Prompt 34: "You Look Like You Need a Hug"
Summary: Patrick reflects on his conversation with Sister Mary Cynthia in 6x05.
A/N: My flight is delayed three hours because of the stupid Bomb Cyclone, so I'm throwing myself into Turnadette to try and feel less murderous.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
He didn't realize how long he'd been driving until all the crumbling buildings of Poplar and London had been replaced with fog-covered trees. He wasn't ready to return home, but a glance at his gas meter told him he shouldn't go farther either. Instead, he pulled off to the side of the road and embraced the familiar sadness of sitting alone in his car.
Patrick and his little green MG had been through everything together - Timothy's birth, Marianne's diagnosis and passing, chasing Shelagh. After all this time, and despite how much he loved his flat and his work, his car was the only place he felt truly at peace and protected from the world. It didn't feel like it felt before, about two years ago. He didn't feel lost or like he was about to have a breakdown. He just felt sad.
He rarely talked about it with anyone except Shelagh, but he felt incredibly protective of the nurses of Nonnatus, especially the ones who arrived so young. He'd known Sister Mary Cynthia (nee Nurse Miller) for over a decade and he'd watched her blossom from an impossibly shy, unsure little girl into a brilliant, opinionated young woman. He'd seen her face adversity before and work through it and come out the other end ever stronger than before. It broke his heart to see her up against something she couldn't see the end of. He certainly knew what that felt like.
He didn't even know if Northfield would have a place for her, but it was his first instinct to try. It's warm fields and comforting halls now held a sense of comfort for him that they never used to and he hoped more than anything that he could give that to the young nun. If he couldn't throttle the man who sent her down this path or punish Sister Ursula for sending her to that dungeon, then maybe he could help her find her way back to her former, optimistic and caring self.
It was getting dark. He needed to get back. He needed to help finish packing up the house and needed to rescue Tim from Shelagh, who was likely driving their son insane with last minute organization. The drive back to Poplar seemed so long compared to the drive out. He supposed that wasn't unusual. He always had a habit of drifting off and not realizing how far he'd gone. Pulling up to the flat, he was surprised to find it mostly dark. Between him and Shelagh being used to odd hours and Tim staying up all night reading, the flat was usually bright.
"Hello?" he called out as he came through the front door. Tim hurried around the corner from the sitting room.
"Shh," he whispered, "Angela just fell asleep on the couch."
"Why is she on the couch?" Patrick asked, unsure of his son's shenanigans.
"So I can watch her while I finish my homework." Tim explained, obviously.
"Where is your mother?" Patrick asked the next obvious question.
"She said she had to run to the surgery and I should tell you to meet her there when you got home." Tim shrugged. Patrick paled, was it a development in the Thalidomide case? Was Shelagh okay? He still wasn't a huge fan of the idea of her out and about on her own in this stage of her pregnancy. Tim must've noticed his worry because he shook his head before adding, "I don't think it's an emergency. She just said you should meet her there."
"Right, I guess I should head back out then." Patrick sighed. "And turn on another lamp, I'll not have you blind before your exams." he gestured to the mostly darkened sitting room. Tim rolled his eyes, but Patrick noted the other light through the window as he left with satisfaction.
He hurried to the surgery. Tim's assurance had slightly appeased him, but he still felt concerned. By the time he arrived, Shelagh was far calmer than him. He entered the surgery to find light spilling from his office and when he opened the door, Shelagh was peacefully sitting at his desk, hand caressing her swollen belly as she hummed. She looked up warmly when she heard him.
"I was right, you look like you need a hug." she remarked lovingly.
"What?" he asked, confused.
"I stopped at Nonnatus on my way home today and Sister Julienne mentioned you'd been by." she explained. He nodded knowingly. "I'm sorry, Patrick, that can't have been easy for you."
Patrick felt his earlier tension ease at her words. How had he been so lucky to marry a woman who knew exactly what he needed? He drew the second chair around the desk so he could sit by her side.
"What that man did to her was, unthinkable," he paused, "but that she was sent to a place that was supposed to help her yet treated her like a caged animal…"
"I know." Shelagh took his hand. "I still don't know how we all allowed it to happen. But Patrick, Sister Mary Cynthia is strong and now she has you to look after her."
"You didn't see her face, Shelagh." he sighed deeply. "She was so...broken. Not sad, not angry, just broken and with no hope of a light at the other side of her struggling. I know what it feels like to fear you might never be happy again and to see that on someone once so full of life…I couldn't bear it."
"You're going to try to find her a place at Northfield?" Shelagh asked knowingly.
"If I can." Patrick replied. "I'm still friends with several of the doctors there, I'm hoping I can pull some strings."
Shelagh got up and moved to his lap.
"You're a wonderful man, Patrick Turner." she spoke gently. "I know no one can immediately right what wrongs have been done in this case, but I believe you can help get her in the right direction."
He leaned in and kissed her soundly, finding it easier and easier, year by year, to believe the sentiments she bestowed upon him. He was right two years ago. He never would fall down that rabbit hole again. Not when he had her.
"We should get home." he whispered reluctantly. "When I left, Tim was reading the Lancet in the dark while Angela slept on the couch."
Shelagh blushed.
"That might've been my fault. I got a little too excited and packed Angela's bedding today. I haven't been able to remember which box I put it in…" she trailed off, horribly embarrassed. Patrick just laughed.
"I'll remember that the next time you accuse me of hoarding. At least I don't pack so efficiently that I kick our daughter out of her bed."
She lightly slapped him on the chest before bursting into giggles herself.
"Fine, I promise to stop making you and Tim throw things out…."
"Hah!" he exclaimed in triumph, but she wasn't finished.
"...if you both tackle the Lancet cupboard tomorrow."
His face fell and Shelagh beamed. He should know better than to try and gain the upperhand on a pregnant, nesting woman, even if he had had a hard day.
34 down, 16 to go! Hope you enjoy!