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It was still dark when Patrick woke up feeling groggy and disorientated. For a moment he wondered whether he was still on the ground but he felt much too comfortable and warm. He tried to sit up and his head throbbed and ribs ached in protest. He groaned in pain and soft, gentle hands pushed him back on to a pillow that smelt faintly of lavender.
"Shh," she hushed and reapplied a damp cloth to his forehead.
"Angela?" he moaned barely comprehensible. The pain radiating from his side, chest and head felt like red hot fire.
"I'm here," she said, patting his hand.
"W-what happened?" he slurred squeezing her hand just to focus on any kind of pressure other than the pain.
"You got your ass beaten is what looks like happened," Angela told him. "And it wasn't by me if that's what you're thinking. You were dead to the world when I came back."
"You came back?" he smiled weakly at her shadow.
"For my shoes," Angela said flatly and he knew she was lying. "Don't flatter yourself psychic boy, I decided to drag you back out of the goodness of my heart."
Angela had dragged his motionless form from under his arms across the midway to her trailer. Pete who was feeding the animals in the menagerie had given her a strange look when she dragged him past. Angela had opened her mouth to explain that she was in fact not a murderer disposing of his body but Pete just put his hand up and said he'd rather not know.
"So, who did this to you? A mob of angry Kansasian female conquests you didn't call back last time you were here?"
Patrick knew she was joking and was trying to keep the evident possessive, protective rage out of her voice. He remembered getting beaten up by the three men – obviously gamblers his father owed a large amount of money to.
"Yeah, there were five of them," he joked back. "Six if you count the prettiest one that threw her shoes at me."
Even though it was dark in her room, he could practically hear her eyes rolling from the chair she was sitting on next to the bed. She reached over him to the lamp on the opposite side of the bed, exposing her sweet smelling neck to him as she did so making him fight off his desire to kiss the soft skin. Her plait tickled his cheek delightfully. She flicked the lamp on to its dimmest setting and he was intrigued at how it made her skin glow like honey, he also noticed her eyes were slightly puffy and had purple circles underneath them.
She looked at him in the eyes, seriously now.
"Patrick, are you okay?"
"It's not that bad," he assured her through his teeth as he shuffled onto his elbows painfully so he could see her properly.
"Patrick, please," she said sadly, her hand resting on his cheek. "Are you in trouble?"
Angela saw him hesitate and he sighed. He couldn't lie to her but he wouldn't drag her into this mess. She would just unleash her pent up bunny-ish fury and get furious at the men and his father and try and take care of it herself.
He gathered both of her hands up in his and raised them to his face.
"Angel," he said quietly looking directly into her sapphire eyes. "I can't tell you what's going on. But please trust me when I say everything is going to be okay."
"Okay," she nodded and he kissed both of her hands.
"Thank you."
Angela pulled back the quilt and Patrick realised he was shirtless and his jeans had been removed.
"Your side is a bit bruised and swollen," she frowned. "I don't think any of your ribs are fractured but I've put an ice pack on you anyway. You've got a gash on the back of your head too. You don't have to panic though, pretty boy, your face is completely unscathed."
Patrick winced slightly as she readjusted the pack and he laughed darkly and bitterly. "When I thought about the next time you removed my clothes, I wasn't thinking of this."
Patrick received what he now commonly referred to as the look. But he swore when she turned away he saw the hint of a smile tug at the corners of her lips. Only after she made him take two aspirin and drink a whole glass of water, did she join him on the bed. He pulled her into his side where she fitted perfectly and arranged the quilt around her shoulders.
She absentmindedly practised a piano composition on his arm, her fingers lightly tapping over imaginary keys and he knew she would be humming inaudibly. Angela did this to any sort of object, usually Patrick.
Her fingers froze. "Aren't you supposed to stay awake in case you have a concussion?" she broke through the silence with worry.
"I'm fine," he chuckled and held her warm body against his more tightly and brushed his lips over her hair. "But if you're that worried, I can think of a number of creative ways we can stay awake for hours."
Patrick felt her scrunch her nose and knew if he wasn't injured, she would have punched him. She struggled to dislodge her head from under his chin and looked up at him with annoyance.
"Don't think that we're cool all of a sudden," she glared at him and he knew that she would have her hand planted firmly on her hip if they had been standing. "I'll be nice because you're hurt but when you get better, I'm going to resume my temper with you," she informed him as she snuggled against his chest and closed her eyes.
He chuckled and stroked her cheek with his hand.
"But on the contrary, my Angel, you are irresistibly sexy when you get all fired up. Not to mention arguing with you seems to have lately ended up with me being in your bed. So feel free to lose your temper with me any time you desire."
Patrick could feel her fuming but had her too tightly pressed against him for her to react. She muttered muffled words into his chest but Patrick knew she was too exhausted and her sassiness was not at the height it was going to be in the morning when he was bound to pay for his impertinence.
"Thank you for rescuing me, my Angel," he said quietly kissing her hair and thanking her for a god awful lot more than just tonight but she was already sleeping soundlessly on his chest. The pain slowly shifted to a dull ache as he succumbed to sleep as well.
Patrick was enjoying a fantastic dream involving Angela and very little clothing (the dream was delightfully more vivid after their last experience) when he felt himself reluctantly stir awake. His heart stopped momentarily when he felt and saw her straddling his hips and momentarily wondered if he was still in that dream.
However an entirely clothed, still virgin Angela had a sad and angry look on her face as she gently examined and caressed his bruised chest. Her eyes trailed up his chest his neck and met his own dazed stare and she half-smiled at him before averting her gaze, absolutely dazzling him. She was perfect.
"Good morning, Miss Ruskin," he said entirely wide awake now. He stretched underneath her and was surprised at how little the motion hurt. It was bucketing outside and he smiled knowing it was going to be dead at the carnival today.
"Morning," she replied with the hint of a blush on her cheeks. "Your bruises look much better today and the swelling's gone."
"It certainly feels better," he told her.
She laughed lightly. "Good, I thought it might have to be me that was gentle with you the week after next."
Angela's birthday. Instead of the usual sense of excited and nervous butterflies Patrick got when he was reminded of this, he got a sickly feeling to the stomach and he knew exactly what it was about: Eleanor.
He couldn't deceive this angel, especially when she was going to trust him with something this monumental (even if she didn't seem to think it was). Sure, she already knew about the first time but he had no idea what her feelings would be towards the fact he had slept with her friend again a mere fourteen days before Angela herself. Even though his intentions were good, Patrick felt despicable. If Angela did find out and get upset after they had sex together, he couldn't imagine how she would take that or how that would make her feel. He wanted everything about that night and that memory to be absolutely perfect for her. Patrick knew, and he had considered many possibilities, that Angela had to find out before her birthday and it had to come from him. At least then if she was upset she could change her mind about it if she wished. If he did it now he knew he would have a little time to let her be mad at him and try and get past this by her birthday – he knew sleeping with her would be out of the question but he still wanted to make her eighteenth birthday perfect for her.
Patrick sat up, ignoring his body's painful protest against this movement, and pulled her closer to him to straddle his waist so that their foreheads were touching.
"Did you mean what you said last night?" Patrick asked Angela with their lips barely two inches apart. "About loving me no matter what silly thing I do?"
"Yes," she whispered back breathlessly and he wondered why she was breathless and what she was possibly expecting him to tell her.
"I…had sex with someone yesterday…and I'm so sorry, Angel."
Patrick determinedly held his gaze into her eyes to gauge her reaction. Angela's eyes widened in surprise and her smile faltered all together. Clearly, whatever she had been expecting wasn't that.
"Oh," she gasped simply and stared down at the hem of her overlong shirt/nightie. Patrick wished desperately that he could read her mind right now. "Why are you telling me?"
He sighed and closed his eyes and pressed his forehead more firmly against hers.
"Because you might find out from someone else and I can't let that happen."
It was as if a switch had flicked in her head and all trace of utter heartbreak left her face as she climbed off him and pulled her high waisted shorts with the suspenders off the floor and on to her legs.
"I don't think you sleeping with a woman is groundbreaking news around here so no one would talk about it. And what does it matter if I do know or don't know who you're doing or how frequently? It's no surprise."
Patrick was startled at her lack of caring. "I just thought you wanted…that we should wait…"
"I never said you needed to wait, Patrick," Angela said still not looking at him as she buttoned up her shirt and pulled her suspenders over her shoulders before tying her Converses up on her feet. "Don't feel bad. We're not together and you haven't done anything wrong."
Angela picked up her keyboard and a stack of paper from her desk.
"Angel, it was Eleanor."
The instant he said it, he knew (from last night's experience with the shoes) he probably should have waited til Angela had something a little less heavier than a keyboard in her hands. He saw her resolve crack again and it was just total agony.
"Eleanor?"
"Yes, I'm sorry, Angel. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen…"
"No…"
Angela set her keyboard down and shakily sat on her chair. Patrick was kneeling in front of her in an instant and she was trying to fit together the impossible pieces.
"No, you wouldn't do that," she said to him, trying to breathe through the winded feeling in her chest. "I know you. You would never do that."
"Angel," he took her hands and looked into her eyes sincerely. "I never wanted to hurt you. It's my fault, I should have been more firm and said no and trusted in you. She threatened to tell you about the first time if I didn't and I…I can't lose you. I should've trusted you to know better though, Angela. I'm so sorry I hurt you."
"She what?" Angel said, swaying slightly.
"Angel, are you…"
"That bitch!" Angela nearly shouted and ripped her hands out of Patricks and stood up from her chair so fast she knocked it over. "WHAT SORT OF PSYCHOTIC PERSON BLACKMAILS SOMEONE INTO HAVING SEX WITH THEM?!" She was waving her arms around and he tried to hush her. "AND SHE KNOWS HOW I FEEL ABOUT YOU. Urgh, that coprophagous fop!"
He would've been impressed at her literary use of her insults but was still trying to replay what she said before that. She grabbed her keyboard off her desk again, planted her pin striped hat firmly on her head (clearly she meant business) and stormed out of the room. After hastily pulling his jeans on, Patrick tried chasing after her but was confronted by Jonathan in the hallway. "Where are you going, honey?" Jonathan asked as she stormed out of the trailer into the rain with her keyboard over her head.
"TO SLAP A BITCH WITH MY KEYBOARD!"
Jonathan's eyes followed her in terror and confusion and he spat his coffee out when he turned around and saw a shirtless Patrick Jane, still doing up the zipper and buttons of his pants, running out of Angela's bedroom behind her. Danny popped his head out from his bedroom doorway.
"Hey Patrick," Danny waved enthusiastically as Jonathan had a look of absolute shock at Patrick who quickly followed her with a sincerely apologetic look at her father. It was raining but he could faintly see most of the carnival workers were out, running around and trying to get their stalls from getting wet.
He knew he was attracting a lot of strange looks, probably because of his attire (or lack thereof) and he was shouting after Angela over the noise. Pete wasn't even surprised at the two. His expression clearly stated 'I'm too old for this'.
Patrick ran his fingers through his hair trying to get the wet blonde curls from getting in his face and he chased her. She was still holding her keyboard on her head so he caught her waist and lifted her up slightly.
"PUT ME DOWN PATRICK JANE!" she yelled at him. He planted her on her feet and spun her around and looked down at her.
"How do you feel about me?" he asked loudly over the rain.
"Really, Patrick?! That's what you are concerned about right now?" she asked furiously from under her keyboard. "You've been violated and I'm going to go bludgeon one of my best friends for you!"
Patrick knew in that moment that he was going to spent the rest of his life with this frustrating and incredible woman or at least chasing her.
"I love you," he shouted at her.
"What?" she shouted back trying to hear him.
"I LOVE YOU!"
"I know, I love you too."
Patrick shook his head. "No, I mean I love you in a Pete and Sam way."
Angela looked at him completely confused and although he had taken her mind of committing murder with a music instrument, he was worried that he had blown it. Probably doing it this publicly wasn't the best idea either.
Angela reached up on her tip toes to press her lips against his and he stood there in utter shock for a few moments before recieveing her enthusiastically lifting her up so she could reach him better. Although his mind was preoccupied at the moment, he briefly noted Angela dropping her keyboard behind her with a crash to the ground, some of the workers cheering but most of all he heard Sam.
She cried out with happiness and ran out of her trailer, knocking Leslie to the floor in her haste. "My babies, finally!"
I had a dream where Angela had her keyboard on her head and stood up on her tip toes to surprise Patrick with a kiss. I would have drawn it but I can't draw for peanuts so I made it the next chapter. Idk, I just need them.