Chapter 5
Summary: Shelagh, Tim, Angela, and the family at Nonnatus House while Patrick is in surgery.
A/N: Okay, there is a tiny bit of cuteness and a dash of hope in this one! It's still an angst story, but this chapter is not 100% angst. :D Thank you so much for your incredible reviews! They seriously mean the world!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
"Please will you be my dad?" he asked in confusion. She could only smile and nod, words having escaped her hours earlier. She didn't know if there were words to describe how she was feeling. Even 'miracle' didn't seem a good enough word.
He spun her a bit and held her so delicately, as if he was terrified he might ruin it all with a single touch. She barely noticed. Her own hands rested on his arms, but her focus was all on his eyes. How long ago had she told him all she wanted was to see his face when she told him she was pregnant? It felt like a lifetime ago. That dream belonged to a woman she'd forgotten existed and yet, here he was, looking at her like she'd given him the entire world, sun, and stars.
He was the first to regain the ability to speak.
"How long?" he whispered as he caressed her cheek so gently she nearly didn't feel it.
"Eight weeks." she grinned. His eyebrow rose and she knew he was as amused as she was.
"Well, you were right, South Africa was certainly good for both of us." he teased her lightly, but his voice still trembled with wonder. She blushed and turned her face to the floor out of habit, but he reached up and held her chin tall. "Shelagh, my love, there's no need to be embarrassed. This is…this baby is the most remarkable thing I could ever have imagined and everyone else is going to feel the same way."
"Are you sure?" she asked shyly. He knew she was worried about what people would think about them having relations despite her infertility, but he truly didn't think anyone would care. Perhaps the odd stare here and there, but everyone who mattered to them would be thrilled.
"I am. Have you told anyone else?"
She looked sheepish for a moment, as though guilty for not telling him first, but his question held no malice.
"Sister Julienne. I didn't mean to, but she gave me tea and the milk made me nauseous, and one thing lead to another." She admitted. He nodded happily. Shelagh smiled. "Oh Patrick, she was so thrilled."
"And everyone else will be as well." He promised. "We've waited so long for this, my love, and fought so many battles. I think good things might be happening at last. Nothing is going to take this from us."
Shelagh surged forward to kiss him and made a slight groan of frustration when he wouldn't melt into the embrace the way she was anticipating. She pulled away and pursed her lips.
"I'm sorry, darling, I'm just so afraid of-"
"Patrick, you just said nothing would take this from us." She reminded him. "I'm confident that includes kissing your wife."
"I have always admired your confidence." He chuckled before gathering her up into his arms and lavishing her with the kiss she'd wanted since she walked through the surgery door.
"Mmm, Patrick." She sighed against his mouth.
She felt him pull away again and she opened her eyes to protest, but he wasn't standing before her.
"Patrick?"
She looked down. He lay on the floor beneath her, skin pale and cold as ice as a puddle of crimson formed below his body.
"Patrick!" she screamed. "Somebody help us!"
No one came.
"Please, no! Patrick!"
"Patrick! Help! Help!"
Sister Julienne was out of her chair in seconds and she knew reinforcements would be arriving at any moment. Shelagh had cried herself to sleep a little while earlier and Sister Julienne hadn't left her side since. The only thing even slightly appeasing her was knowing Shelagh was safe here in Nonnatus even if nothing else was right in their world.
"Shelagh, my dear, shh, it's alright, you're having a nightmare." Sister Julienne held Shelagh's thrashing arms to the bed so she wouldn't hurt herself. Her heart ached at what she knew Shelagh must be dreaming about, but this was different. She could help Shelagh with a nightmare, though, reality wasn't necessarily any more comforting.
"Somebody help, please!" Shelagh cried out as Sister Julienne continued to hold her down. Her skin was flushed with sweat and her breathing was far too quick for the nun's liking given her pregnancy.
Phyllis and Barbara hurried into the room from down the hall and Sister Julienne quickly beckoned them forward, though it wasn't needed. Phyllis quickly took over holding Shelagh's left side and Sister Julienne resituated to hold her right and continue to soothe her.
"Barbara, there's a cloth and a bowl of water on the nightstand, I don't like how warm she is." Phyllis indicated. Her face held its daily stoicism, but she couldn't completely hide her heartfelt concern. Throughout the Thalidomide scandal and whilst in South Africa, her relationship with Shelagh had grown considerably. Not only that, but since returning to Nonnatus and speaking with Barbara, Phyllis couldn't help but imagine what it would be like if it was her own pseudo-daughter on the bed before her with Tom in the hospital and the idea was haunting her more than she wanted to admit. Sister Julienne needed her help now more than ever.
Barbara diligently grabbed the cloth with none of her standard clumsiness and moved to Phyllis' side of the bed. Whatever Sister Julienne was whispering in Shelagh's ear was working a bit to slow her ragged breathing, but her pulse was still high, her skin still radiated heat, and she still had yet to wake. Her screams turned to soft whimpers.
"I…sorry Patrick…I broke…promise."
"Shelagh, no, you didn't do anything wrong." Sister Julienne assured through teary eyes and a crackled voice. "We're here, we're right here with you, just wake up."
Barbara stood again and went to grab the bowl to rewet the cloth, but thought another course of action might be better suited half way back to her post. Without warning Sister Julienne or Phyllis, Barbara hurled the contents of the bowl over Shelagh's face. The two older women leapt back reflexively and moved to scold Barbara, but their chiding was silenced as Shelagh frantically blinked awake.
"Patrick?" she asked instinctively.
"Sorry, it's just us." Barbara apologized. "And sorry about the water. We couldn't wake you and we were getting worried."
Shelagh didn't accept the apology, but Barbara wasn't offended. Her attention, like the other nurses' was on their patient, who seemed to slowly be realizing what reality she'd woken to.
"It really happened." Shelagh whispered. She was surprised when she didn't feel tears on her face, only the pain of clenched tear ducts. Apparently she was too dehydrated and exhausted to cry. She hadn't felt like that in years. She felt Sister Julienne move beside her to let her head fall against her shoulder and she didn't fight the motion. Feeling the touch of someone she loved, even if it wasn't the one she wanted, felt better than nothing. "Where's Patrick?"
She wasn't even sure she wanted the answer. The last thing she remembered was Patrick on the floor, losing blood, just like her nightmare. For all she knew, he could be-
"He's at the London." Phyllis quickly answered, sensing her train of thought. "Nurse Mount is there as well and she's set to call as soon as there's any new information." Shelagh slightly nodded and Phyllis took that as as good of a cue as she was going to get to continue. "Nurse Franklin fetched Timothy and Angela for you. They're downstairs with her and Sister Monica Joan. I'll drive the three of you to hospital when you feel ready."
Shelagh squeezed Sister Julienne's hand as tightly as she could. Guilt flooded her body. She hadn't even thought of Timothy and Angela until now; she was too preoccupied with the idea of losing her husband that she didn't stop to consider her children would be losing a father. What kind of mother did that make her? How could she possibly deserve to bring yet another child into her home when her two current children needed her and she could barely speak? She felt her panic returning.
"Lass, you have to breathe." Phyllis tried to keep her from hyperventilating again. "Breathe with Sister Julienne, alright? In," the four women collectively inhaled and exhaled, "and out. Good. One more time." Phyllis instructed and they did it again. Shelagh's breathing calmed. She was nowhere near okay, but there was something about being surrounded and supported by Nonnatun women that she couldn't help but be reassured by. The living breath of her family, all her family, would get her through this.
"I want to call Patsy." Shelagh whispered. "Can we call her?"
"Of course." Barbara agreed. "I'll ring the London. Can I get you anything, Shelagh?" Shelagh looked to the younger nurse and was blown over by the earnestness in her eyes. They would get her anything she ever wanted or needed. They would be strong when she couldn't be and hold her up when she wanted to try.
"No, thank you, Barbara." she replied. "For everything."
Barbara nodded and hurried away to the phone. Shelagh looked between Nurse Crane and Sister Julienne.
"How long has he been in surgery?" she asked quietly, but with no uncertainty that she was going to fight her way back to usefulness.
"A little over two hours now." Sister Julienne replied gently. Phyllis nodded to confirm the timing.
"Nurse Mount won't let anything slide." Phyllis said. "You know she'll know as much as the doctors do the whole time." Shelagh nodded.
"You said Timothy and Angela are downstairs?" she asked.
"Yes, but you don't have to rush yourself, my dear." Sister Julienne said. "Angela doesn't fully know what's going on and Timothy understands that you need time." Shelagh shook her head and sat up before glancing around for her shoes. They were neatly on the right side of the bed. Sister Julienne must have taken them off after she fell asleep.
"No, I need to see them." Shelagh insisted, pulling on her shoes. "Timothy must be petrified, I need to make sure he's alright."
Phyllis went to protest, but Sister Julienne shook her head and sighed. 'She's going to do it anyway, let her be.' Phyllis lowered her hand and watched Shelagh put herself together, literally and figuratively. She had to hand it to younger woman, she didn't know many people who could do that as well as she could. Phyllis knew the motions - they all did, in their own way - fix your hair, straighten your belt, wipe off your shoes. Present a picture no one would ever think you painted to cover the cracks beneath, and eventually, the cracks might disappear. Shelagh had decided she was going to be strong for her children's sake and that decision was unshakeable. She would wear her heels and twist her hair if it meant putting others at ease and Phyllis and Sister Julienne both admired her for it, even if they didn't think it was wise.
Shelagh's hands traveled from her hair to her waist to straighten her dress and she paused.
"These aren't my clothes." Shelagh observed. "What happened to my clothes?" Her fingers ran along the soft, dark blue material, investigating it. Sister Julienne took a deep breath.
"It's one of Nurse Franklin's dresses." she explained gently. "Your clothes were...they were no longer suitable."
"No longer-oh." Shelagh remembered. Her own light skirt suit from earlier would've been soaked in blood. She blocked the notion from her mind and thanked God for whoever decided to change her dress. She wouldn't have been able to handle waking in fabric weighed down by Patrick's blood. "Thank you."
"It was no trouble at all." Sister Julienne promised. "Now, why don't you head downstairs and I'll see to a few cups of Horlicks for you and the children?" She placed her hand on Shelagh's back as an encouragement and reassurance.
"Thank you, Sister." Shelagh whispered. Sister Julienne nodded and ducked through the doorway before her own tears started to fall. Phyllis followed with the towel and bowl in hand.
"I'll get this cleaned up." She said. "There's no rush at all, Mrs. Turner. Whenever you and the children are ready, you let me know."
"Thank you, Phyllis." Shelagh said with soft squeeze to the older woman's arm. "And it's Shelagh, please." Phyllis nodded warmly and headed to the kitchen. Shelagh held her hands together tightly as she stepped out of the bedroom as though they might hold the rest of her steady.
The sight that greeted her downstairs was painful, but expected. Despite how scared she knew Tim would be, it didn't surprise her that he too was doing everything he could to stay strong for Angela. Her daughter clearly didn't understand her daddy was in trouble. Angela lay on the floor of the sitting room with her trusty colored pencils in hand and a jumble of papers before her. Timothy sat beside her and would add whatever she instructed to the newest drawing. Shelagh stood in the shadows and watched, not quite ready to dive into the emotional onslaught she knew was coming.
"No, Timmy, green!" Angela exclaimed as she held out her tiny hand to stop Tim before he reached the paper with his blue pencil. Tim smiled, but it was tense and forced. He did his duty, though, and replaced the blue pencil with a green one and began to color. Shelagh couldn't make out the drawing from her hiding place, but Angela was approaching it with the utmost focus. She colored delicately and waited for Tim to finish his part. With a critical eye, she examined the finished piece. "Done!" She proclaimed and added the drawing to a growing pile of completed projects.
"Good job, Ange." Tim praised. Shelagh saw his shoulders tremble. Her poor, sweet boy. He wasn't doing any better than she was.
"What are you two working on?" She stepped into the room.
"Mummy!" Angela ran to her and hug her tight, her head pressed hard into Shelagh's hip. Timothy looked up at her. It amazed her that the same silent conversational skills she shared with Patrick were so easily passed to his son. 'I'm scared.' 'I know. Me too.' 'What's happening?' 'I don't know.' Shelagh looked away from Tim to gather herself before kneeling down to Angela's level.
"Hello, Angel Girl, have you been keeping Nurse Trixie and Sister Monica Joan company?" She knew Trixie, at least, was looking at her with utter love and sympathy and she couldn't face that just now, so she kept her gaze on Angela.
"We colored!" The youngest Turner explained as she ran to her pile. "This one for you, Mummy." Angela handed Shelagh the drawing she'd just finished. Shelagh tenderly took the drawing and smiled for the first time in hours. It was a bit rough, as all three year old drawings were want to be, but Shelagh could make out Angela herself (by the giant piles of yellow hair she always gave her self portraits) holding what appeared to be a baby in a blanket. "Baby." Angela explained, pointing to the bundle.
"Yes dearest, baby." Shelagh agreed, hand traveling unconsciously to her stomach. They'd just told Timothy and Angela about the baby and assumed she didn't really understand, but apparently she did. God, please let Patrick live to see this. She prayed. Her eyes stung. Forward, Shelagh, forward. "It's lovely, Angela."
"Timmy, one for daddy!" Angela instructed as she ran back to her spot on the floor before Shelagh could try to explain that they needed to stop coloring. Before she had to explain that they needed to go to the hospital because there was a chance Angela wouldn't get to give Patrick a drawing ever again.
"Ange, I think we need to stop for today and listen to mum." Tim tried. His own fear had his patience hanging by a thread. He'd been told as much as Shelagh - that Patsy was at the hospital and would call when she knew anything. He'd seen Barbara head to the phone, though, and eavesdropped enough to know that she was trying to get someone from the hospital on the line. He needed answers.
"Noo, Timmy." Angela protested, grabbing several pencils in her small fist in rebellion. Tim felt her words tug at his underlying anger.
"Angela, it's grown-up time. We have to put the colors away." He tried again, his tone sharper than normal with his sister.
"It's alright sweetie, we can color later, I promise." Trixie moved forward to intervene. Tensions were high enough and Tim would never forgive himself if he snapped at Angela. "Here, why don't you come with me and we can help Sister Julienne in the kitchen, hmm?" Angela looked skeptical, but relented and Shelagh sent a thankful glance to Trixie.
"I am anxious to see what the little one creates for sustenance." Sister Monica Joan stated. "I shall observe her methods." The nun followed into the kitchen, leaving Timothy and Shelagh alone. Tim waited until the door closed.
"Mum." he sighed and ran to Shelagh. He wouldn't let himself break, but he held her closer than she could ever remember. Shelagh eased them over to the couch and held him as she ran her hand back and forth across his back.
"I'm here, Tim, I won't leave you." She whispered. Tim nodded into her shoulder. He needed this, needed her. Shelagh didn't come with promises of 'it's all going to be alright' or 'just let it out'. Shelagh came with the promise that she wouldn't leave him, no matter what the outcome. Hurried footsteps echoed into the sitting room and mother and son looked up to see Barbara. Their hearts raced.
"Did you reach the hospital?" Shelagh asked anxiously.
Barbara shook her head.
"I tried, but no one would tell me anything." she explained sadly. "I'm sorry."
"It's alright." Tim said. "That means he could still be okay, right?" Shelagh squeezed Tim's hand. He was being so incredibly brave and as much as it broke her heart, she couldn't be prouder.
"Yes, he could still be alright." She agreed. "Barbara, could you do me one more favor and possibly find Phyllis? I'd like to head to the London as soon as possible."
"Absolutely." Barbara rushed off to the kitchen, ever grateful to be helpful in a crisis.
"Tim, I know it may still be some time before we know anything, but-"
"I want to come." He insisted. "I have to." Shelagh smiled in understanding. Her brave, determined cub.
The shrill of the telephone broke the resolved silence and they watched Barbara run back down the hall to answer it with bated breath.
"Nonnatus House, midwife speaking." She spoke quickly into the receiver. She truly hoped it wasn't a patient, for everyone's sake.
Shelagh and Timothy stared at the doorway, hands clasped. Finally, Barbara ran back to them.
"That was Patsy," she exclaimed happily, "he's out of surgery."
Patrick lives! Or, at least, he's out of surgery. Interpret how you will. We're off to the hospital in the next chapter. Thank you for reading!