Chapter 8

Summary: Waiting and the toll it takes.

A/N: Thank you all again for reading and for your beautiful comments. I posted something about this on tumblr, but I just wanted to put it here as well. I know there's some concern about too much angst from various readers and that's totally valid, especially because people love their Turnadette to be angst-free. I did think incredibly hard about whether or not to alter the story from my original plan or to go through with it and after a couple conversations, I decided to leave it as the angst-ridden beast it wants to be. I know that might put some off from continuing to read and I just wanted to say that that's totally cool and I so appreciate your readership up to this point! Not every story is going to be for everyone and that's the beauty of both fanfiction and the art it's based on. :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

The days passed in a surprisingly calm sense of order. Every morning, Shelagh would ready Timothy and Angela for school. Angela would ask where Patrick was and Shelagh would explain that he was still sick, but that he would come home to them very soon. Angela would ask what she could do to make him better and Shelagh would sigh, knowing the answer was 'nothing', but eventually she would hand Angela a plaster to carry with her throughout the day until visiting hours. Timothy would give her a look, but he wouldn't discourage his sister - after all, amongst all the worry, the growing explosion of plasters on random places of Patrick's body was highly amusing for all of them. Timothy would inevitably offer to stay home from school so that she could rest and take care of the baby and she would inevitably wave him off with a half-hearted remark about trying to get out of school work.

Once the children were gone, she would tend to the house and make sure absolutely everything was in perfect order. Ironically, with Patrick in the hospital, her housework was considerably less than with his help. She wished it were otherwise; partly because he'd be there and partly because she desperately needed the distraction of chores. When she could no longer justify dusting the mantlepiece for the fifth time, she would make her way to Nonnatus where someone would be waiting for her with a cup of Horlicks and a promise of a daily check-up. She'd fought the idea of daily care, but in the end, it gave her yet another task for the day before visiting hours, so she relented. It also gave her time to dedicate to the baby, which she sadly realized she'd been avoiding.

It wasn't that she wasn't happy. She was. She was ecstatic. Years of lost hope and endless longing had miraculously resulted in a pregnancy...and she was alone. Up until now, she'd shared every moment with Patrick. He'd felt every expanding curve, held her hair during the horrid weeks of morning sickness, and gone to the Nonnatus garden in the middle of the night when she desperately wanted carrots and wouldn't settle for anything else. The baby was almost far enough along that soon, they'd be able to hear a heartbeat at her check up and she couldn't bear the thought of him missing that. She wasn't sleeping well. When she wasn't thinking of Patrick, she felt guilty for abandoning him and when she was consumed by him, she felt guilty for ignoring her children - both living and on the way. It was absolutely maddening and there were times when she truly hated herself because all she wanted to do was lock herself in her room and not speak to anyone. Then of course, after ten minutes of lying in her marital bed, cold and alone, she'd want to bolt out of her skin. It made her stomach ache.

The only time she ever felt at peace was when she could sit by Patrick's side. That wouldn't be for another several hours, though, and so, for the moment, she forced her feelings into her gut and knocked on the familiar door. To her relief, it was Trixie who answered.

"Shelagh, sweetie, come on in." Trixie took her by the arm and lead her gently towards the sitting room. Shelagh stopped her.

"Would it be possible to go to one of the guest rooms instead?" she asked, eyes darting nervously to the sitting room archway. Trixie looked at her in deep concern.

"Is everything alright?" she asked. "Are you feeling unwell?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Shelagh assured, though her stomach was still giving her grief, "I'm just not quite feeling up to a lot of company today."

"I understand." Trixie replied. "You don't have to worry about that, though, if you'd rather have the routine. Nearly everyone is out on calls, it's just me, well, and Sister Monica Joan, but I believe she's out in the gardens. She's been quite invested lately. Something about gnomes stealing carrots in the night."

Shelagh blushed and nearly gasped at the warm happiness that surged through her body for a passing second. Had it really been so long since she'd been happy that she'd forgotten what it felt like? Her stomach clenched against her thoughts. She couldn't dwell on that now.

"The sitting room is fine, then." she said and the two walked to the comfort of the couch. Shelagh always loved this couch. They'd been able to salvage a few bits of furniture from the old building and this was one of them. A rare relic of her time as Sister Bernadette. Now, she had her antenatal checks on it. Life was strange that way.

"How have you been feeling?" Trixie asked. "Physically, I mean?" she quickly added. It didn't take a psychologist to guess how Shelagh had been faring emotionally.

"Since yesterday?" Shelagh asked wryly. "I'm sorry, it's just been a bit of a hard morning." she apologized.

"That's alright." Trixie said. "I think you're more than entitled to a rough day right about now."

Shelagh bit back her frustration. She loved her friends and family more than she could ever say and she knew they loved her just as much, but she hated that they were making excuses for her. She was struggling, and heartbroken, and certainly hormonal, but she shouldn't be snapping at them. She would've liked to think she was more in control of herself than that. As if to prove it, she took a deep breath and gathered her thoughts.

"I haven't been sleeping well since..." she admitted. "I know I could take something for it, but the truth is I'm too afraid."

"Of sleeping?" Trixie asked as she felt along her stomach.

"Sometimes." Shelagh said. "The nightmares are terrible, and with what happened with Thalidomide, I don't want to take any chances. I know not all medications have the same effects, but right now...I just don't think I could handle anything else on top of this."

"That's perfectly alright, Shelagh." Trixie assured. "You don't have to take a prescription if you don't want to." Trixie paused her exam as Shelagh winced at a particular spot. "Did that hurt?"

Shelagh sighed. Ever since she was a child, her fears and anxieties had manifested as stomach pains and digestive issues. She couldn't help it. There had never been room in her life to express her emotions freely and she supposed this was how her body dealt with the stress. It was nothing to worry about. Besides, the pains felt too high to have anything to do with the baby and she couldn't afford to be on bed rest at the moment.

"It's nothing." Shelagh promised. "My stomach is always a bit funny when I have too much to do. It'll sort itself out."

"You're sure?" Trixie asked. "And you haven't had any spotting or cramping?"

"No, none at all." Shelagh replied. It was the truth, after all. The sleep was far more of a concern for her.

"Alright." Trixie warily. "I'd still be happier if you took it easy for the next few days. I know you, and I doubt you're spending your mornings relaxing." Shelagh turned her gaze to her fidgeting hands - it was still her tell. "I know you're worried about him, sweetie, but whether you want to admit it or not, this much stress isn't good for the baby."

"I know that." Shelagh pressed. "I know. I just...I wish he was here for it all. That sounds so selfish."

"It's not selfish." Trixie promised, taking her hand. "We all want him safe. You tell him that today, you hear? He has no business making you wait this long." Trixie teased to avoid the tears that were threatening her. Shelagh smiled thankfully.

"Mum are you here?!" Timothy shouted as he barrelled down the hall. Shelagh almost wished she was due for an internal exam, that would teach him to burst into rooms with the grace of a stampede.

"Yes, Timothy, we're in the sitting room." she called back. Trixie raised her eyebrow as he galumphed towards the sound of her voice. Shelagh laughed. He certainly had inherited his dad's elegance. He turned the corner with an out of breath Angela in hand.

"Timothy Turner, what on earth are you doing here an hour early and why is your sister red in the face?" Shelagh asked, slightly shocked. Poor Angela fought to pull away from Tim's grip and when he finally let her go, she ran to Shelagh.

"Timmy's mean!" Angela declared, curling into her Mummy's side in frustrated tears.

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true, darling. What happened?" Shelagh asked. "Timothy?"

"I didn't do anything." He insisted. "Ms. Coulson was sick, so they let us out of our last class and we always miss the start of visiting hours, so I thought I would pick up Ange on the way and save time. If we leave now, we should get there right when it starts." Shelagh softened. Timothy's intentions were wonderful, even if they resulted in a cranky toddler.

"Timmy..not..let..me..finish.." Angela cried. 'Ah,' Shelagh remembered, 'it's Wednesday. Art day.''

"I'm sorry you didn't get to finish your painting, darling," Shelagh said with a pointed look to Tim, "but you do get to see Daddy for longer today, would you like that?" Angela poked her head up from Shelagh's embrace and considered the offer.

"Can I paint with Aunty Trix?" she asked, gaze turning to Trixie who smiled, but looked to Shelagh so as not to give the eager little Turner too much encouragement.

"I don't know, dear, is Aunty Trixie working night shift?" Shelagh asked.

"No, she's not." Trixie grinned. "And she'd be happy to paint with her favorite artist after she sees her Daddy."

"Eeee!" Angela squealed happily and hugged Trixie close. Shelagh and Timothy sighed in relief. They both knew the other's patience was wearing thin with worry and a happy Angela meant a much more peaceful time for them all at the hospital.

"Come along, you two." Shelagh stood and took Timothy and Angela's hands. They had a very important place to be.

The trio was disappointed, but not surprised to hear that there was no change when they arrived at the hospital. The nurse took them back to the now-familiar room. At least they could be alone. Shelagh wasn't sure what strings had been pulled, but likely thanks to Patrick's status as a doctor, they'd given him a private room. It wasn't much, but it kept them away from the prying eyes of the ward, and for that, Shelagh was grateful.

Angela ran ahead of them into the room with today's plaster at the ready. Tim reached out to hold Shelagh back after the nurse left them.

"Mum, are you sure you're okay?" he asked. "You look a bit peaky."

Truth be told, she felt a bit dizzy, but she didn't want to worry him and it would likely pass as soon as she sat down.

"I'm perfectly fine, Tim." she replied. "Thank you, though. I haven't told you enough how wonderful you've been through all of this."

"Even though I upset Angela?" he asked with a grin, knowing she wasn't angry anymore.

"Don't push your luck." she teased back. Sometimes she forgot just how like his father he was. It soothed her to see him find some humor in his day, but soothe turned to sting when she let herself look over to Patrick. It wasn't all bad, she supposed. His color was significantly better and his breathing wasn't as labored. She hoped desperately that he wasn't in pain.

"Mummy, look!" Angela called out to her and Shelagh quickly stepped to her daughter's side. She couldn't help but laugh a bit. Angela had arranged the last few days of plasters across Patrick's chest into a crooked smiley face.

"That's lovely, darling." It was a testimony to how adorable Angela was that the various shifts of nurses hadn't removed her bandage artwork at the end of every day, but she was glad for it.

"At least he won't feel it if she rips them off." Tim remarked before he turned a bit somber. "How much longer do you think?" Shelagh sighed.

"I'd like to say soon, but I don't know." she replied sadly. "He looks a bit better today."

"I can't tell anymore." Tim admitted quietly. "I just want him to come home."

"I know, Tim." Shelagh pulled him close and let him hide against her like his sister from earlier. It was safe for him to do that here. Here, he was protected from the expectations of strength from the outside world.

They sat for hours, one of them always connected to Patrick in some way. Timothy and Angela told him all about school and daycare and anything they could think of while Shelagh sat and encouraged them. She never spoke much when the children were with her. The things she wanted to tell Patrick were not for their ears and being with all three of them was so emotionally overwhelming for her that she was content to hold his hand and listen to her children's antics.

She also watched his face. More than watched, she drank in every tiny movement. It had to happen when she was there. He had to wake up when she was there so she could hold him and kiss him and tell him how much she missed him and how much she wanted to smother him with a pillow for leaving her for this long. Timothy didn't seem to understand her silence at first, but now he was used to it and he would talk as much as he could.

At least Shelagh wasn't shutting him out. After visiting hours, Angela would play and Shelagh and Timothy would talk. Sometimes it was about Patrick, but sometimes it was about things Timothy had said to his dad that he actually needed to talk about. Patrick couldn't respond, but Shelagh could, and she always did. He often wondered if his dad would listen to him in the same way if their positions were reversed and it was Shelagh fighting for her life. He doubted it, but he certainly hoped.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Turner, I'm afraid visiting hours are ending." the nurse announced apologetically. Everyone at the hospital knew either Patrick or Shelagh through work and all of them felt for the poor family.

Shelagh nodded and stood to adjust the knitted blanket across Patrick as she did every evening. She heard Timothy gasp behind her.

"Mum!"

She turned to see him looking at her, utterly terrified. He pointed to her chair and then to her dress. Shelagh felt the floor fall out from under her at the glaring red stains.

The nurse came running back as a heartbroken scream rattled from the room.

Well, we knew this was coming...SORRY! On the brightside, though, they're both in the same hospital? No? Not comforting? *hides*