She's going to kill him. When he had left that morning it had still been dark out, the telephone dragging him from sleep and waking Angela at the same time. While he had seen to the call, Shelagh had been tending to the baby, rocking the infant while warming some formula on the stove, humming in the back of her throat and still half asleep due to the early hour. He had only given his wife a quick kiss and an 'I love you' before rushing out of the flat, his medical bag in hand.
It isn't until midway through the afternoon that he realises the date. He wants to say that he remembers on his own, but it is Trixie that reminds him.
"Are you and Mrs. Turner doing anything exciting for your anniversary tonight Doctor? I can watch the children for you if you'd like," the blonde offers while holding a test tube over one of the spirit lamps. Patrick nearly spit out his tea, his heart suddenly dropping into his stomach.
"Uh, no, nothing particularly special. We might try and head down to the seaside in a few weeks, spend a day at the beach with the children. But thank you for your offer," he says, trying to cover himself quickly. It isn't a complete lie – he has been thinking of taking Shelagh to Brighton, wanting to watch her playing in the waves with the baby, but it is only March, the air still cool even on the south coast.
"Well if you change your mind," Trixie rambles on, going about her work while his mind spins.
He manages to slip out of the clinic a few minutes early, glad that he had somehow not scheduled any patients for the afternoon as he goes to the closest florist. The woman takes one look at his haggard and panicked appearance before taking pity on him, gathering the flowers he points to and wrapping them in paper. He thanks her, ducking out of the shop as he heads towards the flat, intercepting Timothy on his way.
"Tim, why don't you go round to Colin's for the night? Give Mum and I some time together for our anniversary," he suggests, offering his son a few coins. The boy looks him up and down before rolling his eyes and making a gagging sound.
"I don't even want to think about you and Mum kissing all night," he grouses, turning on his heel and nearly running down the street. Patrick can't help the chuckle that escapes him, shaking his head as he wanders the last few paces to the house. Taking a deep breath he opens the door, creeping into the hall quietly, not wanting to wake the baby if she's down for a nap. The flat is in complete silence as he kicks off his shoes, dropping his bag next to the door as he creeps inside, padding up the stairs. His heart melts at the sight that greets him from the bedroom.
Shelagh is curled up on the mattress, Angela wrapped safely in her arms and both of them asleep. He smiles, crossing the floor and resting the flowers on the bedside table, the soft perfume from the azalea and hyacinth swirling in the room as a breeze blows through the open window. Shelagh smiles in her sleep, cuddling closer to their daughter as Patrick sits on the edge of the bed, watching the peace and tranquility of the girls he adores more than anything. Lying down, he cannot help but trace a finger over Angela's hand, the skin soft against the calluses of his fingers before he moves on to his wife, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes flutter open at the contact, a contented noise caught in the back of her throat.
"Hello," she whispers, turning her face so that she can place a kiss on his palm, eyes still half lidded in the late afternoon sun. The action alights something inside him, making him fall in love with her all over again. He remembers kissing her hand the first time, so long ago that it seems like it was a different lifetime and, in some respects, it was. He had been so frightened that he had ruined everything in that moment when she turned away, but watching her with their daughter now makes every chance he has taken worth it.
"Happy anniversary," he replies, watching her smile and snuggle deeper into her pillow.
"I thought you had forgotten," she smiles, glancing over her shoulder at the flowers, noticing how he has gotten the exact mix of blooms that she had in her bouquet at their wedding. "Can you believe we've been married for a year?" she queries, watching him gently lift Angela and carry the infant over to the cot on the other side of the room.
"It seems like just yesterday I was carrying you to this very bed," he replies, grinning at the way he still manages to make her blush as he crawls back onto the mattress, looming over her as she wriggles onto her back, wrapping her arms around his neck. He leans down to kiss her then, their bodies knowing the rhythm now, despite how foreign it had been the first time, back when she was nearly skittish of him, regardless of how much she wanted them to be man and wife in all aspects of the words. She arches her back, a breathy moan slipping from her lips as he kisses down her neck, teeth scraping over her collarbone.
"Patrick," she whimpers, threading her hands in his hair.
"I was thinking we should go to the seaside when it's a bit warmer. Take the children down for a long weekend. Timothy can keep watch of Angela and I can ravish you beneath an umbrella," he smirks, kisses peppered across her skin between the words.
"That sounds wonderful," she responds, letting him settle between her hips, his weight balanced on his elbow. "And as much as I like where this is going, I would like to give you your present first." He groans good naturedly and rolls off her, causing her to laugh as she pecks a kiss on the end of his nose, stroking his fringe off his forehead before she climbs off the bed, going to the vanity and opening her jewellery box. He leans up on his arm, watching her with rapt attention.
He cannot get over that the slight woman who is carding through her things is his wife. That they've been married for a year. She glances over at him, her hair glittering in the sunlight, a soft smile on her features as she walks back, sitting down next to him, her knees pulled up on the mattress as she passes him a plain envelope.
"First year is paper," she explains, spinning her wedding band around her finger, a habit he's noticed she takes up when she's nervous about something. Patrick doesn't make her wait, breaking the seal of the envelope open and pulling out the slip of paper inside, scanning over the words on it. He pauses halfway through, confused, eyes snapping to the upper left corner as he reads it a second time, then a third, and a fourth.
"Shelagh," he says, air punched out of him as his gaze goes to her face, takes in the way she's biting her lip, a blush staining her cheeks lightly. "You..."
"Yes," she answers, squealing when he grabs her, pulling her into a messy kiss.
"How... when... you –" the words are broken in between him plundering her mouth, hands stroking through her hair, down her neck, over her shoulders and to her hips, one going round until he can press it to her stomach.
"Doctor Turner, I would think you of all people should know where babies come from," she teases, tears in her eyes, as he brings the hand not on her belly to cup her cheek.
"I never thought..." he mumbles, shaking his head, unable to stop the smile on his face.
"Neither did I. It's a miracle," Shelagh replies, covering his hand with her own as she rests their foreheads together, sharing the same air as her eyes slip closed. "Happy anniversary."