzzling their noses together as he wraps one arm around Ilsa’s waist, “you’re doing such a great job, Ilsa. Henry is so lucky to have you and I hope you know that.”
Ilsa shyly ducks her chin, her lower lip trembling as she sucks it inwards.
“You’re always so hard on yourself, baby,” Ethan whispers, “and I think you need to remember to focus on all of the wonderful things about you.”
“You’re doing great, too.”
Ilsa instantly deflects, but she means it.
“Watching you with Henry has been the greatest six months of my life,” Ilsa states, her voice wavering. “It’s just so… special. It’s like you were both born to be a family.” She smiles a heartbreakingly watery smile, “you and Henry are everything to me and I feel more content than I ever have before, I’m just… anxious.” Ilsa shrugs, “it’s like my heart is running around outside my body and I have no way of keeping it safe—keeping you and Henry safe.”
“But you’re already doing it,” Ethan says. “We’re safe and loved and showered with attention every single day. What more could someone want?”
He sweetly captures Ilsa's lips with his own, the kiss vulnerable and light, conveying everything he feels with a swipe of a lower lip with his tongue. “I’m happy, Ilsa. You and Henry make me happy. So happy that I feel like I could burst whenever I come home and watch you together.”
“I don’t want that to change,” Ilsa admits in a whisper. “Moving Henry to his own room is change and I’m not ready for this to be over.”
Ethan gently strokes Ilsa's cheek with his thumb and tsks.
“Then it doesn’t have to be over yet,” he states simply. “Henry doesn’t know any better and I’m sure he wouldn’t care about the baby books even if he did.” Ethan kisses the tip of Ilsa's nose, “I’d put good money on him choosing to be right by his Mommy’s bed every night.”
“I know he has to move at some point,” Ilsa sighs, “but not yet. Not while he’s still so little.”
“Not yet,” Ethan agrees. “We still have time, baby. Just you, me, and Henry for as long as you need it to be, but I’m sure you’ll be more than happy to have separate bedrooms once he starts teething,” he teases with a cute smile. “We’ll probably forget what silence sounds like while running back and forth between our bedroom and his. Your fitbit won’t know what’s going on!”
“Ugh.”
Ilsa buries her face into the pillows with a tired chuckle, “that sounds like a job for Dad.”