She ran a hand down his arm, stroking the muscles for a moment, her voice hitching a second later as she spoke. The week had been a trying one, filled with death and despair for all of Poplar, first with the death of Sister Evangelina, followed swiftly by the fallout of thalidomide, the drug being recalled and sending the entire country into shock.
Both Shelagh and Patrick had worked tirelessly through the ordeal, focused so fully on caring for the community that Patrick feared for his wife's sanity. She was spending so much time caring for him that he feared she wasn't taking care of herself, devoting her time to their family and the community while not allowing herself to fully process what had happened. With Sister Evangelina's funeral now over, a bitter sadness still hung in the air, particularly at Nonnatus, Patrick having offered to run the clinic at the community centre in order to give the Sisters another few days to grieve.
The afternoon had been gruelling, an endless stream of mothers coming to have their children and pregnancies checked, many panicking still about the thalidomide and possible complications. Patrick had tried to placate them as much as he could, but it was Shelagh who had done the majority of the work along with Patsy, both women explaining as much as they could within the time constraints of the clinic.
Now the community centre was deserted, save for the doctor and his wife. Patsy had needed to attend to a few district patients before retiring for the night and had left a few minutes prior at the insistence of Shelagh who was in the process of stacking chairs while Patrick finished his notes. When the last was placed back in the corner she walked into the kitchen, taking her glasses off so she could run a hand over her face, sighing when she felt her husband come up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and placing a kiss on the crown of her head.
"Are you all right my love?" he asked, releasing her as she turned around, looking up at him with a complex expression.
"With everything that's happened this last week I... I just feel so confused. So misplaced. I feel that I'm lost in a fog - like the one you found me in all that time ago, when you came to get me on that road and saved me from myself and my doubts. I need you to do that again Patrick, please, I need you to make me feel alive because I don't know how else I can move forward." The words came out in a rush, a mixture of pain and desire as she ran a hand down his arm.
He let out a groan, pulling off his jacket before advancing on her, backing her up until her thighs hit the counter.
"You're alive Shelagh, you're alive and you're here with me, and I love you," he said, nipping at her between kisses, bending slightly so that he could get his hands to her thighs, hitching her up until her backside was on the worktop, positioning himself between her legs. She couldn't help but let out a whimper then, raking her hands up his back until they managed to find their way into his hair, her fingers carding through the strands as they kissed. Normally she would have been horrified at the thought of the public affection they were engaging with. They were in the community centre kitchen for goodness sake! But she couldn't find it in herself to mind, more intent on needing to feel loved and connected with her husband in that moment than concerned for a sense of propriety. Although she hated to admit it, there was something in her that made Shelagh excited at the thought that anyone could walk in on their debauchery.
"You're so gorgeous my love," he whispered, leaning forward and capturing her neck in a vicious kiss that was all tongue and teeth. Shelagh groaned, one of her hands quickly going between their bodies, fiddling with the fastening of his trousers before she was able to release the button and zip, sliding her hand into gap in the fabric. Her fingers instantly wrapped around his erection, squeezing it firmly as he let out a moan into her mouth. It took her a moment to realise what she had done, panic slipping into her mind quickly. It was one thing to be kissing her husband in public – in a place they worked for that matter – but to be engaging in more was something else. Half of her mind was desperate to snatch her hand back and push him away; to promise him that they would continue this at home. But the other half of her, the half that was a woman desperate for her husband, ignored that, letting her head fall back against the cabinets as his hands slid down her thighs, quickly retracing their steps back towards her hips, but with the addition of the fabric of her uniform, pushing the material to her waist, his callused fingers lighting sparks throughout her legs.
"I'm so glad you found me," she panted against his mouth, stroking him for a few more moments with deft fingers, whimpering in the back of her throat when his fingers moved from her thighs to her centre, pushing against her through the fabric of her knickers. She couldn't help but allow her hips to jerk slightly against his hand, biting her lip when he shoved the fabric to the side.
"I will always find you Shelagh, I need you," he breathed, looking down at her fingers wrapped around his cock, gently knocking her hand away so that he could position himself between her thighs, pushing into her in one stroke. He nipped at her neck again, one hand palming her hip reflexively as he pressed close to her, tugging her to the edge of the counter so that he had a better position to move in and out of her. His other hand found its way to her neck, yanking her into a brutal kiss, his fingers mussing the hair at her nape.
"Patrick," she groaned, biting his shoulder softly, her nails digging into his shirt as she tried to pull him even closer. He grunted, thrusting forward and causing her to let out a gasp, her hair abandoning the sense of order it had been in as she thrashed against the cabinets. Shelagh was muttering unintelligibly by then, loving how Patrick's hips beat a staccato rhythm against her, twisting at just the right moments, his muscles tensing and relaxing in time with hers.
Patrick slid one of his hands down between their bodies, his thumb tracing over her as he drove into her with increasing vigour, hitting the sweet spot inside of her over and over, causing her to yell out, orgasm ripping through her without warning.
"Oh God, Shelagh," Patrick panted, grinding against her frantically for a few seconds, hips snapping forward into the grip she had on him as he came, cock jerking and throbbing inside her as he spilled his release.
"Oh my," Shelagh breathed, kissing his temple and trying to ignore her own sweaty bangs that were falling into her eyes having escaped the hairpins she had used that morning. Patrick smiled, carding a hand through his own hair before he managed to pull back from her, placing a soft kiss on her lips in apology as she winced slightly at the feeling of their bodies disconnecting.
"I love you," he said, tugging his trousers up, trying to stifle a slight laugh.
"What's so funny?" Shelagh demanded, attempting to fix her clothes.
"I'm sorry my Love, but your hair is an absolute mess," Patrick chuckled, cupping her cheek once his belt had been fastened. Shelagh rolled her eyes, making sure her skirt was back below her knees before she slid off the counter, hands coming up to check her hair. A splay of hairpins caused her to gasp, eyes wide. She giggled softly, attempting to gather the pins with the intent of dashing to the lavatory to fix the damage before they had to walk home, but had to stop after sweeping the majority into her palm, a sob bubbling in her throat. "Oh Shelagh," he breathed, stepping back into her personal space and pulling her into a tight embrace, one that was fuelled with compassion and sympathy rather than the need for physical intimacy.
He had been waiting for her to endure her own grief properly all week, her desire to maintain a sense of decorum having overridden her own need to express her emotions since that horrible Saturday filled with discord. Now she seemed to have finally broken, her body sagging in his arms as her walls crumbled, tears streaming down her face as she cried into his neck.
"I have you Shelagh, I have you," he whispered, kissing her temple as he managed to gently lower them both to the floor, pulling her into his lap. She went willingly, curling into his chest, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt until her knuckles turned white. Gently he reached down, trying to ease her grip so that she didn't hurt herself, kissing her fingers when she relented. He wasn't sure how long they stayed there on the floor, Shelagh's weeping slowly tapering off, her ragged breathing the only real sound in the room aside from the overly loud ticking from the clock above the door.
"I'm sorry Patrick," she sniffed, leaning back, her eyes red and puffy. "If I didn't look a right mess before, I'm sure I do now." Her attempt at self-deprecating humour was only thwarted by her need to bite her lip and clench her eyes shut, fighting off another wave of tears until she had herself under control again.
"You're beautiful," he assured her, kissing her on the forehead and taking his handkerchief from his pocket, gently removing her glasses until he could wipe the tears from her face. She leaned into his palm, kissing it before letting out a sigh.
"We should get back to the children," she muttered. Patrick nodded, wincing as they both stood up, his knees cracking angrily and making Shelagh laugh. "I'm sorry, the floor wasn't the most comfortable option after working all day."
"You can repay me by making tea," he teased, pulling her into his side. "Are you all right?" The question was posed softly, his concern for his wife overcoming him again. She was always the strong one, the beacon of light in the storm, but he knew occasionally he had to be the one to hold her up when her knees failed her, the one to lift her when she could not raise herself. Shelagh slipped her hand into his, squeezing his fingers and rubbing her thumb over his wedding band.
"No," she said, voice quiet but edged with a strain of hope, "but I will be."