"I am not a cutie pie. I am a bad ass!" the words are yelled, punctuated by the sound of a table being hit, a lamp crashing to the floor and a spill of expletives.
"You are a drunkard," Patrick said, rolling his eyes as he heaved his wife off the floor, attempting to carry her upstairs to bed. She fought against him for a moment before moaning, burying her face in his neck.
"Why is the world spinning?" she questioned, suddenly clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping her from breaking apart. In a way, he supposed he was, finally clearing the landing and shoving their bedroom door open with his foot.
"You've had a little too much to drink Love," he explained, depositing her on the bed and brushing her hair out of her face. "Have you ever even had more than one glass of wine before tonight?" She shook her head, immediately regretting it and letting out a groan at how dizziness overwhelmed her.
"Why is it so hot?" Shelagh demanded, trying with unsteady hands to take her blouse off. Patrick batted her hands away, carefully parting the fabric for her. He knew letting her go out with the nurses was a way for her to become better integrated with the side of Nonnatus that wasn't part of a religious order; he just hadn't anticipated the number of drinks Trixie would end up buying them all. He watched his wife flop back on the bed, her eyes screwed shut. "I don't feel well," she whimpered, grabbing for his hand with trembling fingers.
"I know," Patrick placated, stroking her knuckles. "You're going to feel poorly for a little while. Then I'm going to tease you mercilessly for getting drunk, you silly woman." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, standing up to retrieve the wastepaper basket for when the rest of Shelagh's drinking caught up with her. "And for the record, if you are a 'bad-ass', whatever that may be to you, you're a cute one of those as well."